The Second Move by Wendi Wilson

Author:Wendi Wilson [Wilson, Wendi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

17

If I had to use one word to describe the forty-five minute drive to the party, it would be awkward. Mason and I exchanged a few pleasantries when I picked him up, but a thick silence quickly enveloped us, making the confines of the Chevelle feel tight and suffocating.

I fiddled with the radio but couldn’t find anything decent to listen to, so I turned it off.

“I have a few playlists I can stream from my phone,” Mason offered, his voice startling me as it broke the silence.

“No aux,” I said, motioning toward the radio.

The sound system had been updated from its original 1969 set up, but the stereo was older, sporting a CD player with a six-disk changer and no auxiliary port for music devices. Who even had CD’s anymore? I had plans to replace it, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

The uncomfortable silence fell again and remained until we reached Cypress Pointe. Mason gave me directions to the party, and I found myself a little dumbstruck as modest brick homes gave way to sprawling mansions.

Though I’d lived in one for the last few months, the monstrous homes still left me in awe. As my headlights passed over sprawling lawns and gated driveways, I shook my head. These people were too much.

“What?” Mason asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Which one is it?”

He pointed up the street, and I could see several cars parked on either side near a driveway with an open gate. The telltale pounding of a heavy bass beat tickled my ears as I moved the car closer. I pulled up along the curb, leaving several car-lengths of space between my car and the others already parked there.

“Can’t have any drunk assholes hurting my baby,” I said, running a hand over the dash when Mason shot me a curious look.

He laughed, and the sound trickled down my spine, giving me goosebumps. I clenched my back teeth until the sensation passed.

How could someone I hate so much affect me the way he did? I ordered myself to keep my shit together and stop reacting to every little thing he did like a love-sick teenager. Because that was definitely and unequivocally not what I was.

Josh’s voice rang in my head, spouting that line about protesting too much. Internal me told imaginary him to shut the fuck up.

While I was having that ridiculous conversation in my head, Mason had climbed from the car and jogged around to open my door. I muttered my thanks as he closed it behind me, and I double-checked to make sure the car was locked up securely.

Thankfully, he didn’t try to touch me as we fell into step beside each other. I didn’t know if my nerves could handle it. I needed a drink.

“Don’t drink anything,” Mason said, as if he’d read my mind. “Not unless I get it for you.”

“You think someone would drug me?” I asked, wondering what kind of party he’d brought me to.

“I would hope not,” he said, “but there are people here I don’t know.

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