Oh gross, now I knew at least part of the reason they were so eager to get rid of me.
“Mine too,” Olivia grumbled with an eye roll as she pulled me toward my room.
“I have no idea what to wear,” I admitted, eyeing the cute sundress Olivia wore.
“Let me help.” She moved toward my closet before I could argue otherwise. She pulled out one of my more formfitting V-neck T-shirts, my jean shorts, and booties. “I’d try to talk you into wearing something more revealing, but I know you won’t go for it.” She sighed dramatically.
“Thanks,” I murmured, taking the clothes.
“No big.” She shrugged. “I’ll get you wearing stuff to show off that rack eventually.” She grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “Not likely.”
“Challenge accepted,” she replied resolutely. “In the meantime, at least you can flaunt those stems of yours. Now go get dressed!”
“I don’t know about this,” I admitted, looking down at the clothes in my hand.
“Wren, what’s the other option? Avoid him forever? Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? These people are your friends, your family. The sooner you face the music, so to speak, the better off you’ll be. And you’re going to do it looking hot as hell, so go get dressed.” She gave me a little shove, and I argued no further, doing as she said. She was right, after all.
Thirty minutes later, as we walked together up to Gunner’s door, I was still pulling at my shirt.
“You look gorgeous, quit it,” Liv ordered as we walked inside the single-story home, packed to the gills with a raucous crowd.
I took her hand and led her straight to the keg, pouring us both a cup. I chugged the first and immediately poured a second.
“Whoa, Wren, take it easy. You’re sort of a lightweight,” she reminded me worriedly.
I shrugged. “Fuck it.”
She looked like she wanted to say more just as a beautiful redhead came hurdling at us, wrapping us both up in an embrace.
Though several years older than Olivia and me, Grace Jackson was like a big sister to those of us who were several years her junior. We’d idolized her when we were little. She never minded, and instead of giving us a hard time when we’d chased her around with stars in our eyes, she’d looked out for us.
She’d been the first to give me any type of advice about boys, and lord help you if you asked for fashion advice. You’d never get rid of her. Grace had always been confident, and despite her beauty, down to earth with the warmest heart I’d ever known. As Cole’s oldest daughter and Cal’s first grandchild, she was the princess of the Knight’s MC. With gorgeous strawberry blonde locks and startling green eyes, she was impossibly gorgeous.
Once Grace released me, I noticed that Emmie, Max’s younger sister, stood with her. Emmie was much more reserved than Grace, more like her big brother, but no less thoughtful. The two of them were much like Olivia and me, best friends since childhood and still as close as ever.
“You two look hot.” Gracie beamed, looking me up and down. “Liv?”
I laughed, knowing it was that obvious I hadn’t dressed myself. “Yep.”
Grace slipped Liv a high five. “Well, I’m glad you two were able to fly the coop for the night. The guys lightening up a bit?”
“A bit. We’re here. Though I think it’s just so our parents could do it.” Olivia wrinkled her nose.
Grace laughed. “Well, whatever gets you here, I guess. Mine are no better. Trust me. But at least I’m not living at home.”
“Don’t remind us,” I put in dryly, finishing the last of my beer.
“Oh look, the youngins are here,” Gunner teased, coming over and tousling my head.
“Or you’re just old,” I replied with saccharine sweetness. Gunner and Max were the oldest of the younger Knights generation and loved to remind us of that fact, or Gunner did anyway. “I’m getting more beer.” I held up my cup.
“Wren,” Liv called after me worriedly, but I ignored her.
I’d just finished filling up when I spotted him off in the corner with a brunette cherry hanging on his side. It was the worst kind of déjà vu. My heart dropped to my stomach as I fought for composure. The mere sight of another woman with her hands on him was almost too much. The thought of what they’d likely be doing later definitely was.
This was why I’d left in the first place. Three years later, and it was no easier; if anything, it was harder.
When his eyes met mine, they were glassy as though he’d already had a lot to drink or hadn’t slept. Maybe both. For a minute, we just stared at each other across the crowded room until the brunette leaned in and kissed his neck.
I turned away then, nearly spilling my beer in my haste to escape the sight. I made my way to the kitchen in search of something stronger than beer. When a newer prospect, whose name I couldn’t remember, started plying me with shots, I accepted gratefully.
A strong buzz began to take over, and I welcomed the feeling. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. I wanted to be numb.
“Stop giving her drinks,” Max ordered harshly, knocking the shot I was just about to down out of my hand.
“Hey!” I protested, knowing I wobbled slightly as I turned to face him.
“I’m taking you home.”
He was always so mad at me. Why was he always so mad at me?
“Don’t bother,” I scoffed, trying to reach for my beer before he moved it out of reach.
Olivia joined us then, followed by Gunner. “Shit, Wren, I’ve been looking for you.”
“Here I am,” I responded, theatrically sweeping my arms out at my sides.
“Shit,” she groaned. “I can’t take you home like this.”
“I’ll sober her up,” Max put in.
“I’m just buzzed. I’m fine,” I protested. “And I’m not a baby. And I’m definitely not your baby, so you can just leave me the hell alone.”
“You two are like fucking dynamite,” Gunner grumbled.
I looked at him in confusion as Max let out a low growl. “You. Shut up.” He pointed at Gunner. “And you—” He turned to glower at me. “—are coming with me. Either up over my shoulder or you can walk out of here on your own. You choose.”
If he put me over his shoulder, I might barf all over him; though I was so mad at him, the thought wasn’t entirely unappealing.
“Fine. But only because I actually like your jacket and don’t want to barf on it,” I huffed.
He looked to be fighting a smile as he guided me in front of him through the party and straight out the front door.
The fresh air immediately lightened my buzz as he led me toward the sidewalk.
“I’d put you on my bike, but not when you’re drunk, so let’s take a walk.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.
“I’m not drunk,” I argued, and it was mostly true. “What about your date?” I demanded.
“She’s not my date.” He held my elbow as I tripped over an uneven patch of sidewalk.
“She kissed your neck,” I accused, knowing I was giving away much more than I’d intended and not able to stop myself.