Page 52 of Bitter When He Begs

My grip tightens around my beer as I watch Sage tilt his head to look at the guy through his lashes, smiling like he means it.

I take it as my cue to leave and drain the rest of my beer in one long pull; the taste bitter and empty on my tongue, but I force it down anyway. It’s something to do, something to keep my hands occupied, something to remind myself that I don’t care about whatever the fuck Sage is doing with that guy.

I tell myself that again as I wipe my palm against my jeans before rolling my shoulders and turning away. I don’t look back. I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he even registered.

I just move, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the girls trying to get my attention, the guys handing out shots, the way the whole fucking party still revolves around me even when I want nothing to do with it.

But I don’t care. Not about the people around me, not about the fact that I could probably pull someone upstairs right now and fuck them against my door just to get this feeling out of my system.

Damon clocks me the second I step past the kitchen. He’s still in the same spot, but Roman and Thorn are next to him now. He raises an eyebrow, and I shake my head once.

I’m done.

He gives the barest nod, a silentgot it, and just like that, I’m free to go.

I take the stairs two at a time, my body still tight with too much fucking everything, my hands itching, my mind racing in ways Idon’t want it to. The second I push into my room, I lock the door behind me, letting out a slow breath and forcing myself to settle.

The house is still vibrating with noise, the bass from the speakers thudding through the walls, but up here, it’s easier to ignore.

I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling hard before collapsing onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts slow.

This is the first time in my life I’ve been grateful that I don’t have a stash.

Now, even though it fucking sucks, even though my head is still a mess, even though everything in me is tight and wound up and burning—

At least it’s clear.

At leastI’mclear.

Sage

Ididn’twanttocome tonight.

I told Nate at least five different ways that I wasn’t in the mood, that I had work to do, that I’d rather just crash in my room and avoid this fucking party at this fucking house.

But my best friend is a relentless pain in the ass and ignored all of my protests while practically dragging me out of the frat house and stuffing me into his car before I could argue.

And now, here I am, standing next to said relentless pain in the ass with a drink in my hand, trying not to exist too much. Not that it matters, because even when he’s ignoring me, Luca always sees me.

I can feel his eyes on me like heat against my skin. He’s been watching me for the past five minutes, but it’s not like before. Not like the night with Damien or when I was helping Roman with his setup.

No, this is different. This is quiet… and I fucking hate it.

I won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him, though. Not after disappearing and ignoring me again.

Instead, I focus on my drink, on the guy standing next to me, and the way Nate keeps switching topics mid-conversation. I know he’s doing it because he knows I’m barely listening, but he hasn’t called me out on it yet. He will if I don’t start pretending to care.

Still, my thoughts keep slipping back to Luca and the way he lost his shit when he saw me take that pill.

It was almost like it bothered him, but in a way that made no sense to me. At least, not at first. But I started thinking back to what I overheard in the locker room that night, and everything suddenly clicked.

Luca isn’t just some asshole athlete with a god complex. He’s an addict, and when he looked at me that day, it wasn’t just with anger, it was with concern. He was pissed, but he also looked… worried. I didn’t get it, and it was the whole goddamn reason I went to the locker room afterward to talk to him.

I wanted to say something. To ask why he looked worried about me. Maybe even,fuck,I don’t know, try to understand him or figure out if he’s still hooked or trying to get clean. Or if that concern was just another lie in the long list of shit he keeps buried under that perfect ‘golden boy’ image.

But then Luca being Luca ruined it before I could even get the words out. Instead of talking, he threw a match and burned the whole thing to the ground. So now, we’re back to this.

To pretending.