He grins up at me. “Aw, how cute, hoping to become something someday? Well, look where that gets you; not near drunk enough on the kitchen floor talking to a foster kid. Good luck, princess.”

I bite back my response and stand, pissed that he’s lashing out at me while I’m trying to do the right thing, trying to protect him. I get that he’s hurt, but he’s going beyond trying to break me.

I almost smile.

After all, I don’t need a savior.

I’m my own hero.

I’m alive.

I have food.

A bed.

And while I don’t have friends, since I keep to myself, I have me.

Me is all I need.

It’s all I’ve had until he tempted me with more.

He wants me to change?

Okay. I’ll change my clothes.

I jerk the bottle from his hands, take a giant gross swallow, and hand it back. “Thank you.”

“For the drink?”

“Oh no, for the reminder.” I glare. “That your taste really wasn’t as good as I remember.”

His nostrils flare. He jumps to his feet, we’re chest pressed against chest; his look is a challenge.

One I accept as I stand up on my tiptoes. I run my tongue along his lower lip; he doesn’t push me away; he barely breathes. “See? Nothing.”

I don’t wait for his response.

I simply turn around and walk up the stairs leaving him alone in the kitchen, wallowing in his anger.

One day he’ll know that I was protecting him. One day he’ll feel like shit for being so cruel.

But today?

Today I’m going to remind him who I belong to.

Me.

Chapter Sixteen

Ambrose

I’m already feeling better, could have been that half a bottle of whiskey that I drank earlier, but at least I don’t see MB, and my friends are all at my house partying, something that my parents always said I couldn’t do.

If I hosted a party, it was more like, oh look, we catered and bought sparkling cider and some soda! Wanna watch Avengers again?

I went to other parties and prayed not to get caught, then left early so that I wouldn’t smell like weed and alcohol. The last time I left was when Quinn and I fought freshman year.

Shit, I don’t want to even go there or think about It.

Stupid Hudson, he really can’t let it go; then again, most can’t since nobody talked, but duh, that’s what money does.

I grab another bottle of something and toss it back as music pounds through the house. I have the pool open, the cabanas have several couples desecrating them, and I just ordered nothing but a shit ton of junk food, then took out all of my dad’s old mixers and liquor bottles and set them up.

Honestly, it looks planned.

My mom would flip.

And I hate that my heart flops a bit and then teases me, saying, if I’m no longer perfect, she’ll come back.

I mean anything to save her reputation, right?