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My jaw clenches. “I’m sorry for being such a fucking disgrace,” I spit.
Sometimes I want to not give a fuck about what he says. But other times, there’s this part of me that wants to change his mind. That wants to show him and everyone else, that I can be much better than they give me credit for.
“You’re my son, Graham. A Steele. Start acting like it.”
And with that the line goes dead. I stare at the screen of my phone for a second, filled with the sudden urge to crush the device in my hand.
Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the fucking call.
CHAPTER 4
Isabella
Inever should have let Matthew and Maria convince me to go on this stupid trip.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us in the townhouse, Isabella? There’s plenty of room.”
I shake my head and try to offer Janette an upbeat smile. She’s a blonde with light blue eyes and pink highlights in her hair.
“No, it’s fine. I’m good at the hotel. Plus, I wouldn’t want to impose,” I assure her.
She shares a look with the other girl in the car, the brunette behind the wheel. They’re both in front, while I’m seated in the back. I can almost read their thoughts: How typical of Isabella, always distancing herself from everyone.’
I went to college with both of them, and we shared a room in our sophomore year. I guess I could say we’re friends, except for the fact that I’m pretty sure they know next to nothing about who I really am. I made sure they didn’t. Janette was kind enough to offer me the invitation today. Apparently, she and Sasha like to come to Boulder occasionally when there’s an alumni party.
“We should probably stick together in there,” Janette says, looking back at me. “Isa, I know you’re not used to this kind of scene. When we arrive, we’ll go straight for the guys and hang with them.”
I shake my head. No way I’m going to be acting as some kind of fifth wheel. Or even worse, what if one of their “guys” gets it into his head that they’ll have a go at me since I’m alone?
“It’s fine, Janette. You don’t have to babysit me all night. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
She frowns and is about to argue when Sasha speaks up. “You heard her, Jan. She’ll be just fine. Isabella always is.”
That one doesn’t like me much. Which is a shame. In my opinion, I’m extremely likeable.
We finally arrive at the party, which is at a club. The music booms from the inside and I swear I can feel the ground vibrating. I get the sudden urge to turn around, go back to my hotel room, and spend the night peacefully in bed.
But I promised myself I’d let loose this weekend. Possibly do something reckless.
The three of us enter, showing off our IDs at the entrance. Although from my dim memories of my college experience, that never stopped most people from coming in here. The club is packed.
Janette leans down to speak to into my ear, “Send me a text if you need us or can’t find us.”
Sasha already has a hand on her arm, trying to pull her in another direction. There’s a look of irritation on her face. I offer Janette a small smile.
“Thanks. But like I said, I’ll be fine.”
Both women walk away, leaving me alone. I head straight for the bar as soon as they’re gone. What I need right now is a drink. Once it arrives, I turn away from the bar, watching the people dancing. It’s slightly less loud over here because it’s farther from the DJ booth.
I briefly wonder if I should join them. That would be letting loose, wouldn’t it? I’ve never done anything like that before. Sure, I’ve been to clubs a couple of times; I’m not completely sheltered. And I attended a college too far away from home for anyone to have scrutinized my choices during my time here. Not engaging in these activities back then was completely voluntary. While a part of me was worried about the news of anything I did getting back to my family, they also never really held any appeal to me.
But they should have, right? I was young, I should have been having fun. Partying, doing stupid things. I had chances to do it, but I didn’t. Maybe there’s something broken inside of me after all. I’ve certainly heard that from countless people.
It doesn’t take long before I’m approached by someone. A man of average height with shaggy brown hair. He smiles at me and I can literally smell the alcohol wafting of his breath. I fight the urge to wrinkle my nose.
“What’s up, sexy thing?”
I try not to visibly recoil. Seriously? Has he ever gotten a woman by calling her “sexy thing”? I really hope not.
