He doesn’t ask if he made me uncomfortable. He knows he did and he doesn’t mind, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, either. Instead, he puts the car in reverse and slowly eases back out of my driveway.
Nerves make me restless. I’m still a little tempted to escape. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but there’s something troubling about him. Something that makes me second guess how quickly I agreed to his plan, how carelessly I believed him—like he was someone I knew to be trustworthy.
I don’t really know Ryden Sherlock at all. The only thing I can even recall Hunter saying to me about him was something along the lines of, “Sherlock bites, but I wouldn’t let him bite you,” and now here I am, in his car in the shortest skirt that has ever been on my body. What the hell was I thinking?
Well, I was thinking Hunter was in some kind of trouble and he needed my help. That’s what Sherlock told me.
I feel insane and somewhat influenced by my crazy mother, but I grip the door until my knuckles turn white and pay careful attention to the road to make sure he really is taking me to Hunter’s house.
Surely he can feel my tension, but it must not bother him because he does nothing to ease it.
When we pull into Hunter’s driveway, the tension in my chest eases. I tell myself I was being silly to let Mom’s overprotective concerns about a boy get in my head, but… well, it probably wasn’t all that wise to assume Sherlock was on the up and up just because he’s a friend of Hunter’s. Hunter has several terrible friends—it’s no guarantee of a person’s goodness to be Hunter’s friend.
Sherlock hasn’t done anything to make me so paranoid either, though, so I try to shake it off as we head toward Hunter’s front door.
It’s a lot easier once we’re no longer alone in the confines of his car.
What isn’t as easy is walking into this party in this skirt and not feeling self-conscious about it. I never wear clothes like these because I’m not comfortable in them.
I can’t believe I just listened to Sherlock when he told me how to dress—what the hell was I thinking?
It’s too late now. I’m here, my legs are here—we all just have to get through this.
We don’t have to stay for long, anyway, just long enough for Hunter to see us and get the wrong idea. Maybe then he’ll actually talk to me.
Though, it occurs to me as we pass a couple making out and groping each other in Hunter’s living room… I could end up seeing something I don’t want to see.
I wasn’t happy when Hunter was with Valerie, but now he’s completely single.
Sara’s words about some girl coming onto Hunter in the limo on the way to homecoming resurface.
If Hunter is single, girls are probably throwing themselves at him left and right.
If he’s sad because of me… maybe he’s taking them up on those offers.
Suddenly overwhelmed with an even stronger wave of foreboding than the ones I’ve already felt tonight, I look over at Sherlock. “I think this was a terrible idea. I’m not sure why I agreed to it in the first place. Honestly, I… I have no explanation. I think you short-circuited my brain or something, but I don’t feel right being here. Can we go?”
He shakes his head, lightly grabbing me around the waist and pulling me forward. “Not yet.”
I frown. “I don’t really need your permission.”
Rather than respond, he nods up ahead. “Your friend Sara’s here. Don’t you want to say hi to her?”
I guess I should say hi to Sara while I’m here. Things have been weird between us lately, but they would likely get much weirder if we avoided each other at a party.
“All right.”
Sherlock nods, offering me a smile I think he intends to be reassuring. “Go on. I’ll get you a drink.”
I open my mouth to object, but then I stop.
I’m only going to tell him not to get me a drink because Mom told me to, not because I don’t want one. I’m not a drinker, but I am thirsty. “Grab me something non-alcoholic, please. A bottled water or something like that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with an irreverent salute, but even as he says it, I get the impression I’ll get whatever he decides to bring me.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Riley
When I approach Sara, she’s sitting alone on Hunter’s couch, gazing after Wally. A few feet away, he’s chatting up a long-haired blonde, smiling as she laughs at something he’s said.
When I look back at Sara, I see lines of tension on her face. She’s practically vibrating with nervous energy, sitting forward and watching with her hands folded on her lap.
“Hey.”
Her gaze jumps to me in surprise. “Hey. What are you doing here?”