“Eight o’clock, Roe,” he called after me.
Headlights of cars raced by on the highway, stirring the long grass that flanked the trailer-park entrance. The cool breeze whipped around me, making me shiver. The short shorts I had on were no better than the tiny skirt he’d demanded I wear, but for one, I wasn’t bending to Zepp’s whims, and two, at least my crotch was covered—and that could only be a good thing around him. I didn’t trust him, but worse, I didn’t know that I could fully trust myself.
A lone headlight appeared at the end of the road, barreling toward me before turning into the entrance. The bike rumbled to a stop beside me like an angry cat. Zepp glared through the visor of his helmet, making a blatant show of dragging his gaze over my bare legs when he pulled it off and handed it to me. “Forgot to wear the skirt?”
“Forgot. Sure. If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” I pulled on the helmet, then mounted the bike. The second my arms came around his waist, a disturbing sense of familiarity settled over me. He throttled the engine, and the bike shot off down the highway. My hold on his waist tightened, the hard muscle beneath my palm impossible to ignore. The heat of his body seeped through his jacket and into my chest. The smell that was all Zepp wrapping around me when he kicked up the speed.
We passed the abandoned oil factory and several blocks of project houses. Then he took a sharp left onto a dirt bike trail that led up the hill, through the trees, and over the rough ground. The trees gave way to a clearing at the edge of the dump. At least twenty pickup trucks had backed up in a loose circle around a large bonfire, their tailgates open with people sprawled out on them. Zepp parked his bike underneath one of the trees, and I hopped off when he killed the engine.
I removed the helmet and hung it on the handlebar of the bike, taking a quick survey of the shithole excuse of a party. “Why exactly are we here?”
He shoved a Ziploc bag in my hand. “Come back when that’s gone.”
I stared down at the bag of weed. Dealing drugs? That was why he’d brought me here? It wasn’t like this was a bunch of goody-goodies, selling a little dope shouldn’t be hard. So why did he need me? Headlights came through the tree line, busted subwoofers rattling before Wolf’s truck sputtered to a stop beside us.
Hendrix climbed out, thumbing at his nose while Wolf and Bellamy rounded the back of the truck. “Showing your tits to get a sale is cheating.”
God, he was an idiot.
“How much?” I asked Zepp.
“Ten a bag.”
When I turned around, the kids closest to us were staring. Great, I officially looked like one of Zepp Hunt’s minions.
It took less than an hour to get rid of the weed, and I managed to score a beer while doing it. I chucked the empty can into the fire, then headed through the crowd of Dayton outcasts. I rounded one of the pickups, stopping for a fleeting moment when I noticed Zepp on the rusted tailgate of a Chevy, a brunette in a short skirt straddling his lap. Her fingers combed through his dark, unruly hair while she rubbed her boobs against his chest. Something nasty jabbed at my gut, and I told myself I didn’t give a shit.
God, he was so predictable. Here I was, earmarked like a leper because he had decided to stake a stupid claim on me. Yet there he was, carrying on like the whore he was.
Cutting back through the party, I beelined for the truck with the beer keg in the bed. A group of football players lingered at the back. Chase sat on one of the lawn chairs beside it, talking to a girl.
Dale Davison put a beer bottle to his lips and slowly took a swig before speaking. “You finally gonna suck my dick, Monroe?” A few of his friends laughed.
Comments like that were a daily occurrence, and I’d have thought, with the number of times I’d told Dale to fuck off, he would have given up trying.
Chase rose to his feet and gave Dale a hard shove. “Shut up, Davison.” He grabbed a cup from beside the keg and glanced over his shoulder at me. “You want a beer, Moe?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
The girl Chase had been talking to looked me up and down with a glare. Like I was competition. “Aren’t you dating Zeppelin Hunt?” she asked, a bitter tone to her voice. She glanced from me to Chase, then back, a cunning smile to her lips, like she thought slipping that snippet of information would be enough to make him shun me.
“No, I’m not.”
“Moe wouldn’t date that prick.” Chase came to my defense.
The girl turned and walked off in a huff.
“Sorry,” I said.
Chase poured a beer, foam spilling over the top as he handed a cup to me. “Don’t worry about it. Not my type.”
We moved closer to the fire. Chase and I weren’t super close these days, but we’d been friends since forever, and he was the only person I wanted to hang out with here.
“I never see you at these things,” he said, nudging my shoulder with his.
“I never come to these things.” Socializing wasn’t on the top of my priority list, especially not with these people.
A small frown set on his face. “I let you braid my hair when we were six, and you won’t come to a party with me. But Zepp Hunt…”
“It’s not like that.”
“So what? You’re dealing weed for him now?”
I didn’t like the accusation in his voice, but I chose not to answer. I couldn’t exactly deny it, but I wasn’t about to explain the deal I’d made either.
“Are you dating him?” His narrowed gaze drifted beyond the flames of the fire, and I followed it to where Zepp was still on the tailgate, a beer bottle in hand, and the same girl now shamelessly grinding on him. But his attention wasn’t on her or her short skirt. It was pinging between Chase and me.
I sucked in an annoyed breath, my fingers tightening around the plastic cup in my hand. “I already said I’m not.”
“Seemed like it in the bathroom the other day. And he’s looking at you like you are.”
“Well. I’m not,” I said, shooting an angry middle finger at Zepp.
Chase’s face said he didn’t believe me, and it pissed me off. If one of the few people who actually knew me didn’t realize that I had higher standards than to date that prick, I was pretty much screwed. I tipped back my beer, downing it in several gulps.
“Sorry I left you with him the other day. I wasn’t sure…” Chase drifted off, guilt washing his features.
“It’s fine, Chase. I told you to go. It’s not like he’s gonna hurt me.” There wasn’t much I was sure of, but I, at least, knew that.
“You should be careful with them, Moe.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “They don’t play.”
“I know. It’s fine.” I glanced down into my empty cup, and Chase took it from my hand. He strode to the keg, fiddling with the pump.
A loud pop erupted from the bonfire, and I moved closer, loving the red-hot heat on my face. That’s when I spotted Zepp walking toward me like a rolling storm. Each step angry and deliberate. A bottle of liquor swung at his side.
Tension wound through my gut, my muscles tensing. Chase appeared next to me, handing me my drink, seemingly unaware of the disaster heading our direction. I instantly downed the beer because Zepp was only a few steps away.