Elvendude Read Online Free Page B

one of them flirting with him at the party. One was in a black leather skirt, no top, and had smeared white-and-black Gothic makeup all over Steve's tank top. The other wore some kind of Spandex jumpsuit that might as well have been sprayed on. Steve was nineteen, but the two girls couldn't have been over thirteen.

    Jail bait. The expression carried a stronger meaning for him today. Not just for Steve, but for me too now.

    Wine and beer had stained the charcoal carpet, easily fixed since Steve had already made arrangements for the carpet cleaner to be in the next day . . . or was it today? It didn't matter anymore. It was summer vacation. Reality be damned.

    He knew there were others at the party, and chances were they were in different places throughout the house, under beds, in beds, probably screwing this very moment. Suddenly he was glad he was the first one up— is it really one in the afternoon? —because now all he wanted was out. Being in the company of people, any people, held little interest. He twisted the cooler open and drank, wincing at the tartness; this one was more wine than the rest. Stronger. His stomach lurched, but he knew that if he could get a few gulps down he would be okay.

    He found what appeared to be his socks next to the couch near Steve's head. A good start. It still didn't explain why he was half naked. That would be a real bitch if I got laid last night and couldn't remember it. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

    His skin stuck to the leather couch, reminding him he had other articles of clothing to find before he could go anywhere.

    A search of the house was beginning to look necessary, though he didn't really want to face any of the people who'd graced his party the night before, mostly because he didn't remember most of what he'd said or done. Whatever it was, it was probably embarrassing. Waking up mostly naked wasn't a good sign.

    His eyes strayed to the contents of the big glass coffee table. Amid the debris of beer cans he saw Steve's glass pipe, a lighter, and several loose rocks of crack cocaine. His mouth watered. He reached for the rig but stopped halfway, remembering his semi-nudity. If he fired up the pipe now, he would have a harder time finding his clothes. Better to wait until he had at least found his pants.

    He glanced out the big bay window that looked over the driveway and saw his red '94 Corvette blocked by a Camaro, a prissy little BMW, and a black Ford Mustang. Four other cars were parked down the drive, between the house and the security gate. What's more, he saw a black crease in one fender of his 'Vette. His blood started to boil.

    "Shit," he said. Not only was he unable to hop in his car and drive away, his car was damaged. By some jerk driving a Ford. He couldn't remember whose car it was, but dammit, he would find out before he left.

    Pissed, Daryl stalked back into the living room, where his companions remained, unmoving, and started powering off black boxes in the entertainment center until the music ceased.

    "Steve, dammit, wake up," Daryl shouted. "Some asshole driving a Mustang dinged my 'Vette. Who is he? Where is he?"

    Livid with rage, his hangover, which had started to subside with the cooler, bloomed in his cranium once again. He stood in the middle of the living room, glaring down at his sleeping friends. They didn't move.

    Daryl smirked as he considered devious ways to wake them, all of them involving ice water. His ears rang in the sudden absence of noise. And still, they didn't move.

    "Okay, Steve. It's time to get up. Time to call the carpet cleaner guy."

    Nothing. Daryl frowned. They must have just crashed. Jeez, how late were they up, anyway?

    He went over to nudge Steve, and froze when he touched his arm. Not only was it white, it was ice-cold. Limply, it fell to the floor. Daryl reached for his wrist, started feeling for a pulse, though he wasn't sure exactly where it would be. When he couldn't find a rhythm