All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

The Imperial March

GRAYSON

I almost didn't catch that it was her who flew out of Julian's front door. All I saw was long dark hair whipping over the shoulder of a girl wearing the tightest goddamn skirt I'd ever seen.

But then I heard her voice as she swore at herself, and I'd recognize that anywhere. Even if she did sound a little slurred.

Poor girl. That hair of hers kept sliding over her shoulder as she buckled into the bushes, and I didn't even think before crossing the yard to pull it back, holding her long strands out of her face.

"What the—"

She tensed and started to look over her shoulder at my touch, but another wave of vomit had her craning back into the bushes.

"Relax, Adler. It's just me," I said softly, trying not to spook her into throwing up even more.

And I'd be damned if she didn't noticeably relax.

When she finally got everything out of her system, Nessa kept her head bent as she wiped at her mouth a few times. There was a faint groan.

"You good?" I asked.

She mumbled something about shots and tequila and Beau before dropping into a crouch on the ground. It wasn't really an answer, and worry ebbed at me.

"Didn't really picture you being into shots," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "And tequila? You're a whiskey girl."

My whiskey girl.

"Well, I had a shitty week," she complained, talking to the ground. "And Madie's has been even worse." Nessa sighed and swayed slightly, so I put a hand out on her shoulder to steady her. She kept talking. "Thought we'd go out, ya know? Get her mind off things."

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. I hated hearing that the girls had shitty weeks. Especially because I could guess some reasons why.

Nessa suddenly snapped her head up to glare at me.

"Hey, I'm mad at you," she accused like she'd just remembered.

Standing on wobbly legs, she jabbed a finger into my chest before stumbling into me. I caught her by the waist and realized that the scrap of fabric in my hands hardly substituted as a shirt. Jesus Christ. I shifted my eyes away from her strappy top and found her glassy gaze. "I know you're mad."

Her face scrunched up. "Is that all you have to say?"

I shook my head. "No, but now is probably not the best time to make my case."

Nessa scoffed. "Your case for what?"

I sighed. There was no way she was going to remember this conversation tomorrow. But I answered her anyway.

"For how what I said that night at your house did not give justice to how I feel about you, Nessa."

She squinted at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. And then she gave me a little shove—which resulted in me not moving and her tipping backward dangerously before I caught her again. "That's not what I'm talking about," she said.

When I only frowned, she threw a hand in the air drunkenly.

"I'm mad because your asshole teammate said that shit to Madie, and what did you do? Nothing. He was over there making jokes about how Quinton raped her, and you said nothing."

She hissed the last word in an accusation that hit me square in the chest, leaving a dull ache.

"I—"Fuck. I raked my hand through my hair as I tried to figure out what to say. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was shocked, Nessa. But I let him have it when we got back to our room."