“Uh, duh. I’m here because you tossed me in like a sack of potatoes!”

Stiles’ mouth so often lands him ass-deep in trouble, and he cringes at himself now as soon as the words are blurted out unthinkingly. Though he hates thinking about it, he needs to remember that Scott isn’t around to save his neck—a neck that this guy might break, if he keeps hedging through the conversation. Still, he’s uncomfortable with the implications. There’s no way Will could know the real reason he’s attended the party. Even Nancy, whom he has spoken the most to, can only take an educated guess. What if Will has been watching him? Stiles tries to remember if he ever gave out his age…and thinks he may have, so there’s that, at least.

“I was invited by a friend. And being underaged seriously means squat, dude.”