by Erin Watt
“Your snarky little insults don’t work on me, Jordan.” I straighten from the wall. I’m taller than her, and I use it to my advantage. “I fight back, remember? And I fight dirty. So go ahead, come at me. Let’s see what happens.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she parries, but there’s a note of concern. We both hear it.
I allow a vicious smile to spread. “You should be.”
The door to the bathroom opens, and I brush by the two gossipers into the powder room. My hands are shaking and sweaty. I wipe them against my shirt and then stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Astor Park is not my crowd. It will never be my crowd. So why am I trying to change myself to fit in? Even if I dressed exactly like Jordan and wore soft makeup and pretty clothes, I still wouldn’t get the kids here to accept me.
I’m always going to be the trashy interloper.
I use the toilet, wash my hands, and then leave—without changing one thing.
Back in the main room, I survey the crowd. Tonight the football players are the gods. I don’t know if that’s true in other months, if in December, after football is over, the school revolves around the basketball team or the lacrosse team or whatever other sport. But tonight, the rulers are the broad-shouldered football guys. My gaze takes in several. Their eyes meet mine and skip away.
When I look behind me, I’m not surprised to see Reed. He’s leaning against a wall and glaring at every male in the room.
I march over to him. “You said you’d do anything for me.”
“I would,” he says gruffly.
“Yeah? Then prove it.”
“Leave you alone?” he guesses, a resigned look in his eyes.
“Yep. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me, or I swear to God I’ll find the first guy I can and screw him right in front of you.”
Something in my face or my voice must convey my seriousness because Reed gives me an abrupt nod. “For tonight then.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, and then I stalk away.
17
“What’s good?” Val asks when I step onto the porch. She presents me with a bottle of cold beer.
“I can’t find one guy who’ll look me in the eye.” I scan the crowd and spot Easton on the other side of the porch. His hand is on Shea Montgomery’s hip and they’re looking intently at each other. “I guess Reed really did lay down the law.”
“We should go over to Harrisville,” Val suggests.
“What’s that?”
“Local college about thirty minutes away. No one there gives a rat’s ass about the Astor Park social hierarchy.” She pauses. “But I am kinda surprised that anyone is listening to Reed. Word was that the Royals were on their way out.”
I take a sip of my beer before answering. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?”
“It’s not, though. This pecking order is set at birth. Even before. The governor of our state went to Astor. The judges he appoints are guys or girls he went to school with. What prep school you went to matters at the bigger, better colleges. What jobs you get depends on the clubs you belonged to. The more secret and exclusive, the better. That’s why I live with the Carringtons for nine months out of the year. So I can give my kids the privileged start in life that my parents didn’t have.”
“I guess. But you can still be happy without all this.” I wave the bottle toward the party. “I was happy before I came here.”
“Mmmm.” Val makes a disbelieving noise. At my frown, she says, “Were you really happy by yourself? With your sick mom to take care of? Maybe you were coping, but you can’t tell me you were truly, blissfully happy.”
“Maybe I wasn’t blissfully happy, but I was definitely happier than I am now.”
She gives a tiny shrug. “Okay, but the point is still the same. Astor is a smaller version of what we’re all going to face when we’re adults. These jerks are going to run our world unless we do something about it.”
I exhale an irritated sigh, mostly because she’s right. So how am I going to survive? I can’t run away, so I guess that means I have to face these people and deal with them. “If the Royals are on their way out, who’s on the rise?”
“Jordan, of course. She’s dating Scott Gastonburg.” Val gestures to a tall boy leaning against a fireplace mantle.
I narrow my eyes at him. He looks really familiar in his cowboy getup, except the last time I saw him, he didn’t have his jaw wired shut. The last time I saw him was at the club and he was on the floor getting his face bashed in by Reed.
“I can see why they’re a couple,” I say cattily. “She does all the talking and he can only smile and nod. The perfect boyfriend.” I don’t feel guilty at all that Reed broke this guy’s face. Scott said horrible things about me. Not as horrible as Jordan did, but still bad.
Val smirks and drinks her wine cooler in silent agreement. Then she tips her chin toward another guy sitting on the arm of a sofa. “What do you think of him?”
“I have no idea who he is. Nice cheekbones, though.” The boy Val’s referring to has ink-black hair and is wearing a pirate’s costume complete with a dangerous-looking sword strapped to his waist. The gleam off the metal hilt seems too real for a costume piece.
“Right? That’s Hiro Kamenashi. His family’s part of the conglomerate of Ikoto Autos. They opened a manufacturing plant two years ago and apparently have more money than some small countries.”
“Is he nice?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Heard he has a decent dick, though. Hold my drink. I’m going in.”
I grab her wine cooler before it drops to the floor and watch as Val slides through the crowd and taps Hiro on the shoulder. A few seconds later, she’s leading him into the next room where couples are grinding against each other.
I feel a pull in my belly. If Reed and I were together, we’d be in there. Our bodies would be glued together. I’d feel his excitement press against me. He’d hear my desire in the shortness of my breaths and my soft, irrepressible moans.
We’d go outside and find a dark corner where his fingers would slip beneath my shirt and my hands would map out the hard planes of his muscles. And in the dark, away from the crowd, his mouth would seal itself against mine and we would dance away all my feelings of loss and loneliness.
I lied to Valerie. I have experienced moments of blissful happiness. The problem is that the fall off the cliff of joy hurts like a bitch.
I shake myself to get rid of dangerous thoughts about Reed and look around the room again for my Hiro. This time when I spot Easton, he’s leaning against a pillar on the porch and it’s not Shea between his legs. It’s Savannah, dressed in an ethereal white gown. She looks gorgeous but sad, like the abandoned princess she is.
Easton, you dumb shit.
But I’m as dumb as he is, looking for some guy to put my arms around to make me feel better. Well, I already have someone who cares about me and I care about him, too. And I’m not going to let him make another mistake tonight.
“Hey, Easton,” I say as I approach.
He rolls his head lazily toward me. His eyes are completely unfocused. Shit. I have no clue what he’s on, and the boy is nearly a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier. I can’t just drag him off.
So I improvise. “Val found a hottie and I need a dance partner.”
“Not interested.” His hand slides up Savannah’s side until his thumb rests under her boob.
Her mouth is set in a mulish line, daring me to call her out on this.
And I do, because both of them will regret this tomorrow. “Come on,” I urge Easton. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.”
He leans forward and kisses Savannah’s shoulder. He’s done listening to me, if he ever started.
I try Savannah instead. “This isn’t going to make you feel better. They may have the same last name, but they aren’t the same person.”
Her defiant expression wavers for a moment, until Easton draw
ls in a voice loud enough to carry, “What, you’re the only girl we can pass around?”
A few giggles and a gasp put a smile on his mouth. He’s hit his mark, just as he intended. Maybe he’s not so high, after all. He knows exactly what he’s doing and apparently Savannah does, too.
“Fine, screw up your lives. Both of you.”
My hurt expression must penetrate whatever drug-fog he’s in, because his face pales with regret. “Ella—”
I push past a couple of gawking students and run smack into Jordan, who’s drinking a vodka mixer and smirking at me.
“Jealous that your Royals are moving on? Everyone knows you were always just temporary.” With the glass still between her fingers, she flicks some non-existent speck on my shoulder. The icy liquid sloshes over the brim to trickle underneath the neckline of my jersey and between my breasts. “Slumming it is fun for a night or two, but after a while the stench just gets too strong to handle.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” I say tersely, backing away.
“Actually, I’m just hypothesizing, because getting dirty isn’t my thing. Neither is getting wet.”
Jordan smiles as she empties her drink down the front of my jersey.
As outrage jolts through me, my hand shoots out and fists her silk blouse. I drag her to me and rub my wet chest all over her. “Guess we’re both wet now,” I chirp.
“This is a thousand dollar Balmain!” she screeches as she shoves me away. “You’re such a bitch.”
I give her a mean smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Then I stalk off in search of Val before Jordan can come up with another insult. I find my friend in the middle of the dance floor with Hiro’s hands all over her butt.
It takes several hard taps to get Val’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I want to leave. I can’t stay here another minute.”
Val looks reluctantly at Hiro and then back to me. “Okay. Let me run to the bathroom and I’ll be ready.”
Hiro steps forward. “Why don’t I drive you home? I’ve got Tina and her boyfriend, Cooper, with me.”
Val gives me a pleading glance. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I say, but I don’t mean it. I need a friend to lean on. I want someone to hold my hand, brush the hair out of my face, find me a towel. I want to commiserate with someone about what a bitch Jordan is, and for someone to tell me that it’s okay that I don’t like her.
But Val’s my friend and she needs something tonight too, something that I can’t give her. So I offer a reassuring smile and then walk away with the vodka mixer trickling between my boobs.
The crowd doesn’t part for me like a scene in the movie. I have to push and shove past cops, robbers, superheroes, and werewolves. More than a little beer is spilled on or near me, and by the time I reach the front door, I smell like I’ve been dunked in a vat of yeast.
I stomp down the asphalt toward my car. My heel gets caught in a crack and my ankle decides to give way.
Cursing under my breath, I rip off my shoes and finish the rest of the walk barefoot, not even caring that the tiny pebbles stick to the bottom of my feet like little, pointed leeches. When I get to the convertible, I toss the shoes in the backseat and grab the door handle.
Ew!
What is that? My hand comes away sticky. I fumble with my phone in my left hand and shine the screen against my right. There’s something gooey and yellow-ish spread all over my fingers and—are those ants?
Gross!
I yelp and swipe my hand against my jersey, only now my palm is sticky and covered in fabric fibers. Grimly, I shine my phone on the car door. Honey is running down the side of it, and a line of ants swarm around the handle and into the crevice of the door.
With a sense of foreboding, I lean over the top of the open convertible. The phone doesn’t illuminate much, but I see more ants and shiny speckles of what looks like glitter on top of a pool of honey on the expensive leather. The back of the driver’s seat is coated with the same shit.
It’s too much. All of it. This town. These fucking kids. This whole ridiculous life that’s supposed to be so much better than the one I had before because I’ve got a fat wallet. I tip my head back and release the scream of frustration that’s been building since I rode that stupid bus back into Bayside.
“Ella!” Running footsteps pound on the pavement. “What’s wrong? Who hurt you? Where is he? I’ll kill him—” Reed stumbles to a halt when he realizes I’m alone.
“Why are you following me?” I demand. He’s the last person I want to see right now with ants crawling all around my feet, spilled beer drying on my skin, and my hand feeling gross and sticky.
“I’ve been yelling your name for the last five minutes, but you were so lost in your head that you didn’t hear me.” He grabs my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
His hands run down my arms and then onto my hips. He turns me and I let him because I’m so hungry for someone to care about me that even this feels lovely. And I hate myself for it.
I jerk away and stumble against the car door. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine. I screamed because of this.” I flip an angry hand toward the car.
He peers into the convertible, shining his own phone on the mess. “Who did this?” he growls.
“Maybe you did,” I mutter, even as my brain tells me how silly the accusation is. Reed has no reason to destroy my car.
“My dad gave you that car,” he says with an irritated sigh, confirming my thoughts. “Why would I ruin your wheels?”
“Who knows why you do anything?” I answer snidely. “I can’t even begin to guess what goes on in your sick mind.”
He looks like he’s struggling to keep his cool. Why he has any struggle, I have no clue. I’m the one dealing with an ant-infested car while he was cozying up to his ex-girlfriend.
“You sleep with Abby while I was gone?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
I regret it a hundred times more when a ghost of a smile flits across his face. “No.”
Then what were you two whispering about back there, I scream silently. I force myself to turn away and focus on fixing the problem. I don’t need Reed, or anyone else for that matter. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.
I wipe my hand again and then thumb my way to the search engine on my phone. Awkwardly, I type in the word “taxi.”
“Not going to ask me what we were talking about?”
Nope. I’ve learned my lesson. I select the top service and call.
“Yellow Cab, can I help you.”
“I’m at—” I cover the mouthpiece. “What’s the name of this place?”
“Ma’am? I’ll need an address,” the dispatcher says impatiently.
“Just a minute,” I mutter into the mouthpiece.
Reed shakes his head and pulls the phone out of my hand. “Sorry. Wrong number.” He hangs up and sticks the phone in the pocket of his jeans. “Abby was apologizing for hooking up with East. I told her not to worry about it.”
“You should worry about it. Give me my phone back.”
He ignores my request. “I’ve got other things on my mind. Like wondering why my girl is kissing my quarterback.”
“Because he’s hot.” I stare at Reed’s pocket, wondering how I’m getting my phone out of there. My gaze drifts to the left where there’s another noticeable bulge. One that seems to grow as I stare at it. One that I remember pressed against me, hard and hot…
Parts of my body start to tighten and tingle. I clench my thighs together.
“You don’t like him,” Reed says hoarsely.
“You don’t know what I like.”
“Oh, yeah, I do.” Snake quick, he wraps an arm around my waist.
His mouth slams against mine.
I grip his head to push him away, but instead I hold him there. We don’t kiss so much as try to kill each other with our lips and tongues and teeth. His hands dig into my arms
. My fingers gouge his scalp. That steel in his jeans is no longer a memory but a reality, and my whole body rejoices. Oh my God, I’ve missed this. His lips on mine. His warm body pressed up against me. I missed it and I hate myself for it.
I wrench my mouth away from him. “Stop kissing me,” I order.
His lips curve upward. “Let go of me then.”
And when I don’t do it immediately, he kisses me again and his tongue slides through my parted lips. This time his hand is at the waistband of my leggings, yanking them down. I fumble for the bottom of his shirt, seeking his bare skin. Groaning, he hoists me up and my legs somehow close around his waist.
I feel the cool metal of the car hood under my bared butt. Reed’s fingers are squeezing my thighs and the tightness I felt before starts to ache. I thrash under his rough embrace, wanting something, searching for something, reaching for it. But it’s elusive.
His mouth leaves mine to find my neck and then my shoulder. “That’s right, baby. You’re mine,” he growls against my skin.
Yes, I’m his. His…baby?
“No. No, I’m not.” I wiggle out from underneath his body, breathless and ashamed as I frantically tug my leggings up. “You have a baby and it’s not me.”
He stands up slowly, not bothering to pull down his shirt or button the jeans that I’d apparently undone. “For the last fucking time, Ella—I didn’t get that woman pregnant. Why won’t you believe me?”
His voice rings with so much sincerity that I almost believe him. Almost being the key word. My mind suddenly snaps back to all those times Mom begged me to give her latest cheating boyfriend a second chance. He’s changed, sweetie. He’s different. It was a misunderstanding. The woman was actually his sister.
I never understood why she couldn’t see through the lies, but now I wonder if maybe she wanted to believe in love so badly that she convinced herself that her slimy boyfriend was telling the truth, just so she could have someone around.
“Of course you’re going to deny it. What else are you going to say?” I let out a shaky breath. “Let’s just forget this ever happened.”