2
"Rosalie. Where-is-my-quad?" I demand through gritted teeth.
"It wouldn't start, so I figured you could just ride with me. But you can take mine. I can head out with Emmett."
"I wanted to stay home and watch Netflix, but you brought me out here, and now I don't even have a rig." I'm being petulant, but she forced me into this, and now I might have a mediocre time if I'm lucky.
"I'm sorry."
I look around at all the riders, splashing through the giant mud puddles that the week of constant rain created, and my bad mood only worsens. There's a bonfire in the middle of the owner of Holes' yard. We don't know who owns the land or the giant house by the tree line. No one has ever met them, and the employees are hush-hush. The site just popped up one weekend, and it became the place to be for country bumpkins.
"Just go on ahead. I'm gonna hang out at the bonfire for a while."
"But—"
"No buts. I'm going to see if anyone is slinging alcohol tonight." I throw my hand up when she tries to argue and stomp my way through the wet sludge toward the fire.
Someone always has something high proof for sale on the weekends. I could use a night of being blackout drunk. Hell, I deserve it. Unfortunately, none of the tenders are out, and I can't find anyone of age willing to share. I'm not about to support a delinquent.
I sit on an empty log and prop my chin up with my hands. I could be doing better things right now. Like folding laundry or scrubbing my kitchen floor.
I'm about to ask to borrow someone's phone—I forgot mine—and order an Uber, if they even come out this far, when you approach me, holding a six-pack of Blue Moon and a big smile.
"Edward," I greet, and my frown automatically turns upside down.
