Charlie
George is lining
the cue ball up, completely prepared to not only win a bet with Jake that will get him out of dishwashing duty for the week, but also humiliate our jock foster brother with his amazing pool skills, when Jasper walks anxiously up to me.
“Uh,” he seems a little lost for words.
“Hey Jasper,” George taunts, “want to play me after I kick Hollingsworth’s ass?”
Jake clenches his jaw so tight I’m pretty sure I hear it snap. Dexter laughs at the other end of the table. A safe distance away, I shake my head at my brother who just doesn’t know when to quit. Someone will get punched before the night is over.
“No,” he says, eyes darting back to me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Me?” I ask. I’ve never spoken two words to the guy, but I do know that George got a little alpha male on the trip to the Christmas tree farm and in general, most people are hesitant around Dexter. His reputation may take a bit longer to fade.
“Yeah. Upstairs?”
I nod, realizing none of them are watching me—they’re too tied up in the game. Jasper walks up the stairs and I follow him. “Look, I know from the club Starlee and you are friends and I just thought maybe you’d want to—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence because the music that was a dull thump downstairs is rattling windows up here. A group is crowded around the massive stone fireplace at the back of the room and through the people I can tell people are up on the hearth. The whole places is swaying or bouncing with the beat. I look at Jasper in question and he grimaces, nodding to the fireplace. That’s when I see them.
Starlee, Claire, Christina, and Margaret, each holding a shiny silver candlestick that they’re using as a makeshift microphone and singing at full volume. It’s the oddest mix of girls but what’s even weirder is the fact they’re all laughing like they’re best friends.
“Look,” Jasper says, “I’m completely, totally, not judging what’s going on up there, but I know how you guys are about Starlee, and,” he swallows, eyes shifting back to the girls. Starlee’s pulled off her sweater, revealing a tight tank top that shows a thin sliver of skin between her shirt and low-rise jeans. “I didn’t want Dexter or Jake to come up here and lose their shit.”
Not about Starlee. I see that right off, but about the guys huddled around our girl, our very, very drunk girl. Just as I’m walking in her direction I see Wes Boyd walk up to her with a dollar bill in his hand and reach out—
I’m through the crowd in a heartbeat—a single heartbeat, grabbing Wes’ wrist.
“Dude, what the fuck?” He pushes me back. Once he realizes it’s me, he thinks on it. Why? Not because I’m a threat, but because of my brothers. I’m the last one to get in a fight with someone—although I would in a second if it came to Starlee—Wes just doesn’t know that. What he does know is that he doesn’t want to be on the other side of Dexter Falco’s fist.
“I suggest you put that money away.”
He scoffs. “What are you going to do?”
Not fight this guy. Jasper steps in behind me, telling Wes to chill out. I look around to make sure none of the other guys have any ideas about approaching Starlee but everyone seems to have lost interest.
“Charlie!” My name is cried over the pulsing music. I look up and can’t help but grin at the girl smiling down at me.
“Hey, you want to come down?”
Claire throws her arm around Starlee and shakes her head then tells me with a slur, “You can’t make us.”
Still dancing, Starlee reaches for me, pulling me up to the fireplace. “Come up here,” she asks. “Dance with me like Valentine's.”
I laugh. “Not a chance. Come on, hop down. We’ll go get some fresh air.”
Her cheeks are a bright pink and her hair curls by her ears from perspiration. Her green eyes are both bright and a little glazed. I hold out my hand to her.
“Seriously?” Claire says. “You’re leaving me?”
“I can’t help it,” Starlee says, eyes holding mine, “he’s just so cute.”
She hands the candlestick off to Claire and clasps my fingers. Hopping down, her small body teeters into mine. I toss my arm around her shoulder to steady her and bring her close, leading her away from the group. I spy a pair of glass doors leading to the porch and go through them.
The porch is small, screened-in. There’s a small sitting area and a ladder that stretches to a second floor.
“Let’s go up there,” she says, pointing above.