"I can go wherever I damn well please," I snap.
"No, I know," she says quickly. "I mean, do the—you know—do they know that you're here?"
Extracting my arm from her grip, I take several steps back. "Why does that matter?" I ask.
She groans. "Oh my god, they're here, aren't they?" Corina bites down on her lower lip, and surprisingly when she releases it, her teeth come away clean of her glossy lipstick. It must be some expensive shit.
"Why are you so concerned?" I ask.
Instead of answering, however, she just shakes her head and says, "You really shouldn't be here. Just..." Corina glances over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be behind her. I frown. "Just stay here for a moment," she continues. "I'll be right back."
She doesn't give me a second to ask what the hell is wrong with her before she practically sprints out of the room. After a moment of pure shock, I take the two steps it takes to get to the counter and lift her cup to sniff the contents. How drunk must she be? But all I smell is beer. And after watching her down shots like a professional that night at Urban, I know it takes a lot more than a few cups of beer to make her drunk.
Behind me, the sliding glass door opens. I set the cup down and glance back as a guy comes in, shaking his wet hair out as he tilts his head to the side and smacks the side that faces upward as if he's trying to get water out. When he notices my presence, he pauses and straightens.
"Well, hello there, beautiful," he says, an easy smile coming to his face.
I take one look at him and shake my head. "No thanks," I say. "Not interested."
His body freezes, mid-step, and I can tell that I've shocked him. I cross my arms and lean against the counter, wishing either Dean or Corina would hurry up and get their asses back. I'm getting bored just sitting around waiting, and nothing good ever happens when I get bored.
Instead of scoffing and calling me a bitch before walking out as I expect, the guy watches me as he strides to the refrigerator and retrieves a bottled water. He drains the water in one go, his throat muscles moving as he swallows, and then presses a button on the wall, causing one of the lower cabinets—or what had looked like the door to a cabinet—to come sliding out, revealing two neat little trash cans, side by side. He tosses the bottle into the one clearly marked for recycling and then looks back to me.
Since there's nothing else for me to look at or do, I stare right back at him. His jaw is defined, a shadow of stubble ghosting across the lower half of his face. His hair is slicked back, making it look darker than it probably is, but his eyes are a clear, almost ocean-blue.
"Haven't seen you around here before," he comments lightly.
"That's probably because I haven't been here before," I reply.
The corner of his mouth turns up and I have to admit, he's attractive. I'm just not interested. "What's your name?" he asks.
"Nunya," I say.
"Nunya?" He frowns as he repeats.
"Yeah, as in nunya damn business."
There's a beat of silence and then he barks out a laugh. Shaking his head, I wince when droplets of water from his hair hit my arm. With a scowl, I wipe the wetness off before backing up a step. "You're interesting," he says, laughter still in his voice.
"Oh?" I lift my hand and look at my nails, using it as an excuse not to meet his obviously very focused stare.
"Most girls don't try to hide their names from me; they want me to know," he says.
I drop my arm and level him with a glare. "I'm not hiding anything," I snap.
"No?" He takes a step closer and just from the way he walks, I can tell he's a fighter. His muscles bunch, constrict, and release like those of someone who's very aware of each and every movement. I stiffen and lift my chin to meet his gaze.
"No," I repeat.
One arm comes down on the cabinets behind me and he hovers over me. The scent of chlorine invades my nostrils. He's got at least half a foot on me, but hanging around Dean and the others, I've gotten used to it. I don't even flinch. "Then tell me your name, beautiful," he insists.
"I don't want to."
"Then how about I tell you mine?" he suggests.
"Shall I repeat? I'm not interested."
"It's Luc," he says. "Luc Kincaid." He says it and then backs up to watch my expression, as if waiting for some realization. It takes me a moment to remember where I recognize the name from. When I do, however, I keep my face impassive so as not to give it away. Luc Kincaid, Dean's ex-girlfriend’s new fiancé.
"Is that supposed to impress me?" I inquire after another beat of silence.
"Huh." Far from offended, Luc's eyes rove down my form, stopping on my long legs and ripped jean shorts. He smirks. "Usually it does."
"Well, sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, beautiful," he says, his gaze coming back to mine, "I don't think you could disappoint me if you tried."
"That's only because I haven't started trying yet."
Luc leans back and the smell of chlorine fades. "I know who you are now," he says.
I arch one brow. "You do?"
"You're the new girl, aren't you?"
I press my lips together. From what I recall, Luc Kincaid is not part of the Sick Boys' kingdom. "You don't go to Eastpoint," I reply.
"No." He shakes his head before backing off me completely. "But you do."
Something slides across his expression, something sinister and dark and not at all like the original surfer boy aura he'd exuded when he'd first stepped into the house. Before I can observe it further, however, the sound of heels clicking on the hardwood surface of the floor echoes through the room and Corina bursts back into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed. She comes to a sudden and abrupt halt when she spots me ... or more accurately, when she spots who I'm with.
"Luc..." She breathes his name like saying it too loud might offend him. "What are you doing here?" she blurts looking between him and me.
"It's my house, 'Rina," he says lazily, ambling around me and towards her.
"Yeah, I know, I-I just..." Her words trail off as he stops next to her in the entrance to the kitchen and he leans down. I don't hear what he says, but whatever it is has her nodding as he lifts his head and looks back at me once with that twisted smirk still on his face before he leaves the room.
Corina expels her breath in a rush and wobbles a bit. She looks at me and shakes her head. "Come on," she says. "Let's get out of here. I'll take you home."
I avoid her hand when she reaches for me. "I came with Dean," I finally tell her—there's no use in hiding it now. There's no doubt in my mind that he's made his presence here known somewhere. Besides if Luc Kincaid does, in fact, know who I am then he must know that Dean's here too.
Corina bites her lower lip again, worrying it with her teeth before releasing. "Fine," she huffs out, "then let's go find him."
I nod and follow her out of the kitchen. We walk through the rest of the massive mansion, passing several darkened rooms that smell of pot and alcohol. More than a few have couples mostly naked writhing on the floor. Rich people, it seems, are just like poor people when they're inebriated. Absolutely no shame and no inhibitions. I don't mind it. It just reminds me that regardless of what people think, only a thin veil of social status and wealth separates us as human beings.