Page 69 of The One

The vibe in here was completely different. There were about eight people, either sitting on the bed or standing around it. There was a full-length mirror resting across the bottom of the mattress with a large mound of white powder on top of it. Some of them were busy dividing the powder into lines. Some were snorting the lines that had already been cut.

I studied each of their faces as I got deeper into the room, and once I confirmed Penelope wasn’t in the bathroom, I got out of there.

But as I left, a part of me was surprised she hadn’t been in there.

The third room was much quieter than the last two.

There was a dude in the bed without a shirt on, holding his phone, looking like he was typing on the screen.

I knew him.

He was on the lacrosse team.

“Is Penelope in here?” I asked.

He slowly glanced at me, my voice gaining his attention but the opening of the door hadn’t. “Who?”

“Penelope Taylor.”

He was staring at me like he didn’t understand what I was asking, and he wasn’t saying a fucking word.

I didn’t have time for this.

I went around the bed and peered inside the bathroom.

Even though the light was off, there was enough coming from the bedroom that showed a shadow of a body bent in front of the toilet.

I flipped the light switch, and long hair and a thin frame came into view. So did the bareness of her back and arms and legs.

There was no question in my mind …

It was Penelope.

I had known she’d be at the party. I just hadn’t wanted to find her like this.

Damn it, Pen.

She was such a pain in my ass. I hated the way she always guilted Lainey into stuff that my girl didn’t want to do, but she was Lainey’s sister, and Lainey loved Pen more than anything. My girl would forever worry about her, so I handled Penelope the best way I knew how.

And now, that was getting her out of this bathroom.

As I approached, I smelled the vomit. It was on the floor where she was sitting, on her legs and arms, and on the seat of the toilet, where she was resting her face.

Since she was only wearing a bra and panties, I grabbed a towel from the rod by the shower and wrapped it around her.

“Penelope,” I whispered.

“Leave.” She tried to push me, but there was no force or energy in her hand. “I’m sick.”

“It’s me. Rhett. I’m going to help you and take you home.”

“Rhett?” she whimpered. “Mmm. My lover boy.”

Hair was stuck to her forehead and cheeks, which were pale and sweaty.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Her eyes stayed closed, but her mouth was open as little bubbles formed on her lips. “I hurt.”