Starting Position

Chapter 10

The weekend arrived much quicker than I would have preferred. By the time Saturday rolled around, I found myself slamming shut the door of Cambrie's sedan and traipsing across the front lawn of Dillon Jacob's massive front yard leading to his even more massive house. People were already mingling out on the front porch, beer-filled cups in hand, as Cambrie and I walked up the stone staircase.

"Why are we here again?" I asked wryly.

"Because we're twenty years old and you need to live a little every once in a while." Cambrie-- who was wearing a pair of very tight jeans and an equally tight top that left practically nothing to the imagination --grabbed my wrist. It was a comfort. It let me know she had my back.

Night had fallen. The stars twinkled above us as we ducked inside the front door, scrunching past a couple who was glued together. It was already late, and I knew I would be here until much, much later.

Upon entering, I glanced around at the scene before me. In my experience, parties tended to be poorly represented in the media. Instead of crazed, idiotic people flinging themselves between beer, dancing, swimming pools, and the upstairs bedrooms, parties at Dillon's were quite monotonous. While they did contain a fair share of idiots, no one really participated in much beyond drinking beer and chatting in groups against the recycled garbage blasting from the sound system.

I wasn't complaining; I'd much rather be at this party versus the out of control one. The problem was I had been to this exact party for going on three years, and nothing changed. It was like reliving a dream which was neither exciting nor interesting.

"What's up," greeted Hudson, his cheeks rosy red beneath a mop of blonde hair. "You finally talked some sense into Elliot."

Cambrie threw a long, slender arm around my shoulder, which was a fluid motion, as the four inch wedges strapped to her feet gave her a boost in our otherwise similar heights. "I think the person that needs some sense talked into them is you, Hudson. What the hell are you eating?"

Cambrie had a point. Wrapped inside Hudson's hand was what, at first glance, appeared to be a sandwich, but on closer inspection, wasn't exactly so. There were two pieces of bread, but that's about as far as the classification went for a sandwich. Inside the two slices were what looked like potato chips, brightly colored candy, and some sort of sauce dripping along the edges.

Hudson grinned. "You like that? I call it the Hudson special."

Cambrie frowned sourly. "Good luck tomorrow morning."

"I can make you one," offered Hudson, taking a deep bite out of the peculiar concoction.

"I'll pass." Cambrie shot me a disgusted look suggesting she was wondered why we associated with people like Hudson. I often found myself wondering the same thing. But, before this thought could cultivate any further, a guy with neat brunette hair and a chiseled face suddenly appeared next to Cambrie.

"Hi," he said, his voice practically smoldering. "You're Cambrie, right?"

Precisely then, I knew the next sequence of events. This specific scenario had happened many times over. Cambrie was beautiful: tall and athletic, with warm chocolate skin and sleek black hair. She also had an alluring pull, one that often lent to men granting her much attention. It accounted for the many boyfriends Cambrie had obtained over the years. And this guy, whoever he was, was about to give it his best shot.

Cambrie loved every minute of it. She thrived on the newness of relationships and the chase, and because of her magnetic appeal, she was the one being sought out, not the other way around.

"And you are?" she asked with her sugary sweet voice. That was all it took. The guy was already in her web. Not that I blamed Cambrie; he wanted to be caught.