His dark eyes find me in the rearview mirror and I wink.
"Asshole," Tori throws at him, getting out of the car. "C'mon, Lana."
I grab my bag and slide out.
"Don't have too much fun without me," Tony says to me, flashing a devilish smile before driving away.
"You two need to get it over with," Tori grumbles, walking toward the open front door of the huge white house.
"He's hot, but I'm not hooking up with your brother," I tell her again.
"The flirting is making me nauseous."
"Too bad," I say with a laugh. "It's better than hearing me scream his name in the room next to yours."
"Ew," she groans, scrunching her nose in disgust.
"Exactly," I reply, smiling.
"Fine. I get it," Tori snaps, nudging through the packed bodies in search of alcohol--or at least, I hope she is.
Without warning, Tori turns around and faces me. I stop short.
"What?" I try to look over her shoulder, thinking she saw someone she doesn't want to run into.
"Be nice," she instructs, almost threatening.
"You're telling me to be nice?" I let out a short laugh at the irony.
"Whatever," she says with an eye roll. "I just mean that I know these aren't exactly our people, but I want to see what Lincoln's all about. He's ... different. And I don't want you ruining it with your honesty."
I laugh. "I will try," I assure her. "But I make no promises."
She sighs and turns back around, leading us through a huge crowded room, everyone drinking and laughing. We finally emerge into a large open kitchen, but I still don't see any alcohol, only abandoned red cups and half-eaten bowls of chips and pretzels.
"Where do we get a drink?"
I'm suddenly nervous. Maybe we needed to bring our own, even though Tori promised me they'd have plenty here. We never go to parties where the alcohol is free. It always costs something.
Tori scans the crowd until a smile emerges on her face. I follow her gaze and find Lincoln. It's actually hard to miss him since he towers over everyone ... and he's like the only black guy here.
"I need alcohol," I tell her as she starts in his direction.
She doesn't respond. Maybe she didn't hear me, but I can't stay at this party and remain sober. I squeeze through the crowd and spot a keg on the back porch.
"Of course there's a keg," I mumble, feeling stupid for doubting that this party wouldn't supply drinks.
The apartment parties we've been to, you have to fend for yourself--bring your own and then guard it for the night, so no one steals your stash. Girls usually flirt--or some loose interpretation of th
at word--to get drinks, but that also means being stuck with that guy for the rest of the party.
I always make sure we come stocked with our own alcohol. There's no way I'm going to be dependent upon a guy for drinks, and I'm definitely not owing him for my buzz.
I tug on my bag and struggle to get through the crowd until I'm finally outside in the open space of the deck, slightly annoyed. I don't usually carry big purses, and getting caught on everyone who walks by is driving me crazy. I need to stash it somewhere. I'm not worried about it being taken. It's not like anyone here is going to care about a beaten-up tote. I'm wearing the leather jacket with my tip money hidden in the inside pocket, and my phone's zipped in the outer one. I pat the other pocket to make sure I put the "party in a bag" in there. I walk down the steps and around the side of the deck, hiding my tote in the darkest corner underneath. If anyone really wants the hideous uniform and shitty sneakers, they can have them.
"What're you doing over here?" I hear as soon as I stand back up. "Are you getting sick?"
"Uh, no," I reply sharply. "What are you doing over here? Looking for a victim?" I walk past the gargantuan dude who stares after me silently.