Micah's nostrils flare in irritation, and he pushes off the door, storming down the hall and knocking a plant off a stand on his way. The vase shatters, but he doesn't stop, heading for the staircase and leaving me gaping behind him.
Tobias watches him go, shakes his head, and then pushes the door open, leading me into a huge master suite with a balcony view of the ocean. It's … “like a palace,” I whisper, and I see his lips twitch in a smile. We step out onto the porch, and I lean on the railing, gazing out across the water. “I thought you guys did everything together?” I turn to look at Tobias, but his face is already shutting down.
“Not everything,” he says, and then he offers up a tight smile. “The room is yours for as long as you want it. I'll let my mom know you're here. My dad isn't showing up until Monday, but if you want to stay for Christmas …”
“I'm going to see my mom,” I say, feeling dizzy with fatigue. My eyes seem to be closing of their own accord. All of a sudden I'm being lifted in the air, and I let out a small squeak of surprise as Tobias scoops me off my feet. He deposits me on the giant king bed, the gauzy curtains billowing around behind him in an ocean breeze. “Are you really going to keep teasing me when we get back to school?”
“Maybe.” He smirks at me and moves around the end of the bed, pausing one last time to salute me. “Night, Chuck.”
And then he leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
Within minutes, the sound of the ocean lulls me to sleep, and all I dream about is a girl with long dark hair and an enigmatic smile.
Who was she … and why won't anyone talk about her?
The ocean puts me to sleep, and the sunrise wakes me up at an ungodly hour. I climb out of the huge bed (it's actually way bigger than a king, definitely a non-standard size), and I take out the new dress the twins bought me, slipping it on and brushing out my hair. Before I head downstairs, I take my contacts out—sleeping in contacts is not good, not good at all—and slip on my glasses.
I'm so freaking thirsty, I'm not even nervous about being in the McCarthy mansion. I will wander around until I find something to drink, damn it.
There are people sleeping off their drunk everywhere, on the floor and the couches. It takes me a bit of meandering, but eventually I make it to the kitchen and find Micah shirtless and eating cereal from a giant silver mixing bowl.
“Oh come on, Toby,” the girl on the counter whines, reaching out to fiddle with his hair. He ignores her, leaning his hip against the kitchen island and watching me as I walk into the room. Why the fuck is she calling him Toby? First off, that's not Tobias, that's Micah. There's not even a split-second of doubt in me when I meet his eyes.
He flashes me a naughty smile, and then licks the milk from his lips. Yep, definitely Micah.
The girl turns to look at me, pushing back green-streaked dark hair as she narrows her eyes like I'm the enemy. I will never understand that mentality, girls pitting themselves against each other. Pretty sure she thinks I've come to steal him away.
Funny that, considering I’m damn near positive he’s just going to do whatever the hell he wants anyway. Neither she nor I have any control over that.
“Good morning, Chuck,” he says, snapping the ck sound off with a sharp smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Actually, I slept great.” I slide onto the stool next to him, and he pushes over the milk and box of cereal. There’s a stack of clean bowls, and a pile of spoons next to them. Most of them don’t look made for cereal. In fact, one of them looks like a pie pan, but that’s okay. I’ll take it. “Somehow the sound of the ocean makes everything seem … better.”
“Mm.” Micah doesn’t respond, shoveling more cereal into his big, stupid mouth while the girl watches us.
“Toby,” she pleads again, trying to snag his attention. Something about her tone just bothers me, and I turn around to glare at her.
“This is Micah, not Tobias.” I can see Micah’s eyes widen at that statement, and I spin back around to pour my cereal.
“Are you stupid?” she snaps, and Micah’s gaze narrows in irritation. “Don’t you think I know who I’m talking to?”
“Clearly not,” I reply with a shrug, filling the bowl with milk and taking a bite of the chocolate coated flakes. It’s more dessert than breakfast really—my favorite. “This is Micah.”
“Tell her,” the girl spits, but I don’t bother to turn around and look at her again. I know I’m right. I don’t know how, but … I just know.
“She’s right,” he replies, pausing as his brother moves into the kitchen, looking sleepy and mildly irritated. “Hey, Toby, Chuck the Secret Girl knows how to tell us apart.” Tobias cocks a brow and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“How?” he blurts, but I just grin and keep eating my breakfast. There's no logical explanation for it; I just do.
“Wait, you're Micah?” the girl on the counter asks, pointing at the twin in question. She glances between the two of them and then shakes her head. “No wonder Amber wanted to date you both at the same time; there's no way to tell you apart.”
Micah slams his metal mixing bowl on the counter as Tobias squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain.
“Get out.” Micah looks at the girl with an expression that brooks no argument. He's dead serious. If she doesn't go, it looks like he's willing to make her.
“What?” she asks, sitting there in an oversized t-shirt and panties. It's hard for me not to get the wrong idea about what might've happened between her and the twins last night. A snake of ugly jealousy unravels in my stomach, and I take a huge bite of cereal to wash it down. “What are you talking about?” Her nervous laughter tells me she's just not getting it.
“Get the fuck out.” Micah points in the direction of the front hall. “There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out.”
“You can't be serious? I bring up Amber, and I just get the boot?”
“Out. Now.” Micah pushes off from the center island, walks over to her, and grabs her by the hips, dragging her off the quartz counter top. He sits the girl on the floor, and then turns her around by grabbing her shoulders. “Goodbye, Emma.”
“It's Emily,” she says, but he's pushing her out of the kitchen.
“Your friends can bring your stuff out to you, and you can change in the pool house. Don't ever let anyone tell you I'm a heartless bastard.”
“You're a fucking prick, and I don't even care what twin you are. You're both assholes!” the girl shouts once she's around the corner, and I can't see her anymore. “Don't let them fool you, they're bastards.”
The sound of the front door slamming makes me jump, and I raise my eyebrows, digging back into my cereal and pretending I'm not at all interested in Amber, or Micah's weird behavior about the guestroom, or whatever possible relationship the McCarthy brothers have with that Emily girl.
Nope.
Don't care about any of it, not one bit.
“I told you we should've kicked her out last night,” Micah says as he pads back into the kitchen, his shirtless body capturing my attention and refusing to let go. His muscles are lean and tight, and there's not an ounce of body fat on the guy. He's beyond tall, and the way he slinks around reminds me a little of a fox.
“You're right, I'm too nice,” Tobias murmurs with a roll of his eyes, and then in perfectly coordinated sexy slouchy movements, the twins each pick up a box of cereal, pour, add milk, and then lift their spoons to their mouths at the exact same moment.
It's beautiful, like some sort of performance art or something. I'm mesmerized.
“So, where are you off to today then?” Tobias asks, breaking their twin routine again. Micah shoots him a bit of a dirty look, but I can't quite interpret the meaning, so I don't try to.
“I guess … if you can drop me off down the street from my dad's hotel, I'll walk the rest of the way and he'll never have to know I was here. I highly doubt Monica's told her parents that I left in a Lamborghini last night.” Droppin
g my spoon in the bowl, I stand up and head over to the sink to wash it out. Micah stops me with a hand on my wrist, pulling me away from the counter.
“We pay people to do that,” he says, and I frown. Yeah, people like my mom. She's basically spent her entire life working as a maid in either upscale hotels, or super-rich households. She was fifteen when she started, young and pretty, and practically a fucking sideshow for rich men. The thought makes me shiver, and I shake Micah's hand off, turning the sink on and washing my dish myself. “Do you like menial chores?” he asks, and I feel my shoulders get tight with nerves.
I don't want to talk about my mother with them. Seeing her is going to be hard enough. About four years ago, she started disappearing at random hours and coming home completely and utterly out of her mind. When she got arrested for possession of methamphetamine, Dad kicked her out and divorced her.
Since then, things have gotten bad. She still works as a maid, but this time it's for cheap motels in the worst parts of Los Angeles. She's still relatively young—she had me at age nineteen—but she's not so pretty anymore. The drugs have seriously done their toll. That, and when you only show up for work half the time you're supposed to, the fancy hotels and rich households don't want you anymore.
“I have secrets; you have secrets.” I shrug my shoulders. Every asshole has secrets. Sometimes, they stay buried. And sometimes, they pop up like daises and bite you in the ass. “Could one of you give me a ride?”
“We'll give you a ride,” they reply together, and when I turn around, I see that Tobias has also removed his shirt, and they're both wearing matching sweatpants.
Too bad for them: I can still tell them apart.
“Micah.” I point at the brother on the right, using Tobias' spoon and bowl. And then I swing my finger over to his twin. “Tobias. Sorry, but I'm not fooled.”
They blink at me in surprise as I slide past them and head up the stairs to pack my stuff.
This shitty trip is about to get a whole lot worse.
The boys drive me over in the same car again, but this time I sit on Tobias' lap. The tension between us is different, not quite that blinding hot passion I felt for Micah, but a fragile, breakable need that makes me subconsciously wet my lips and wiggle in his lap.
He acts like he doesn't notice or care how close we are, and I let the farce stand. I'm not about to suggest anything, not when I just broke up with my boyfriend of two years last night. And not when I think about Spencer every fifteen minutes or so.
“Thank you guys … for everything,” I say, exhaling as I climb out of the car with my bags. They both look at me from matching emerald gazes, and I try to decide if maybe … just maybe, we might be friends now?
“You're welcome, Chuck the Micropenis,” they say, and then Tobias reaches out with that damn skin marker and slaps a quick dick on my arm before I get a chance to pull back.
“You freaking pricks!” I shout as they pull away, and I frantically dig around in my bag for a hoodie. I'm not about to explain to Archibald Carson, Headmaster of Adamson All-Boys Academy why I have a giant, red penis drawn on my forearm.
Once I've got the sweater on, I head inside and take the elevator to floor six, knocking on the door and then scrolling through my messages while I wait for Dad to answer it.
There's not a single message from either Cody or Monica.
Not one.
They don't even care enough about me to apologize.
With a sigh, I tuck my phone away and force a smile as Dad opens the door with his brows raised.
“Charlotte, what are you doing here?” He moves aside for me to come in, and I scoot past him, depositing my stuff on the perfectly made queen bed on the left. The other is rumpled and has his suit laid out for the day. Dad's still in his pj's.
“Cody and I broke up,” I tell him, spinning around to face him and tucking my hands into the pockets of my new dress—ugh, don't you just love dresses with pockets?—and smiling. “It was necessary. I'm over it. I just … Monica wasn't very supportive, and I felt like I'd rather be here.”
Dad nods, but he doesn't seem entirely convinced.
“Okay, Charlotte,” he says with a sigh. “Look, I was about to call you …”
The blood drains from my face, and I sit down hard on the edge of the bed. No sentence that begins with I was about to call you ever turns out well in the end. My heart starts to race like crazy, and my hands begin to shake.
“What? What is it? It's not Mom, is it?” The way Dad's looking at me, however, tells me that it is, in fact, Mom. “She's not dead, is she?”
“Don't be dramatic,” he chastises which really isn't fair of him. Mom does drugs. She puts herself in dangerous situations. It's been a fear of mine for years. “She's not dead, but I'm taking her today to enroll in a rehab program.”
The air rushes out of me, and I put a hand to my chest, feeling like a deflated balloon. Too many emotions in too short of a time. I'm sort of … numb now. My plan for the last three months was to dig my heels in and stay here, return to my life in California.
Now, all I want to do is sit in that abandoned girls' dormitory and read a book. Pushing my glasses up my face, I give Dad a raised eyebrow.
“Can I come?” The way he frowns answers that question for me. “Why not? You said I could see her for Christmas, but if she's in rehab then I can't see her at all!”
“Don't be selfish, Charlotte. Your mother's making a conscious choice towards her own recovery.”
“I don't understand why I can't just come with you to drive her there,” I start, feeling tears prick my eyes, but Dad's clearly done with the conversation. He grabs his clothes off the bed, and heads for the bathroom. “This is fucking bullshit.”
“I am getting tired of your crass language. It makes you sound uneducated. Is that how you want people to perceive you? As willfully ignorant and uneducated? Because you won't get very far in life, Charlotte.” My mouth purses into a thin line, but there's no point in arguing with him. He makes sure he wins every single one. “Besides, you need to respect your mother's wishes.”
“How so?” I ask, following him a few steps toward the bathroom door. “Her wish is not to see me?”
Dad says nothing, but I can see it written into the lines of his face.
“She asked me to pick her up alone because she doesn't want you to see her like this. It's because she loves you, Charlotte, that she doesn't want you to come.” He heads into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. Meanwhile, that numb feeling just creeps into all my fingers and toes and stays there, even as he walks out the door, even when he comes back, and it holds onto me all the wat back to Connecticut.
January in the Northeast is freaking cold. That brief little stint back in California took away any residual resistance I had to the weather. The big stone hallways of Adamson Academy feel like ice caverns as I shiver my way from the last class of the day to the Culinary Club meeting.
“How long is this damn heater going to be out?” Spencer snaps, slamming some pots and pans on the counter. “Those assholes have been working on it all day.”
“For the amount the school's paying them, you'd think it'd be done already,” Church adds mildly, sipping a cup of coffee as I hip bump my way into the room. His amber eyes catch on mine as I chuck my backpack onto the floor, and pull the new North Face jacket I got for Christmas a little tighter around me. It's the only good Christmas memory I came back from California with.
“That's the problem with you upper crust types,” I say as I pull a cookbook close and pretend not to care that Ranger's watching me with narrowed, sapphire eyes. The twins have been teasing me all day, but it's a light, mild sort of teasing that doesn't really bother me. What sort of game they're playing, I don't know, but it's better than having a jar of spiders dumped on me, so I'll take it. “Those men are out there in the freezing cold busting their asses to fix a boiler system that's been around since the turn of the century. Cut them some slack.”
�
��Wow, you sure came back with an extra bite of asshole,” Spencer snaps, but I keep my gaze focused on the cookbook in front of me. I can't look at him, not after all the daydreaming I've been doing about his kisses. Those turquoise eyes, that silver ash hair, the heat of his hands. “You must've had a good time with your girlfriend, huh?”
“They broke up,” the twins announce as I fling the kitchen door open with gusto. “We witnessed it.” They both hold up their hands and shrug in a placating gesture.
“Actually, Tobias punched Cody, the guy Monica was sleeping with,” I say, flipping the pages and looking for some sort of casserole dish that I can make to stay warm. Now that I know we're actually earning extra credits for this class, I'm trying a bit harder. If I play my cards right, I won't end up in summer school again this year.
“Are you fucking serious?” Spencer asks, and I glance up to see him looking between the twins and me in confusion. “You were all together for break?”
The twins both sigh and exchange a look before turning back to Spencer. When I flick a quick glance over my shoulder at them, I know right away that Micah is the one on the left.
“Our mother works in Santa Cruz.” They point at each other again, and it reminds me of Tweedledee and Tweedledum in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Very whimsical. But then Micah gives a cruel smirk and ruins the illusion.
“How do you think his dad got the job?” He points at me next, and then comes up to stand on my left while Tobias takes up a spot on my right. Tobias flips over to a section on souffles and taps one with his finger.
“Let's cook this.”
“It says difficulty level challenging,” I say, trying to ignore that sweet-tart scent of theirs. If I were the poetic type, I might say they smell like insatiability. Yum. I mean … no. No, thank you.
“Don't be a wuss,” Micah purrs, whipping the book away from me while his brother goes to the fridge to grab the ingredients. Spencer is staring at me like I'm from a foreign planet, and then … his mouth twitches, and he lets this lascivious little smile take over his lush lips.
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