Riot (5 page)

Chapter Six

I
N A WAR
of social combat, there is one key to victory: Act like you’ve already won. In high school, it worked on bitch cheerleaders who were angry about their jock boyfriends calling me after school. Now, it’s going to work on the one guy who is too stupid to realize he should never try to do better than me because I’m the best there is.

In my shortest skirt and skimpiest top, I walk into Mayhem like a general prepared to accept the surrender of his enemy. I have my armor—the sequins shining on my top and the black boots stretching up to my knees. I have my weapons—the cleavage squeezed into my plunging neckline, the miles of skin shimmering between boots and my skirt, and the smooth black nail polish glimmering under Mayhem’s muted lighting. And I have my war paint—my shadowy eye makeup, my thick black lashes, and my moist pink lips. I’m dressed for the kill, and I’m prepared to draw first blood when I spot Joel at the bar and nearly stop dead in my tracks. Rowan and Leti stop walking to glance back at me, but I only hesitate for half a step before resuming my march.

He’s standing at the end with hot girls under each arm—like seriously
hot
girls, with big boobs, long legs, and commercial-ready hair. By the way his eyes lift to meet mine and the corner of his mouth quirks up, I can tell this is the equivalent of him taking the first shot.

I ignore him and squeeze into a spot between Shawn and Adam with Leti at my back. Adam gives up his stool so that Rowan can sit there, preferring to stand behind her with his arms draped around her shoulders.

“You’re prettier than them,” Leti assures me in my ear.

Rowan must not have heard, because she leans over to tell me the exact same thing, and the fact that they’re both insisting on it makes me worried that I’m not. Defensive, I open my mouth and throw down the gauntlet. “Did you enjoy your long walk home, Joel?”

When I turn my gaze to him, he’s grinning at me, his sparkling blue eyes welcoming my challenge. “I didn’t need to walk. That girl’s number came in handy.”

I’m trying to prevent hurt from flashing across my face when Shawn shouts, “How are you going to stand there lying like that?”

“I had to come pick your sorry ass up!” Adam adds, and I laugh along with the people around me while Joel bristles.

“You know what
I’d
like to talk about?” Mike says from the other side of Shawn, and all eyes turn to him. “Literally
anything
else.”

Mike is the only member of the band who doesn’t constantly have groupies trying to shove their hands down his pants, but that’s only because he has no interest in them. He’s a bit shorter than Joel, Adam, and Shawn, but he’s taller than Cody and has more meat on his bones. His eyes are a warm brown, and he has a thick mop of chestnut hair I wouldn’t mind tugging my fingers through . . . It’s only too bad he’d rather drink beer and play video games than have a good time.

Shawn laughs and clinks his beer bottle to Mike’s. I roll my eyes and flag the bartender, ordering a vodka cranberry and telling him to make it a good one. I down it quickly, listening to the guys’ banter and contemplating separating myself from them completely so I don’t have to buy my next drink. I’m scanning the other side of the bar when I see Cody, the band’s third guitarist, appear in the crowd.

The first time we met was the same night Adam made a public spectacle of asking Rowan to be his girlfriend. I was sitting next to Joel on the bus after the show when Cody slid into the seat next to me.

“Want the grand tour?” he asked. His leer made it clear he was already assuming my answer would be yes, and I knew which room he wanted to show me—the black-satin bedroom Rowan had told me about, which I had no interest in seeing with anyone other than Joel. Or Shawn. Or even Mike. But definitely not fucking Cody. There was just something about the way he looked at me that made me want to knee him in the crotch.

“I was hoping Joel would show me,” I suggested loudly enough for Joel to overhear, and he removed himself from the conversation everyone else was having to turn his head in my direction and give me that smile that made my clothes feel too small and the space between us feel too big. I had just met him the night before, but we’d already had sex all over every inch of my dorm room, trashing it in true rock-star fashion.

Cody’s hand slid across my back and curled around my waist. “I want my turn.”

My eyes snapped back to him. “Excuse me?”

“You look like fun. Joel’s already had his turn.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” I wasn’t some fucking toy to be passed around, and I also wasn’t going to sit there and let him assume I was.

Joel burst out laughing. “Code, is that really the best line you’ve got?”

“Didn’t think she was the type of girl I’d need to drop lines on,” Cody said, still giving me a shit-eating smile that I itched to slap off his face.

Joel tugged me onto his lap to get me away from Cody, but I was full-on seething. I was contemplating planting my stiletto heel between Cody’s legs when Joel buried his face in my hair and slid his rough fingertips up my bare thigh. “Ignore him. I don’t plan on sharing you.”

I finally stopped glaring at Cody long enough to gaze at Joel, and he gave me a warm smile that defused me.

“I’m ready to give you that tour now,” he continued, and then he kissed me and Cody disappeared.

Now, Joel is the one I want to disappear, and I need Cody to help make that happen. Every night since demanding his turn, he’s taken every available opportunity to let me know he still wants it. Winks behind Joel’s back. Comments whispered in my ear when Joel isn’t around. Tonight, when he spots me at the bar and rakes his greedy eyes over me inch by deliberate inch, I don’t scowl or flash him my middle finger. I let him take his fill, and when his eyes finally meet mine, his lips curl with satisfaction and I push away from the bar. He walks toward me, I walk toward him, and when we meet at the edge of the dance floor, I take his hand and pull him deep into the crowd. We’re in the middle of a clash of dancing bodies when I spin around and drape my arms around his neck, pushing up close to him and getting pulled even closer when he tightens his hold around my waist.

“Finally done with Joel?” he asks, smirking at me. With my heels, we’re eye level, a comfort I don’t have when I’m staring doe-eyed up at Joel. Maybe short guys aren’t so bad after all.

I place my finger over his lips. “Stop talking.”

Cody removes my finger, his smile gone. He opens his mouth to say something, but I really,
really
don’t want to talk.

So I kiss him.

I let the floor-vibrating music swallow me whole, and Cody and I make out and grind against each other until I’m pretty sure my brain is starving for oxygen. But even then, I refuse to let it have any. I dance until my muscles burn, and then I push past the fire until they go completely numb. I close my eyes and pretend that Cody’s hands are just hands. Just me dancing with a thousand hands all over me under flashing blue lights in a sea of warm bodies.

His hands are on my stomach, my legs, my ass, my breasts. I let them touch and squeeze and keep me in a serotonin-induced fog. He catches all the right curves, lavishes all my best features—because he appreciates me in a way that Joel never will. Because he’s never had a girl like me, and Joel has had me way too much.

When he pulls away and says he has to take a piss, I nearly beg him to keep touching me. Instead, I tell him to bring me a drink.

I’m dancing alone, eyes closed and hands raised toward the ceiling, when someone presses up behind me and a strong arm wraps around my middle. Not caring who it is, I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and continue dancing.

“Using Cody isn’t going to make me jealous,” Joel’s low voice warns in my ear. One of his hands is pressed firmly over my sequined stomach and the other is sliding up the burning hot underside of my raised arm. He takes my hand and spins me around.

Face-to-face with him, I stop dancing and glare. “Not everything is about you, Joel.”

He tugs me flush against him and glowers down at me. “You shouldn’t let him touch you like that.”

“Why not?” I argue, bracing my hands on his hard biceps.

“Because he’s not me.”

“Thank God for that,” I snap. I push at him, but since Joel is immovable, I end up stumbling back a step.

He snaps right back at me. “You don’t even like him.”

I laugh in his face, and he stiffens. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetie,” I cup his cheek in my palm, giving him my sweetest smile, “but I never actually care about
any
of the guys who touch me.” His eyes harden, and I’m not sure if they’re burning with jealousy or if it’s just plain anger, but either way, I’m feeling reckless and plan to throw fuel on the fire.

Joel walks away from me just before Cody returns with drinks in his hands, oblivious to what just happened. I take mine and gulp it down. Then I toss the plastic cup to the floor and spin around, pressing my ass against Cody’s groin and grinding my way down his body to the beat of the music. Now that I know Joel is watching, I plan to give him a show.

By the time the lights cut and Cody has to head backstage, I’m pretty sure I could audition at any strip club in town and instantly be hired as their star attraction. I don’t even need to buy stripper clothes, because I already have a whole closet full of them at home.

I’m slowly making my way back to the bar when Leti materializes at my side and falls in step with my boots. “What the hell was
that
about?”

I chuckle and give him a big smile, hooking my arm in his. His skin is as hot as mine, so I’m guessing we’ve been sharing the dance floor. “Just having some fun.”

“You don’t even
like
Cody.”

“But he likes me,” I reason. “And besides, Joel was watching.”

Leti frowns. “I hope you know what you’re doing . . .”

Really, I have no fucking clue, but I smile like I do and Leti drops the lecture. When we get to the bar, he has a hot guy waiting for him, so I release his arm and slide onto a stool next to Rowan.

“
Cody
, Dee?” she says, her nose scrunched like his name leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She’s wearing one of my dresses—a slinky dark blue number that flatters her every curve—but she insisted on wearing flats with it and all my energy had already been expended persuading her not to wear leggings.

I shrug. “He wasn’t a half-bad dancer.”

“I think you mean ‘molester.’ ” Her brows are pinched tight over blue eyes flooded with judgment. “That was just disturbing.”

“Joel was jealous,” I explain, smiling as I take a sip of my drink.

My reasoning does nothing to wash the disapproval from her face. “Was it worth it?”

I nod emphatically. “So worth it.”

After three more drinks, I’m sitting at the bar swooning over Mark, the volunteer firefighter Leti is flirting with. “You two are perfect for each other,” I insist, feeling the alcohol pumping through my veins like caffeinated cocoa. “You should make gorgeous babies together.”

Leti and Mark laugh, and Leti takes a sip of Mark’s drink. They’re both shamefully gorgeous. Leti, with his golden ombre hair and his stunning golden eyes. Mark, with his dimpled cheeks and thick lashes.

“You’re pretty fantastic, you know that?” Mark says, and I fall for him a little more.

“I
do
know!” I insist, motioning with my hand and nearly spilling my drink. “Thank you!”

Rowan takes my cup so I don’t splash everyone. “Let’s head backstage.”

“Do you see that guy up there?” I ask Mark, ignoring Rowan and pointing to the stage with my entire arm.

“You mean the one you were dancing with?”

“No. The douchiest one up there. The one with the douchey hair and the douchey smile. The one that thinks he’s sooo hot.”

Leti laughs, and Mark scans the stage.

“She means the guy with the mohawk,” Leti clarifies, but I fail to see why any clarification was needed.

“Yeah. What about him?” Mark asks.

“
He
doesn’t realize how fantastic I am.”

“Well then
he
doesn’t deserve you,” Mark says, pulling a long curl over my shoulder.

“You really think so?”

“That’s what we’ve been saying this whole freaking time!” Rowan objects.

I glare up at the stage, my hazy vision locking on Joel. He’s smiling down at the front row, his blond spikes and white teeth shining under the bright spotlight showering golden rays all over his golden body. “
He
needs to realize that,” I explain.

If Joel knew he didn’t deserve me, there wouldn’t be a problem. The problem is that he thinks I don’t deserve him. He thinks I’m just another girl.

I tear my gaze away and give my attention back to Leti and his firefighter. “Do you guys want to come backstage?”

Mark smiles at Leti. “I think I’d rather get another drink. What about you?”

“See you tomorrow,” Leti tells me, and I giggle when I receive his message loud and clear—I was going to be his ride home, but it looks like he no longer plans to go home tonight. I wink at him before hooking my arm in Rowan’s and using her for support as we make our way away from the bar.

Backstage, I watch the band while dutifully keeping my eyes off of Joel. I can feel him watching me, and Rowan tells me he keeps looking my way, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of even glancing in his direction. Instead, I watch Mike beat life into his drums, I watch Shawn shred his guitar, I watch Cody compete for attention, and I watch Adam play up the crowd. He has an amazing voice, but he’s an even better performer than he is a singer. He knows exactly what to do to get the crowd riled up, building the energy in the room until it’s buzzing like a shaken-up Coke bottle. With his shaggy brown hair, his braceleted wrists, and his black fingernails, he looks every bit the bad boy—and every bit the type of guy I never would have imagined my best friend playing house with.

The way he looks at her every time their eyes meet . . . I’ve never been looked at by a guy like that. It’s like he’s showing her his heart, like he’s telling her it belongs to her and no one else.