Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) (7 page)

The Landry’s don’t normally condone underage drinking, but they’re making an exception tonight with one condition: if you drink, you stay the night, unless you have a Landry-approved designated driver. No exceptions. With two cottages on the property, in addition to their humongous home, they have plenty of room. This pretty much ensures everyone here will be shit-faced within the next hour or so.

Even though drinking is accepted and practically expected tonight, I don’t want to do it out in the open. There’s no telling what Deacon, Tucker, and Micah would say if they saw me with a drink, and it’d break my heart if Sam or Annie were disappointed in me for doing it. I don’t need a lot of alcohol, I’m sure, just enough to loosen me up before I talk to Deacon.

I take one last swig of my wine before screwing the lid back on and hiding the bottle in the cabinet under the sink of the Landry’s guest bathroom. I check my reflection in the mirror and give my hair a little fluff before heading back outside.

The party has picked up quite a bit since my bathroom booze visit, and it takes me a few minutes to find Stacey. Of course, she’s chatting with Tucker by the bonfire, which means I have to be careful not to act tipsy.

I should’ve grabbed a mint from inside the house.

“Hey, little sis,” Tucker greets me, slurring the
s
sound longer than necessary. He and Micah have obviously been pre-gaming. “Havin’ fun?”

“Yeah, of course. Landry bonfires are always the best,” I tell him.

“Y’all are so lucky to be neighbors with them,” Stacey says.

I shrug but don’t disagree, because she’s right. I can’t imagine my life without any of the Landry’s and living so close to them only made my life better. Still, it always gets my hackles up when someone makes a comment like Stacey just did.

The Landry’s have money. That’s no secret. My family, on the other hand, does not. My daddy inherited his piece of land from my grandparents; as well as the responsibility of running a sugar cane farm. It’s not easy. Daddy earns every penny he makes, and he only spends money on necessities and the rare splurge. There’s a big difference between our modest home and the mansion the Landry’s own.

When I was little, kids would always ask if they could play at my house when, really, they just wanted to go to the plantation. Some kids even accused Tucker and me of being a charity case, but Deacon put a stop to that. I learned to ignore the whispers behind my back and be leary of anyone who wanted to come to my house and possibly use me to get to Deacon or Micah.

I know Stacey didn’t mean what she said in the same way those kids did back then, so I decide to leave it alone and change the subject.

“How many people are here do you think? The entire school?”

Tucker answers, “Nah, it’s mostly seniors and juniors, but I see a few from your grade. You know everyone loves Deke and wants to party with him.”

I do know that.

It’s funny when I think about it because he’s only moving about thirty miles away. It’s not like he’s joining the military or going off to Harvard. Half the people here will be starting LSU with him in a few days, but there’s no way they’d miss this party.

After discreetly scanning the area for Deacon, I finally find him across the yard playing a game of corn hole. It’s a game similar to horseshoes that only gets more fun as the participants have more to drink.

“I’m gonna check out the game over there. Stacey, you comin’?”

“Sure, I’ll go. See you later, Tucker,” she yells as we walk off. He gives her a sloppy salute and a wink before heading to a keg.

Deacon is about to take his turn at the game but stops when he sees me. “There’s my good luck charm! Cami, come over here and give my bag a blow.”

The crowd watching the game erupts in laughter while my face heats up, causing them to laugh even more. But his innuendo regarding the corn bag that is tossed in the game doesn’t offend me; it turns me on. I’d totally blow him if he asked me to. You know, if I knew what the hell I was doing and wasn’t a big chicken.

“I ain’t blowin’ anything of yours, you big jerk,” I tell him, playing it off, as the people around us laugh louder. I walk up to him, and he smiles. “That’s my girl, always puttin’ me in my place.”

My heart flips inside my chest at his words, but I just roll my eyes at him. “Just how much have you had to drink tonight? It’s still early, you know. It’d be a shame for the guest of honor to pass out before everyone else.”

Deacon takes his turn and tosses the canvas bag onto the game board, earning three points for making it land directly in the hole and winning the game, only to be challenged to a rematch.
Does the bastard have to be good at everything?

“I’ve had a few beers, but I’m pacin’ myself,” he answers.

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“I made a bet with Micah and Tucker: the first one of us to puke has to run around the bonfire buck naked.”

“Of course, you three would make a bet like that,” I laugh.

“The thing is, though,” he continues, “those two idiots actually want to lose. I think they’re just lookin’ for an excuse to take their clothes off.”

“You’re probably right. What a pair of dumbasses.”

I get lost in Deacon’s face as he laughs. His eyes crinkle so much they’re almost hidden, making room for his wide grin. His Adam’s apple mesmerizes me as it moves in time with his chuckles. It should be a sin to be so beautiful.

He eventually stops laughing and clears his throat. “You look really pretty tonight.” His voice is lower and softer than it was a few seconds ago, and I know his words are just for my ears.

“Thank you,” I say, dipping my head so he doesn’t notice my blush. I want to tell him what I came here to say, but it’s too early in the evening, and neither one of us is buzzed enough yet. Instead, I kiss two of my fingertips and touch the top of his hand.

“For luck,” I say, before leaving him and his game. I can feel his stare following me as I walk in search of Stacey, but I don’t let myself turn around.

A couple of hours later and the atmosphere of the party has changed again. The crowd has dwindled down with only those that are drunk remaining. It’s not as loud as it was earlier, but there’s still the occasional sound of laughter ringing across the yard. Stacey’s brother picked her up a few minutes ago, so I’ve been wandering around, moving from group to group, socializing more than I normally do. Boone’s Farm will do that to you, I guess. I finished my first bottle about an hour ago, but there’s another one still in the bathroom in case I need it.

I’ve seen Deacon from time to time being the usual life of the party. He seems to handle his liquor well, even though I know he’s pretty drunk right now. The opposite is true for our brothers, though.

They decided to forget about the bet and go ahead and strip for everyone. Tucker claimed it was a “win-win” for everyone before he and Micah started strutting around the fire. They eventually realized they were putting their manhood at risk of being burned to a crisp and declared it was more important to protect their “goods” than to show them off. They’re now both passed out on the porch swings, wearing each other’s underwear because they were too drunk to tell which pair was which.

A high-pitched giggle carries across the lawn, and when I see that it’s Lacy Monroe, the girl Deacon took to prom, my stomach twists.

I’d heard that she’s been crushing on Deacon pretty hard all summer, but if they’ve been dating, I’ve seen no evidence of it. Of course, Deacon could be dating her and not telling me about it, but I’d like to think he wouldn’t keep something like that from me, even though it’d hurt like hell to hear it.

I watch the two of them interact, and I don’t know how to feel.

Deacon doesn’t seem to be very interested, but he’s not pushing her away either. She keeps touching him, and it’s making me want to claw her face off. Her hands are in his hair and on his chest, and I swear I’ll lose my shit if she touches his ass. His resolve is crumbling; I can see it. I have to act fast. I run into the house and straight for the guest bathroom. Thankfully, it’s empty, so I go inside and pull out my second bottle of Strawberry Hill. This time, before leaving, I don’t just fluff my hair. I also pinch my cheeks, lick my lips, and pull the neck of my shirt down a bit to reveal a little bit of cleavage.

I don’t care anymore if someone sees me drinking or what they might think or say. I only care about one thing: getting Deacon away from that skank.

When I find them again, they’re still playing the same game. Lacy is trying to lure him away from the party and Deacon’s trying to placate her, not wanting to hurt her feelings. He’s too nice. He needs to tell her to back the hell off before I do it. She grabs his hand and tries to pull him toward the cottages, but he doesn’t budge. Even after being turned down, she doesn’t give up. Instead, she giggles and tries to tickle his side. She calls him “silly”, but really, she’s the silly one. If she knew anything about him, she’d know he’s only ticklish on the bottoms of his feet.

Why do girls act like this just because of a boy? I want to scream at her to have some dignity before I remember how I’ve been sneaking cheap wine from a bathroom all night.

Deciding enough is enough, I call out to Deacon. “Hey, Deke! Can you come over here for a second?”

He looks over at me and his eyes go wide briefly before he notices the bottle in my hand. “Sure, Cami. Whatcha need?”

Shit, what do I say? “You, inside me” always works in the romance novels I read, but I have a feeling Deacon would have a stroke if I said that. Against my better judgment, I say the first thing that pops into my mind.

Okay, the second thing.

“Can you open this bottle for me? Apparently, booze makes me weak.”

He walks over to me, and I can tell he’s trying not to look at my boobs. He frowns when I hand him the bottle. “Have you been drinkin’ this shit all night?” he asks.

“Yeah, pretty much. This is my second bottle. Why?”

“I wish you would’ve told me; I’d have done a better job keeping an eye on you.”

My temper starts to flare. “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. You’re not my daddy or my brother.”

Before he can respond, Lacy starts cackling. “How cute! She has a crush on you, Deacon. Be gentle when you break her heart, okay?”

I’m mortified, but Deacon just looks confused, as if he’s just now realizing her words could be true.

“Shut up,” he snaps. It’s not the first harsh word I’ve ever heard him speak, but it’s a first toward Lacy. I can tell she’s shocked, too. Her eyes widen and her head tilts as she tries to register what he just said. “Gosh, Deacon. I was just kidding.”

Normally, at those words and the butt-hurt look on her face, Deacon would soften and apologize, but his eyes never leave my face as he dismisses her with his nonresponse. A second later, she stomps off in the direction of the bonfire, looking for someone else to latch onto, I’m sure.

He takes a step toward me and twists the bottle open without taking his eyes off me. “I know I’m not your daddy . . . or your brother.”

His words and the tone he’s using make my stomach flip. I swallow hard, searching for something to say, willing myself to be the strong, confident girl I know is inside me somewhere.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks.

I can hear the double meaning in his words as he stands less than a foot away with the open bottle of Boone’s between us.

I nod, watching his lips as he wets them with his tongue.

My eyes go from those lips to his eyes and then back to his lips. I want to kiss them, and I want them to kiss me back. I want them to want me as much as I want them.

A slight frown forms between Deacon’s eyes as we stand there letting the electricity between us speak for itself.

“Can we go somewhere?” I ask quietly, mustering all of the courage I can find for those four words.

Deacon doesn’t answer. He merely sets the bottle down on the ground by his feet and takes my hand, leading me away from the dwindling crowd.

Away from the glow of the fire.

Away from the house.

We walk in silence into the dark shadows down the side of the house until we reach his truck. He opens the passenger side door and lifts me by my waist, placing me in the seat.

I want to protest. I know he’s been drinking. I know he shouldn’t drive. But I want this, whatever it is. If it means being alone with Deacon, I want it.

A moment later, he climbs in behind the wheel and sits there, his hand on the keys, staring at me. As if something on my face gives him the answer he’s looking for, he nods his head once and turns the key over. The engine purrs to life, and I pray to God no one notices.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” I ask, not able to keep my mouth shut.

“I’m fine. We’re just driving down the lane,” he says, motioning in front of us. It’s not far, close enough to walk, so I wonder why we’re driving, but I don’t ask. I listen to the quiet . . . to the crunch of the gravel under the tires and the soft rumble of the engine. I glance back to see if any new lights are on in the house or if anyone is following us. When all seems clear, I sigh in relief.

Deacon turns the truck slowly down the lane and drives until we’re completely out of sight from the house before putting the truck in park and turning off the headlights. No one else uses this road. It’s part of the Landry property and is only used to get to the back sugarcane fields, which aren’t even being used right now. So, we’re alone.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks for the second time.

I nod, and I can’t help the smile that forces its way onto my face, because this is
exactly
what I wanted. The lingering wine in my body makes my cheeks feel warm, and the nerves I’d normally be feeling are a mere hum, just enough to let me know I’m doing something I wouldn’t normally do, but not enough to keep me from doing it.

His eyes are still on me, and I can tell by the way his chest is quickly moving up and down that he’s breathing heavily. I honestly can’t tell if he’s pissed or nervous or what, but I need to know before we go any farther.

“Deke—”