"Yeah." Brax nods, but he doesn't elaborate. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I've stumbled over something that's just between the three of them. So, I just lie back down on my towel and finish my beer.
Night falls rather quickly when you have nothing better to do than lay under the sun, watch hot guys surf, and drink. Hours later, I've changed out of my swimsuit and into one of the beach dresses Dean had left in my room. It's a dark blue one that ties at the back of my neck and hangs around my thighs, and it's probably the most expensive thing I've ever worn. I'm a little peeved that Dean isn't around to see me in it, but if he wants to buy me shit and then disappear into the fucking wind like a coward, I guess I'll let him.
My cheeks are flushed and I know for damn sure that I'm not completely sober as I make my way back to the beach. In the time since this afternoon, someone has built three giant structures of wood spaced out along the sand and lit them aflame. It seems everyone from the mansion has come down here for this—a bonfire party or whatever it is, because unlike earlier, the sand is crowded with college kids. Music plays from somewhere amidst the masses and couples bump and grind as they dance to the beats.
"Fancy meeting you here."
I nearly jump a fucking mile when a semi-familiar voice speaks in my ear. Whipping around, I jerk my hand up and back and stop when I catch a glance of a smiling face. "Jeremy." I'd nearly punched him out. Slowly, I lower my arm back to my side. "Don't sneak up on me," I snap.
His eyes widen and he takes a step back as his smile slips a little. "Sorry about that," he says, ducking his head.
"It's fine, just … don't do it again."
"Here." He lifts another brown bottle and waves it towards me. "An apology."
I take the beer, but don't open it. I should've heard him come up. Normally, I would've. How many drinks had I had? I'm not drunk by any means, but I know I'm not completely clear headed either. I set the beer down in the sand.
"Forgiven," I tell him and he grins.
"Want to dance?" he asks, offering me his hand, palm up. I look from him to the crowd as they slide against one another. I haven't danced since the club and though I could really use the relaxing time, I'm hesitant to agree. When he sees the indecision on my face, Jeremy's hand drops. "We don't have to dance if you don't want to, we can just hang."
"Avalon!" I see it. That split-second between when I hear Jake's voice call out my name and Jeremy's disappointment, there's a sliver of irritation. He backs up.
"Wait," I blurt.
Dean's not around, I hear my inner voice say. He hasn't been around since he dropped me off in my bedroom and booked it like his ass was on fire. Everyone's been acting like I'm something special to him and even now, I know Jake's coming up because he sees me talking with Jeremy and somehow, he thinks that I don't have a say. Dean put a claim on my ass. No one at Eastpoint will even fucking come near me and yeah, I'm fine with it being like that. But maybe I don't want everyone to think that I'm under Dean Carter's thumb.
He may have brought me here, but he doesn't own my ass.
Jeremy looks up and meets my gaze as I reach out and take his hand. "Yeah," I say, making the decision even as I hear Jake panting as he tries to get to me through the crowd. "Let's dance."
A smile lights his face and without a second thought, he grips my hand back and leads me into the throng of grinding bodies. The music is louder here. We're so close to the fire that the heat is sweltering. Beneath my dress, sweat coats my body and beads begin to form, making my skin glisten. Jeremy's hands find my hips and together we sway, moving to the rhythm of the music coming out of invisible speakers.
"I'm really glad I found you tonight," he says, leaning forward and whispering the words in my ear.
"Oh yeah?" I say when really, I want to tell him to shut up and let me dance. I don't care what he has to say. Already two seconds into the middle of the dance area, and I want to leave, but I don't. I stay. I let him move with me.
Maybe I do it because I know I shouldn't. Everyone's been warning me not to take things too far. Everyone's been urging caution. But I'm fucking tired of playing by another's rules. I'm tired of following in Dean's footsteps and being swept along by his fucking wants and desires. Just for tonight, I want to close my eyes and pretend that I'm just another girl—a normal fucking college girl—dancing at a beach party.
"Yeah," Jeremy says, one of his hands reaching around and sliding to the small of my back. One of his legs presses forward, between both of mine. I sigh and my hands find his chest. This was a bad fucking idea, I think. He's ruining it. "I want to take you up to the house and show you the meaning of a good time," he says. My eyes open just as his head dips down. No fucking way.
My neck snaps back and I'm two seconds from shoving him straight into the bonfire when he doesn't release me but pulls me even closer. I don't need to, though, because Jeremy is no longer my main problem, I realize as he disappears and I stumble, nearly falling on my ass.
It takes me a second to recognize what happened, but the sound of fists hitting flesh draws my attention and then I see. "Dean!" I snap, racing forward. I catch his arm when he goes to hit the guy again and Dean's head jerks to the side. The music comes to a sudden halt like a record scratching against a disc and everyone in the nearby vicinity stops what they're doing to watch the scene unfold.
"What the fuck were you doing?" Dean yells at me. "You let this motherfucker touch you when you're mine?"
"Yours?" I repeat, releasing his arm. "Since fucking when? I'm not fucking yours."
Dean storms up to me and grabs my elbows. "The hell you're not!" His head lifts and he glares at the people around us as I struggle in his grasp, turning my arms so that I twist out of his embrace. "Everybody listen the fuck up!" he yells.
No, I think. He wouldn't. He's not that stupid.
Oh, but he is, I realize a second later as he keeps talking.
"As far as everyone here is concerned, Avalon Manning is Sick Boys property!" he calls out. "If any of you fuckers touch her, come near her, or so much as look at her the wrong way—your ass is dead."
Fury pounds through my system. Absolute fucking rage. And all of it is centered on the man standing before me. "You don't fucking own me!" I yell at him.
Dean's head snaps around and he narrows his eyes on me. "You think not, baby?"
"I know not, asshole!"
Then, he takes a step towards me and before I can scramble out of his reach, he bends over, slides one arm around the backs of both of my thighs, and tosses me up and over his shoulder.
"Dean!" I snap, rearing up as he turns, not waiting for anyone to respond as he heads for the stairs. "I swear to fuck, Dean, if you don't put me down right fucking now—" I cut off when I catch a glimpse of Jake standing next to Abel and Braxton. Traitor! Though, again, I shouldn't be shocked.
"Take care of that," Dean orders the guys, nodding to where Jeremy lies, groaning with a hand covering his bloodied nose. He doesn't let them get another word in before we're both moving past them. Dean ignores me and my struggles until we're halfway up the stairs. "Stop it," he growls out. "Or you're liable to send both of us over the edge."