Page 109 of The Darkest Note

I couldn’t care less about them.

She scoffs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I glower at her.

“You’re no fun anymore!” She pouts and it draws my eyes even more to her stitched-up mouth.

“You want to have fun? Go downstairs.”

The party’s in full swing. The music’s changed to a disco track and drunken whoops are rising all the way to the second floor.

“Dutch.” Christa crawls on the bed toward me like something out of a horror movie.

I glare at her. She must have the memory of a fish. Did she conveniently forget my instruction to get the hell out?

“You’re never like this.” Christa drags her manicured nails over my chest.

That much is true.

I don’t punk out on a good game.

Which tells me that Cadence has me more messed up in the head than I’d thought.

Damn.

I scrub a hand over my face. When I saw her on the dance floor, something inside me went dark. I hauled her upstairs to give her the money. I told myself I wasn’t going to kiss her. Wasn’t going to touch her. Guess what? I kissed her. I touched her. And I wanted more.

But I can’t. She’s a distraction. And the longer she’s around, the more it hurts the people I care about.

It’s bad enough that while Sol was in the freaking slammer, I was traipsing through Redwood Prep, backing Cadence up against coffee machines and worrying about her stage fright. Now that I know how desperate his situation is, I can’t hold back anymore.

It’s why I didn’t chase her when she stalked out of the party tonight. It’s why I didn’t turn Christa away when she latched on to me downstairs, rubbed herself all over my jeans and whispered that we should go somewhere private.

I thought I could screw Cadence out of my system. But every time I close my eyes, it’s her face that’s tattooed behind my eyelids.

Not Redhead’s.

Not Christa’s.

Hers.

I’m royally screwed.

“You can’t seriously be into that scholarship kid.” Christa gapes.

Damn. If she won’t leave, then I will.

Sliding off the bed, I grab my jeans and step into them. Christa watches angrily, her arms crossed and her head twisted to the side. She looks like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“You’ll regret this, Dutch,” Christa warns.

Hell, I already do.

I walk down the stairs and out to the pool. Girls in bikinis are playing chicken, squealing and laughing. The splash of water is louder than the music.

“That was fast,” Zane teases, a grin on his face. Two girls are nestled in on either side of him. He’s cupping one between the thighs and the other is practically licking his ear off.

Finn is in the pool ‘teaching’ a girl how to swim. It looks more like she’s grinding against him underwater though.