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As we spin and twirl, I envy Stella’s free-spiritedness. I have no clue what trials she’s faced in her life, and I’m certainly not so self-involved to think I’m the only person with an ugly past. But her ability to be so in the moment is one I envy. A lot.

“Oh my God!” Stella pants as yet another song comes to an end. “I need a drink!”

Miraculously, we both still have our cups clutched in our hands. I let her lead the way through the house and into the kitchen. While still crowded, there are considerably fewer people in here. We don’t have to shout to be heard.

“What’re you drinking?” she asks, her eyes flitting from the keg in the corner to the liquor bottles lined up on the island.

“Water.”

“Water?” Stella’s eyes practically bug out of her head.

“Yup. I don’t drink.”

She looks at me speculatively, and I’m sure at any moment she’s going to ask the same question everyone asks...‘Ever?’

Because the thought of someone not wanting to drink, even socially, is so foreign to them. But to my surprise, she simply nods and says, “Cool.” She grabs my free hand, tugging me along behind her. “Let’s ask the guy manning the keg where to find you some water.”

“Hello, ladies. Two?”

“One,” Stella says, batting her lashes, turning up her Georgia charm. “And my friend here would like water. Preferably in a sealed bottle.”

He fills her cup and then directs us to check the sink. At first, I think he’s being a smartass, but quickly realize the sink is being used as a cooler and is packed full of ice and bottled waters.

“You wanna check out the rest of the party while we hydrate?”

“Um.” A soft laugh escapes me. “I’m the only one hydrating.”

Stella rolls her eyes. “Same difference.”

We take a lap around the house, exploring the different areas. For the most part, it really is like every college party I’ve seen in movies. There are drunk students engaging in all kinds of questionable activities everywhere I look. Two beer pong tables are set up on the back deck, and there’s a fire burning in one of those fancy pits in the lawn beyond it. The basement is nothing more than a haze of pot smoke; the skunky smell makes me scrunch my nose. We don’t venture upstairs, but judging from the PDA happening as couples venture up the grand staircase, I can easily assume the rooms up there are reserved for hookups.

By the time we make it back to the living room, Stella’s cup is empty and she’s ready to dance again, if the sway in her hips is anything to go by.

Me, though? I’m ready for my jammies, my bed, and a good book.

But I know Stella won’t be ready to leave for at least a few more hours, and since she got stuck with me as her party buddy, the least I can do is stick around long enough for her to have a good time.

A guy approaches as she dips and sways. He wraps a beefy arm around her waist and pulls her body flush against his. Shestartles momentarily and then catches sight of the Greek god of a man behind her, welcoming him with a blinding smile.

“I’m going to be right over there!” I yell, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the room. “I won’t leave. You don’t either.”

She nods as she grinds her ass into her dance partner’s groin. Stella was adamant she wanted the full college experience, and she’s well on her way to getting it.

I weave my way across the room, bobbing and dodging my way through the throng of revelers until I reach the expanse of wall I plan to occupy until it’s time to go.

The spot offers me a clear view of the room. I pick out familiar faces here and there: girls from the dorm and people from my classes. No one I want to speak to, though, so I keep my place against the wall, watching and taking it all in.

“Waiting for your next victim?” a cool, dark voice asks from my left.

“What do you want?” I ask without turning around. His voice alone sends shivers down my spine. God only knows what seeing his smug smile and sharp jaw would do to me right now.

Stupidly, I let my guard down tonight. Every single fiber of my being is telling me to run, but I refuse—partly because the thought of making a scene in front of all of these people has my skin feeling tight and itchy, and also because I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me run away... again.

Sterling leans in, his breath tickling my neck and his body warming mine. “I’m just saying. Dressed the way you are, you must be looking for a good time. And I can’t help but wonder...” He trails off, skimming his nose down the column of my throat before scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh where my neck and shoulder meet.

“Stop it!” I pray for my voice to come out firm and commanding, but seeing as God abandoned me long ago, I sound raw and needy. Which is a lie. I am a lot of things inregard to Sterling Abbot—angry, frustrated, hurt—but definitelynotneedy.

I try to shoulder-check him, but he bands an arm around my waist and pulls me in closer, bringing my back flush with his front. The feel of our bodies pressed together has my heart slamming against my ribs as arousal and disgust battle for dominance inside of me.