Fat fucking chance.

“I guess there’s no harm in a little conversation,” Lucas finally said. The corner of his mouth twitched in something like a half smile, and I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Lucas smiling wasn’t a good thing; it wasn’t because he was thinking happy thoughts.

No, that wasn’t a happy thoughts smile. It was an I’m going to start shit smile.

8

Jessica

“Ugh, God, I can’t believe they showed up here,” Danielle said, her voice low with disgust as she took a quick glance at the four men who’d just arrived. “Remember when they used to be scared to be at the same parties as us?” She rolled her eyes. “Ever since Mrs. Peters took Manson as her little charity case, now he and his friends show up everywhere.”

I nodded along as she kept complaining. The fire was far too warm and my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. I tried to focus on what she was saying, but my stomach was full of butterflies and it was impossible to concentrate.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I kept glancing over at them, those four darkly dressed men with guarded expressions. They knew I was here and they were looking back, watching me with the same caution I was watching them with.

Danielle was right. There had been a time when they never would have set foot at the same party as me or anyone else in the popular crowd. But that was the past, and as everyone had gotten older, the lines between “us” and “them” had blurred. The popular kids and the outcasts didn’t have such a wall between them anymore, but mingling groups inevitably led to conflict.

Not everything could be forgiven and forgotten, no matter how much time had passed.

I was sitting with three of the men who’d tried to beat Manson to a bloody pulp for making out with me. Honestly, it had been so damn satisfying to see them all knocked down a few pegs when Manson scared the shit out of them with that knife.

But Alex, Nate, and Matthew hardly looked scared now. They looked pissed, tense. It was obvious that with Kyle gone, Alex had slid into his place as some kind of unspoken leader. I’d seen enough brawls in my life to know that his simmering tension would likely result in fists thrown.

Excusing myself, I hurriedly got out of my seat and walked away from the fire to rummage for another drink in one of the coolers.

A shiver went up the back of my neck as I was fishing around in the ice, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“Jessica fucking Martin.”

The voice behind me was a harsh whisper, rough with bitterness. I knew instantly who it was.

I turned, bottle in hand, a sarcastic smile on my face. “Lucas fucking Bent. Is that how we do greetings now?”

There was a weight to Lucas’s deep-set eyes that was suffocating, and it only grew heavier when I spoke. He looked at me like he wanted to peel back my flesh and see the bones beneath. He was wearing a black tank top and ragged denim jeans, his folded arms covered with the bold lines of numerous tattoos.