Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Harry Potter and the Room of Horror

Fast forward thirty minutes and I've had two more Jell-o shots and finished off Jared's water bottle. The buzz isn't making me immune to the multiple guys whispering that I'm "the RA girl" ("the naked chick from the photos"), and even Ryan's attempts to distract me from the whispers and stares aren't working. Only two minutes ago I spun on him, asking if he'd seen the photos. He admitted that he had, but only before he realized it was me. When I told him it wasn't, he flashed a sly grin.

"I know," he said. "The chick in that pic didn't have your scar."

It was around this time I realized I was pretty drunk and needed to separate myself from the party for a while.

"Cool with you if I hang in your room?" I ask Ryan. I know he has the entire Harry Potter series up there. Worst-case scenario I can pluck one of those gems off his bookshelf and get lost for a while.

"'Course," Ryan says, giving me a little squeeze around the shoulders. "Let me know if you need anything."

I give him the thumbs up and wind my way through the crowd, which has grown considerably in the past fifteen minutes. I still don't see Sam, or anyone resembling him, though I'm definitely looking. I'm almost at the stairs when a terrible thought crosses my mind: what if they decided to stay in and have sex all night? What if I get home and walk in on it?

I push the nightmare from my brain and grab a full mixed drink from the coffee table, hoping its owner doesn't stop me. A little liquid numbness is starting to feel important.

As I jog up the stairs I decide I've made the right choice. It's quieter up here—Ryan usually keeps the second floor off-limits at his parties—and I cross quickly to his bedroom. The door's closed, which I expect, but it's also locked, which I don't. I knock twice.

"Just a minute," a girl's muffled voice calls.

I knock again. "Not 'just a minute.' No one's supposed to be in this room." Logan Grey, party police.

No answer. I give another knock, harder this time.

"Fuck off!" A guy's voice this time. I'm officially annoyed and I'm preparing to take out all my anger with Sam on this random couple, bringing my hand back to slam on the door, when it opens. I blink hard before stumbling back against the wall behind me.

Sam stands in the doorway, his hair mussed to oblivion, eyes wild. His lips are swollen in the way that I associate with my kissing him. Which means that someone else is kissing him. And I can guess who it is.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam demands, his features hard. I realize with a start that he's shirtless, his belt and jeans undone and hanging low off his hips. My throat goes completely dry.

"Ryan sent me up to make sure no one's hiding out in his room." It's a decent lie.

"Who the hell is Ryan?" Sam's obviously pissed at the interruption and his anger feeds my own.

"He's the person who owns this fucking house, and the one who's going to kick you out if you don't put your clothes on and get the hell downstairs. Now." My voice is a little hysterical. Beth, in the bedroom, asks who's at the door.

"No one," Sam says, moving to close it in my face.

"It's Logan," I say, loudly enough that I know Beth can hear me. "Sorry to interrupt the love fest, but you two need to get out of here."

Sam narrows his eyes on me, his jaw setting in the way that I know means trouble.

"Where's Jared?" He asks finally, emphasizing his name.

I shrug. "Last I saw, he was kissing some blonde chick on the sofa downstairs."

"So you moved onto Ryan?"

"Oh, don't bother," I snap. "Clear out or I'm going to get you both booted from the house. For real."

Sam pretends to think about it. Bracing himself on the doorway, he leans his upper body toward me and my breath catches as his face draws nearer to mine. His lips curl into a grin at my reaction to his proximity, though it's more mocking than anything else.

"I'm not quite finished showing Beth just how cleared up my herpes is." Sam's warm, minty breath kicks my pulse into high gear. "That little gem didn't go unnoticed this afternoon, Grey. And don't think for a second that you're not going to pay for it later."

I shove him back, splashing some of my drink as I do. "I know what the doctor said, Evans," I say loudly, for Beth's benefit. "No sex with blisters. You don't want to spread that shit around."

I drop my voice to a hiss and continue: "I promise I'm not going to be paying for anything."

"Careful," Sam warns. "Don't make any promises you can't keep."

I open my mouth to retort—with what, I have no idea—but it doesn't matter; I don't get the chance. Sam slams the door in my face, locking it again. I bang on it, cursing. I realize I'm acting crazy and, at this point, there's nothing I can do. Maybe Ryan will kick them out, but that makes me look petty. And like I care. Which I...fucking do. Fuck. I pull out my phone and start to type Jill a text before remembering she's on her date with Justin. I redirect, sending an SOS to Spencer instead. He responds instantaneously and I tell him where I am, asking if he'll come get me. Again, his answer comes in seconds. "Party full of hot YP jocks? Count me in." I direct him to my truck keys and send Ryan's address for the GPS. And then, knowing my rescue will be arriving in approximately fifteen minutes, I gulp down the mixed drink in my hand and make my way downstairs for another. Turns out I'm getting plastered tonight.