Queen of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  “Yes, yes, Harper Hastings,” I mutter, not appreciating the direction this conversation has swerved in.

  Alyssa folds her arms across her chest as a smug smile twists her lips upward. “Harper Hastings is only the beginning, my friend.” She arches a brow. “Need I continue?”

  Silently we glare before I fold like a cheap house of cards. “Fine, I’ll change.” I straighten before scooping up the skirt and top and shaking them at her. “It’s only because I love you and you’re my best friend that I’m even willing to step foot next door.”

  An angelic smile spreads across her pretty face before she blows me a kiss. “Love you, too. Now kindly move your assets.”

  “An hour,” I remind. “That’s all you get.”

  Looking unconcerned, she waves a hand. “No worries, that’s more than enough time to work my magic.”

  What she means to say is that it’s more than enough time for Colton to ignore her, all the while hooking up with another girl. Part of me almost wishes he would sleep with Alyssa. Maybe then the rose-colored glasses would come off and she would realize what a douche the guy is.

  In one fluid motion, the stained T-shirt is stripped from my body and replaced with the shimmery gold tank. Then I slide off the comfy shorts I’ve been lounging in and yank on the tiny rectangle of material that doubles as a skirt.

  I step in front of my floor-to-ceiling mirror that’s propped against the wall and stare at my reflection before attempting to tug the skirt further down my thighs, but it’s useless. There’s not a spare inch of material to be found.

  What the hell was my mother thinking when she picked this up? Was she mistakenly shopping in the toddler section? That’s the only reasonable explanation.

  I turn around and bend over, touching my toes before peering over my shoulder to the mirror. It’s as I suspected. My thong is on full display. Actually, it doesn’t even look like I’m wearing underwear since the material is wedged between the crack of my ass like dental floss.

  Lovely.

  Not to mention uncomfortable.

  “Is there a second option to consider?” My gaze slides to Alyssa’s in the mirror. “One where my ass isn’t hanging out?”

  “’Fraid not. I’m seriously loving the whole—is she or isn’t she wearing panties guessing game you’ve got going on.” She winks. “Play your cards right and maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

  I narrow my eyes as my lips thin. “Believe it or not, I’m perfectly content being unlucky.”

  “That, my dear, is only because you don’t realize what you’ve been missing.”

  “Heartache, STI’s, and the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy?” I flutter my lashes and smile. “You are so right.”

  Ignoring my comment, she tosses a pair of gold sandals at me before sliding her feet into black leather ones that strap up her legs, giving her that whole Grecian goddess vibe. She looks amazing. But then again, when doesn’t she? Alyssa has long blond hair and dark blue eyes. Her skin has a natural sun-kissed glow that darkens under the summer sun.

  It almost offends me that Colton refuses to fuck my friend.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  “Ready to go?” she asks, checking her reflection in the mirror one last time.

  I slip the sandals on before rising to my full height. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Five minutes later, we’ve traversed the lawn and are walking around the side of the Hollingsworth mansion. All sixteen thousand square feet of it. Needless to say, Archibald has turned ambulance chasing into a lucrative art form.

  With every step we take, the sound of drunken laughter and the pulsing beat of music grows louder, assaulting our ears. As soon as the party comes into view, I wonder why I let Alyssa talk me into this.

  It’s complete chaos.

  As much as Alyssa would like to convince you otherwise, I’m not a complete dud. I like to party as much as the next girl. But Beck enjoys taking his antics to the next level. He’s not content to have a low-key get together where people sit around and chill.

  This party is moments away from becoming one of those teen movies where all hell breaks loose and the host wakes up naked the next morning in a dumpster five states away next to a goat.

  Over to the left, a few people are holding a guy upside down while he performs a keg stand.

  Chants of—chug, chug, chug permeate the air.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if one of these drunken idiots is found floating face down in the pool come morning.

  It begs the question of why Beck’s parents would leave him alone without supervision. He might be eighteen years old and technically an adult, but he needs an adultier adult to keep him in check. Someone who can put the kibosh on his hijinks.

  Good luck with that. His older brother, Ari, is out of the country for the summer.

  Archibald and Caroline, his parents, must have realized this was inevitable. Every time they go out of town, Beck throws a huge bash. Depending on the amount of damage, he gets grounded anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. The threat of consequences—hell, actual consequences being enforced—are in no way a deterrent.

  Believe it or not, before our parents left town for a long weekend in New York, Archie asked me to keep an eye on their son. His actual words were—make sure no one dies.

  As if I exert that much control over Beck?

  Yeah, right. Beck doesn’t listen to anyone, let alone me.

  Exactly what am I supposed to do?

  Tattletale?

  Facetime his parents so they can get a first-hand glimpse of the ensuing pandemonium?

  As much pleasure as that would give me, it’s not going to happen. I might be a lot of things (a rule follower and a goody-goody, if you listen to Beck) but there are lines that can’t be crossed and snitching is one of them.

  This will be one more antic Beck gets away with. I suppose that’s the beauty of being Beckett Hollingsworth. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than football.

  The Neanderthal sport is his life.

  By the time Beck was a freshman in high school, he’d already drawn the attention of Big Ten college coaches. They couldn’t wait to get him on their roster. If he could have gone straight to the NFL after graduation, he would have. But that’s not a possibility. Players aren’t eligible to enter the draft until after their sophomore year of college. Beck’s father has taken it one step further by insisting he wait until senior year because—and I quote—no damn son of mine is going to be a college dropout.

  Beck will be proof positive that C’s really do earn degrees.

  As my gaze drifts over the thick crowd of glassy-eyed stares, it collides with bright green ones. A little zip of electricity sizzles its way through my veins as our gazes fasten. The muscles in my belly tense with awareness. Once I realize what’s happening, I tamp down the reaction. My life has been filled with a thousand little moments like this one. Moments I like to pretend never transpired.

  For all I know, it’s gastritis from the sushi I picked up at the gas station last night.

  Anything’s possible, right?

  Instead of glancing away, I hold his stare and scowl. What I’ve learned is that it’s better to brazen out these situations than turn tail and run. Beck’s perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth lifts into a knowing grin before he crooks his finger.

  A gurgle of laughter bubbles up in my throat.

  I don’t think so, buddy.

  I’m not like the bubbleheads he usually toys with. I have a working brain and I enjoy using it to make good decisions that won’t come back to bite me in the ass. Unlike Beck, I have a healthy amount of self-preservation.

  I press my lips into a tight line before emphatically shaking my head.

  A wolfish grin spills across his face, giving him a boyishly handsome appearance. With dark tousled hair, sharp cheekbones that scream his Russian heritage, and thick eyebrows, he’s a danger to fem
ales everywhere. I won’t mention the chiseled body that looks like it was carved from stone. Broad shoulders and a tapered waist complete the package.

  It’s almost a relief when a bikini-clad girl steps between us, severing the connection. Now that his sharp gaze is no longer pinning me in place, I’m able to exhale all the air from my lungs.

  Alyssa grabs my hand. “There he is,” she whisper-yells excitedly over the babble of voices and music. “Oh my God, he’s so freaking dreamy.”

  I regard the crowd of newly minted high school graduates before finding Colton.

  Sure, I’ll admit it. He’s as hot as Beck. Instead of short dark hair, he’s golden blond. It’s buzzed on the sides and left long on top, so he’s constantly pushing it away from bright blue eyes. He’s tall and brawny. If I hadn’t gone to school with him since elementary, I’d suspect he flunked a few grades. Even his muscles have muscles.

  Girls are already circling around him, vying for his attention. The guy is like a rock star picking out groupies to sleep with at the end of the night.

  “He’s okay,” I mutter, wanting to downplay his attractiveness.

  “You’re so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown. He’s way better than okay and you know it.”

  “Ewww.” I scrunch my nose. “That’s gross.”

  “Focus!” She snaps her fingers in front of my face.

  I make one last-ditch effort to sway her. “You can do better than Colton. He knows exactly how hot he is and takes full advantage of it every chance he gets. Find someone like,” I stand on my tiptoes and pick through the mass of bodies before zeroing in on the perfect guy for Alyssa, “Landon Mathews. Not only is he good looking, he’s a sweetheart.”

  Alyssa’s expression turns thoughtful as she assesses the tall guy with inky-black hair and unusual blue-green eyes. He’s standing around with a bunch of football players, laughing at something one of them said.

  “He’s definitely yummy,” she admits.

  For one glorious moment, my spirits soar. Maybe she’ll drop this whole Colton Montgomery nonsense and go after someone more attainable. Landon is a great guy. He’s as hot as his friends, but he’s not a total asshat. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get nearly the same amount of hype that Colton or Beck do since he’s been labeled a good guy.

  I mean, who wants to date a nice guy when you can have one who treats you like total crap?

  Said no one ever.

  Except…there seems to be way more truth to that statement than most females are comfortable acknowledging. Whether they realize it or not, these girls have been conditioned to crave unattainable jerks.

  It’s disturbing on so many levels.

  “Added bonus,” I continue, “he knows you’re alive!”

  “Um, excuse me, Colton knows I’m alive,” she grumbles.

  “Are you certain about that?”

  She bites her lip as we glance at the guy in question who is—surprise-surprise—surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad girls competing for his interest.

  Uh-oh.

  Alyssa’s got that look in her eye. The one that tells me not to bother trying to talk her out of her plans.

  She confirms it by saying, “Wish me luck, I’m going in.”

  It was worth a try.

  “Good luck.”

  One of Alyssa’s best qualities is that she’s not a quitter. That girl can be as tenacious and persistent as a terrier. And sometimes, just as yappy.

  In this instance, it’s a negative.

  When she’s a few steps away, I cup my fingers around my mouth and yell, “Maybe you should take off the panties so you can flash him your puss. That way he’ll know you’re a sure thing.”

  She whips around with a grin. “Excellent idea!”

  My jaw drops when she shimmies out of her panties and tosses them in my direction.

  “Christ, girl! I was joking! That was sarcasm!” I glance at the wadded-up material I now clench in my hand. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

  She shrugs. “Keep them as a souvenir?”

  Gross.

  “I don’t think so.” I stalk to a garbage can and pitch them. When I turn around, Alyssa is pushing her way through the crowd, moving steadily closer to Colton and his harem.

  If nothing else, this should be entertaining. It takes a moment to realize I’m alone at a party I didn’t want to attend in the first place. I slip my phone from my back pocket and glance at it.

  Fifty minutes and counting.

  This is shaping up to be the longest hour of my life. Maybe I should head inside and grab a drink. By the number of drunken idiots I’m surrounded by, my guess is that the booze is flowing freely. I maneuver my way through the crowd and into the kitchen before taking in the scene.

  If Beck’s mom saw all these people sitting their asses on her polished-to-a-high-shine marble countertop, she would probably have a conniption. She’s kind of a germ-o-phobe. There’s a half-naked girl stretched out on the island with a lime clenched in her teeth as one of the football players slurps tequila from her belly button.

  I’m no aficionado on hygiene, but that definitely doesn’t seem sanitary.

  A few people greet me as I make my way to the keg and take my place in line. I’m in the middle of chatting with a girl from my French class when she turns an unflattering shade of green and bolts to the nearest bathroom with her hands slapped over her mouth. All thoughts of a refill are abandoned as she pushes her way to the back hall. I really hope she makes it in time. Caroline will be furious if she finds out someone has thrown up on her marble floors.

  Once I have a frothy cup of beer in hand, I head to the patio to check on Alyssa’s progress.

  Am I a terrible friend for hoping she’s already been shot down and has thrown in the towel for the night?

  Probably, but I can deal with that.

  Instead of finding a dejected Alyssa crying in the corner, I’m amazed to discover that she’s clawed her way to the front of the pack. Who knows, she may actually have a shot of getting picked from the crowd.

  This could be a real game changer for her.

  Guess that means I’m stuck here. I look around the patio, searching for a place to park my ass. The Hollingsworth property is about an acre in size, which is the same as ours. The space around the pool is gated with a black iron fence and tall arborvitae that spear into the dark night sky. Toward the back of the gate is an unoccupied lounge chair with my name on it. I’ll hang out there for forty minutes before dragging Alyssa’s panty-less ass back to my house.

  Before I can take three steps, a deep voice cuts through the raucous noise of the party.

  “Well, well, well. Look who decided to make a cameo appearance tonight.”

  I swing around, knowing exactly who I’ll find.

  Beck.

  As difficult as it is, I try not to notice how delicious he looks in plaid board shorts that hang low on his hips, showing off the cut lines of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the waistband. The chiseled strength of his arms and chest are enough to bring most girls to their proverbial knees.

  The operative word in that sentence being most.

  I, however, am not one of those idiotic girls.

  “Coming here tonight wasn’t my idea. I was dragged under duress.”

  “Yeah, I figured you would have better things to do than hang around with a bunch of wasted assholes.”

  He’s got me there.

  “You know me too well.” When my throat grows dry, I lift the red Solo cup to my lips. Before I can take a sip, he snatches the drink from my fingers and brings it to his mouth. I watch his throat constrict as he drains the contents.

  “Rude much?” My fists go to my hips. “What did you do that for?”

  He shrugs. Even though it’s a slight movement, his muscles ripple and attraction bursts to life in my core. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”

  “Excuse me?” My eyes pop wide as lau
ghter tumbles from my mouth. “Are you being serious right now?” I wave a hand toward the drunken mass that surrounds us. It’s not even eleven, and already people are passed out on loungers. “Look around, dude, everyone is shitfaced.” Hopefully, there are a few designated drivers among this group or Uber will make a hell of a lot of money tonight.

  As soon as Beck smirks, I know his answer is specifically designed to piss me off.

  “That might be so, but everyone knows you’re a good girl. And good girls don’t drink. I wouldn’t want the society to revoke your membership. You’ve worked so damn hard for it.”

  My eyes narrow to slits. The attraction that had flared to life so quickly is extinguished by his teasing.

  I hate when he calls me that. And he knows it, which is precisely why he continues to do it. Beck loves nothing better than to crawl under my skin. He’s like a rash I can never quite get rid of, no matter how many steroids I use.

  It’s irritating.

  “I’m not a good girl,” I growl before stabbing a finger at his ridiculously hard chest. “And you are not my keeper. I can drink if I want to.” In a haughty voice, I remind, “I’m the one who was requested to babysit your ass. Not the other way around.”

  He crowds into my personal space. Instead of retreating, I stand my ground. I refuse to let him intimidate me.

  “Babysitter, you say? Hmmm…I could definitely use one of those tonight.” His fingers trace a path down the center of my chest, lingering in the valley between my breasts. “Should we take this elsewhere and you can demonstrate everything your service entails?”

  His nearness does funny things to me and clouds my better judgment. Instead of pushing him away, I’m tempted to pull him closer.

  My body wavers before sanity crashes down on me and I bat his hand away. “Go to hell.”