Writings on the Wall by Goddess A. Brouette

Author:Goddess A. Brouette [Brouette, Goddess A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Goddess A. Brouette
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“I just feel like you’re fucking cheating!”

A roar of laughter comes from the island in the kitchen that we repurposed to play beer pong. Well, vodka pong, because Alejandra is not allowing beer through the front door. The music is on full blast, and I’m almost certain our apartment has managed to fit in over a hundred people. I don’t know these people. Alejandra doesn’t, either, but in order to have a successful party we left Greyson in charge of the guest list.

I lift the red Solo cup to my lips with one hand and use the other to fan my body that is two seconds away from being drenched in sweat. Pro tip: Don’t wear latex to a house party with one AC.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” I whisper-yell in Jerrica’s ear before stepping away from the crowd. The brunette nods as she downs another full cup of alcohol. It’s a task for my tipsy self to push through the ocean of wasted young adults. Once I finally reach the front door, the rush of fresh air smacks my moist skin immediately. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath and shut the door behind me.

“Well, talk about timing.”

The voice startles me. It’s deep, familiar, but a tone I haven’t heard in a while. My eyelids slowly open to a tall figure stepping out of the elevator.

“I brought a gift,” he adds, showcasing the small gift bag in his hand. It feels as if I’ve seen a ghost, yet I don’t want to run from it.

“Xavier?” I blurt, feverishly blinking to see if the alcohol had officially fucked with my head and vision.

“In the flesh.” He takes cautious steps toward me.

All I can do is stare. Did he get more muscular? Or is it just the leather jacket? Must be the jacket. He looks taller now, but I don’t know how much taller you can get if you’re already six-two. It has to be the hair. The worst part about it all is that he looks really fucking good.

“You look—”

“Different?”

He’s so close now that I can effortlessly smell that obnoxious cologne he always used to wear. “No, good.”

“Oh . . . ” My eyes make contact with his scruff-covered jaw that immediately makes me want to melt.

But Bailey, fuck . . . Bailey. Wait . . . We’re just friends, right? Right.

“How are you? Haven’t heard from you since—”

It’s at this moment that it all comes back to my foggy brain. Savannah, the blogs, the woman whose sheets I had been sleeping in, what was said to me, what I saw, what I read. It all comes back in waves and it dawns on me that he doesn’t deserve shit.

“You don’t care how I am.” I step aside from the box that he and the front door put me in.

A look of confusion emerges on his face. He scoffs. “I don’t know where you got that idea. You’re the one who fucking vanished.”

“Oh, fuck you Xavier.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.

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