I’m glad he doesn’t push, but would it kill him to give a shit?
Derek is the other problem. The awkwardness between him and Braxton is impossible to ignore. At first, Derek seemed fine with Brax. I figured it was because they already knew each other. But that’s changing—fast. I see the way Derek gives him the side-eye when Braxton talks to me. If he had seen Brax and I outside on the balcony earlier, I’m sure I would have heard an earful about it.
It sucks, because Derek is Braxton’s client—an important one. If I can’t manage to keep these two relationships from clashing, I’m worried I’m going to ruin that for Braxton. I don’t want to be the reason he loses a client, but the level of hostility between them seems to be growing.
I finish off more of my drink. It burns going down and quickly spreads, making my head a little fuzzy. I decide I’d like it to be more than a little, and take another gulp. This is how I’ll get through the rest of the weekend. I won’t sit here brooding about how confused I am, stressing about the fact that I think Braxton is making a huge mistake with Aubrey, wondering if I’m making a huge mistake with Derek.
I’ll drown all that bullshit in rum, and have a good fucking time.
My let’s-party attitude is contagious, and pretty soon the drinks are flowing.
Braxton reappears, and seems to think my plan is a good one. I see him pound two shots in a row as soon as he gets to the kitchen. Aubrey, the little gold digger, changed into her new dress, and she hangs on Braxton’s arm like she needs to mark him.
By the time the sun goes down, we’re all drunk as shit.
Even Derek, who doesn’t usually drink much, is laughing his ass off with Matthew. I have no idea what they’re talking about that’s so funny, but I don’t really care. I’ve had too much rum to care about anything.
I sit on the couch, half-listening to the conversation, and realize everyone is sharing stories about losing their virginity. Selene looks a little wistful as she talks about her high school boyfriend’s attempt at romance. Matthew’s was in the back of a car. Derek’s was after winning a big football game—because of course it was. Aubrey’s was camping, and suddenly everyone is laughing at Matthew’s “fucking in tents” jokes. Braxton is oddly tight-lipped about his. I’m expecting him to brag about how awesome he was from the beginning, but he just shrugs and says something about sneaking her into his bedroom.
All eyes turn to me. Oh, god. Do I really have to play this game? I don’t like talking about my first time. It’s not a good story.
“What about you, Kylie?” Matthew asks.
I hedge for time by taking a drink.
“It’s fine, she doesn’t have to answer,” Selene says.
I give her a grateful smile.
“What’s the big deal?” Matthew says. “It’s not like it was last week.”
“No, it just wasn’t that great,” I say.
Aubrey laughs, then meets my eyes. “Well, no one’s first time is that great. Come on, Kylie. We all told ours.”
My back stiffens. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s challenging me. “Fine,” I say. Somewhere in the back of my head I realize that if I was sober, I’d never tell this story. Not here. Not with these people who barely know me. I’ve never even told Braxton.
But I’m definitely not sober.
“His name was Ryder,” I say. “Good-looking guy. Popular. Every girl wanted him. He took me to a school dance. Afterward, he was supposed to take me home, but instead he drove out to an abandoned lot where no one was around. I had the feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a girl there. I didn’t really want to, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
That’s a good way to kill a buzz. Everyone stares at me in silence. I should stop talking, but rum and good choices don’t mix.
“He didn’t give a shit that it hurt. Or that I cried after. When it was over, he took me home, like nothing had happened. I didn’t tell anyone for a long time. I just wanted to forget about it.”
“Oh, Kylie,” Selene says, her voice soft.
Aubrey and Matthew shift uncomfortably, but Derek and Braxton both stare at me, their faces clouded with anger. A vein sticks out on the side of Braxton’s neck, and he’s breathing hard.
They both start talking at the same time, and I can’t tell what either of them say. They stop, turning their gazes on each other.
It’s like a fucking Old West showdown on some dusty road in front of a saloon. All they need are six shooters at their hips, and one of them would wind up with a bullet hole in his chest. They stare each other down, like they’re competing for who gets to be angrier on my behalf, who has the right to try to make me feel better. My shoulders clench and the tension in the room is so thick, I can barely breathe.