Page 43 of Wherever You Are

“Drink it! Drink it!” college students shout as a guy sucks a shot off a girl’s belly button, lying on the beer pong table.

Not even one more foot forward and a familiar face confronts me. Salvatore Amadio, AKA the vampire-knockoff that I knocked out, blocks my path.

Awesome.

Here we go already.

Two button-down preppy dudes flank him. A pen is in Salvatore’s mouth like he’d been scoring some drinking game, and a glass of whiskey is in his hand. His plaid pants would look douchey on just about anyone, so I try not to judge him for it.

“Hey, man,” I greet. “Sorry about…” I motion to my cheek, even though I hithischeek before.

He glares.

I’m so great at making friends. God, it’s weird to think that at one point, I was extremely popular.

I nod. “Right. Look, you know which one is Willow’s room?” I dig my hand in a pocket for my phone. Planning to text her anyway.

Salvatore takes the pen out of his mouth with arrogance, like he’s the big man on campus. “You’re not welcome here.”

He’s got to be shitting me.“My girlfriend lives here.”

“Exactly.” He has these annoying overprotective eyes. Like he’s still trying to protect Willow from me, and it’s just…

I let out an irritated laugh. “Wow, you must besoconcerned about the safety of your roommate. Leaving the front doorwide openfor anyone and their creep cousin to stroll through, that’s real smart shit right there—”

“A creep like you.” He steps forward, about to physically push me out, and I move backwards on instinct, away from his hands.

My pulse jacks up. “I’m not looking for a fight, man.” I stop in the doorway. Refusing to be kicked out.

Taller than me, Salvatore grips the frame above my head. “You’re lucky I’m not decking you in the face after you sucker-punched me.”

Sucker-punch.

Fuck, I don’t think I’d call it that. I’m not that strong. Or at least, I wasn’t. Now that I live with Lo, I have access to his home gym and he practically pulls me down there every night to do reps with him.

In Lo’s words:exercise is good for people like us.

Sometimes it does pull me out of bad moods.

“Appreciate it,” I tell Salvatore, “but I’m here to see Willow. She knows I’m coming.”

“She didn’t tell me about it.”

Yeah.

I know.

Willow told me she was working herself up to it, and I don’t blame her for not wanting to get into drama with her new roommates.

Agitation gathers. “I didn’t realize my girlfriend needed to send you personal memos every time she breathes.”

He shoves my chest, hard and quick.

I stumble out, tripping over my feet, and he slams the door in my face.

Me and my fucking mouth.My pulse is in my throat now that he touched me. I’m not a fighter.

I flee, but he doesn’t know that.