With a death grip on my arm this time, she dragged me faster down the fairway and straight to the seventeenth hole.
People were everywhere, sitting, standing, crouching. Mansions lined the golf course, exterior lighting showing off their elaborate facades. A large blanket was spread on the putting green near the hole, and bottles of every kind of liquor imaginable were set on it. Small lanterns anchored each of the blanket’s four corners, illuminating the amber and clear liquids. A keg was off to one corner, and an enormous bong in the other. Music played from a wireless speaker, filling the air around us with hip-hop. Every now and again, a shriek or a deep laugh rang out over the music.
Despite my immediate acceptance earlier in the day, I wanted to turn around and leave. I felt less than insignificant in my jean cutoffs and white tank. Taking in the other girls, dressed in designer sparkly tank tops and miniskirts, all I wanted to do was tuck tail and get the hell out of there.
“Hey, Bexley . . . glad you came,” a deep voice rumbled near me, sending chills through me. Of course, the owner of the gravelly, absolutely male voice turned toward Milly. “Aston Prescott,” he said. Just like he had with me, he stuck his hand out and gave his spine-tingling, cocky introduction to my best friend.
She, of course, knew what to do in response, and tucked her hand in his. “Milly Shump.” She said her name with pride, even though it meant nothing to this crowd.
“Nice to meet you, Milly. Can I get you two something to drink?”
“Heya, Milly-girl,” Mike Richards said, interrupting Aston as he came up behind Milly and put his arms around her waist. “Whatcha doing here?” He hoisted her from behind and spun her around, her loose blond waves shimmering in the glow from the lanterns.
“Aston invited Bexley.”
He set her down and shoved his dark hair behind his ear, seemingly searching for the right words. “I would’ve invited you, but I didn’t know if you should come. Know what I mean?”
“Not really, but I’m here now, so you can get me a drink.” Milly looped her arm through his and walked off, leaving me with Senator Prescott.
“That wasn’t weird or anything,” Aston said to me.
“They have a thing. I’m pretty sure it’s on the DL, or at least it was on the DL. Looks like they’re outed now,” I said, glancing at Milly fawning all over Mike.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink.” Aston ignored anything related to Mike and Milly, as if nothing was as important as me. Taking my hand, he led me toward the bar-on-a-blanket. “What’s your poison, Bexley Rivers?”
“Vodka and cranberry?” I eyed the bottles, pretty sure what they had wasn’t the cheap vodka I was used to.
“Coming right up.” He knelt on the blanket, his quads flexing under his straight-leg khaki shorts, making it hard for me to tear my eyes away.
My gaze continue to wander over his bicep peeking out from the sleeve of his white polo shirt as he mixed my cocktail. When he stood again, I swallowed a mysterious lump in my throat. Desire? Lust?
Not seeming to notice, he handed me my drink. “Wait a sec. Let me refill mine.”
Of course I waited. Where was I going to go? I’d been cast in a spell where Aston was the puppet master and I was the dutiful puppet on strings.
He poured a healthy dose of Jack and Coke and stood again. “Cheers,” he said before clinking plastic cups with me and taking a swig of his.
Afraid to miss a moment of this, I took a small sip, forbidding my eyes from leaving his.
Gathering my hand in his again, Aston walked me out onto the golf course and plopped down in the grass, taking me to the ground with him. Although it all felt surreal to me, Aston acted like this was totally normal.
“Are you guys going to get into trouble for this?” I couldn’t help but ask, taking in the party happening all around us. People and noise were everywhere, and I was sure it would be a hefty cleanup on a very expensive golf course. I couldn’t imagine this flying with management.
“Nope. The club and the homeowners would rather us keep our business in the club than cause trouble outside the place. It doesn’t look good for our families or them. So we party here.”
“Oh. You live here too?”
“Yeah, though I’m sort of new. Actually, I used to visit on school breaks, so I caught on quickly to the unwritten rules.”
“New?” I took another small sip of my drink, the expensive vodka burning my throat and warming my belly.
“I thought you would’ve heard. I moved here full-time with my dad. My mom was sick of doing the single-parent thing and shipped me off to live here with good old dad at the end of the semester. Apparently, it was all anyone was talking about.”
“No. Well, I try to stay out of member gossip . . . and I don’t really know anyone who would tell me anything, anyway. But that sucks, though. Do you miss her, your mom?”
“Not really. I was sick of picking up the pieces. My parents divorced several years ago, but she never bounced back. This last time she lost it, decided she didn’t need me around anymore. Said I only reminded her of my dad. She gave me my marching orders—run the company, take all that was owed to me, and get out.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, his gaze drifting over me.
“Wow,” was all I could say, not sure if I was referring to his mom or him. It was just simply wow to me—the concept of having money.
“Yep, wow. So I’m new around here. But I’d much rather you tell me about you, Bexley.” His eyes continued to focus on me, filled with interest and confidence, as blue as the water in the hot tub by the pool.
I shrugged. “I’m new to the club too. Just working here for the summer and making money for school.”
“Where are you going to school?”
“Not too far, just outside Vegas, a small state school, but I’m the first person in my family to go to college.”
He didn’t look at me with pity or like I was a girl from the wrong side of town. Instead, he smiled, almost as if he were proud of me, and I fell harder for this richie dude.
“What year are you?” I asked, sipping at my drink.
“Almost finished. One more semester in college in Cali, and then I’ll be here full time in Reno. Taking over the family biz like my mom wants. Even with her kicking me to the curb, I can’t seem to let go of what she asked. Must be all the horror shows I lived through when it came to her.”
“I just graduated from high school,” I said sheepishly, not knowing what else to say.
“I figured, when you said you were just starting college.” His mouth formed that smirk again, the sexiest one I’d ever seen—cocky and endearing at the same time. “I’d thought I’d be going home to La-La Land for one last summer, but my mom seriously wasn’t having it. It’s all cool, though, because I’m getting down with my dad’s shit life now. Like sweet-talking my stepmom into doing what I want.”
I laughed and took another sip. If he thinks this is a shit life, he should come see where I live.
My feelings must have shown on my face because he said, “Sorry for the bad attitude. She’s just . . . she’s not my mom. Nan’s sort of bitchy to me, but I don’t think it’s me. That’s all I can say. My stepmother is closer to our age than my dad’s, pushing out one kid after another, securing her future with him.”
“It’s fine. I get it must be difficult. But you know, calling her bitchy . . . it’s just not necessary.” I swiped my hand, wet from the condensation on my plastic cup, on my jean shorts, not sure where I came up with the courage to speak up to Aston.
“You know what? You’re right, but I’ll tell you this. She sucks.”
I nodded, not wanting to cause any more waves.
“Let me get you another drink.” He motioned toward my empty cup.
When did that happen?
“Actually, it’s cool. I’ll be the one to drive us home later, so I’m good.”
Recently turned eighteen, I didn’t need any trouble. My mom had sent me to school early, desperate
for full-time childcare, and I’d been fine. But I didn’t think it was a good time to mention any of that.
It was quiet between the two of us for a moment, grunge music now filtering around us.
“Listen, Bexley, this is weird, I know. You’re not supposed to fraternize with the members, and I can tell you’re a rule follower. I’m . . . I’m probably all wrong for you, but I want to take you out for real. Please?”
My heart pounded so hard, I was sure he could see it.
Aston was right about not fraternizing with members, but not everybody followed the rules. Mike had been screwing Milly for weeks—in the family locker room, no less. Up until tonight, their relationship had been secret.
Sneaking around wasn’t really my style, but nothing made my pulse race like the possibility of dating Aston Prescott.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me close, cupping my cheek as he kissed me. Gently, not rough or demanding, but tender. His mouth ghosted over mine, grazing my lip gloss and softly touching my soul.
“Oh. I’m. Sure,” he murmured.
Three little words, and I was a goner.
Bexley
After the party on the golf course, Aston came to see me every day. He’d pop into the back entrance of the snack shack, always toward the end of the lunch rush, most of the time shirtless and wearing black Ray-Bans and swim trunks.
Every single time, he’d say, “Aston Prescott, pleased to meet you,” with a smirk on his mouth and a twinkle in his eye. Somehow, he knew how his confident demeanor appealed to me, an inexperienced girl smitten with a guy with the perceived power.
There was something else to Aston, though, underneath all the heavy armor. At least, I was young and hopeful and believed so.
Over the next few weeks, he took me on fast car rides and out to eat—neither of which were staples in my regular life. We’d sit, staring googly-eyed at each other over spicy Tex-Mex, washing down the heat and lust with Mexican beer. All the while, I dared to dream of this being my reality.
He told me about college, his fraternity, and wild parties. Reaching across the table, he’d caress my hand, his thumb rubbing over mine as he stared deeply into my eyes. The only times his mood seemed to get melancholy were when he mentioned his mom. He’d get angry again over her kicking him out, but his determination was fierce when it came to taking over his father’s company.
If we were in Washington, DC, I’d be the chambermaid and he’d be the president of the United States.
We parked outside one night in one of his dad’s convertibles, in the desert in the middle of nowhere, and he put the top down.
As we were looking up at the stars, Aston turned to me and said, “I’m falling for you, Bex. I didn’t plan on it, but I am. I don’t think I can ever let you go. In fact, I’m not going to. You’re the unexpected surprise I never counted on here, this summer. I didn’t think I deserved someone like you, but maybe I do. And I’m keeping you.”
A meteor shower could have rained down on us, and it would have been less shocking than his words.
Stunned, I said, “It’s just a summer thing, you and me. In a million years, no one would ever think there was a future for us.”
His lips hovered near my mouth and traced a path to my ear, along my cheekbone and coming to rest on my earlobe. “You need to allow yourself to believe it,” he whispered.
We kissed and touched some more, my head and heart muddled.
Desperately, I wished it to be true. Could I believe it? My heart raced at the possibility, but my head ached at the thought of reality.
The divide between our lives was too wide. I’d only met his parents once, and it wasn’t planned. Aston had taken me swimming at his house late one afternoon. We hadn’t gone inside, only taken the golf cart around back and jumped into the pool, cooling off before stretching out in the luxurious lounge chairs. His dad and stepmom strolled into the pool area, fresh off the tennis courts.
“Son.” His father stood looming over our lounge chairs, staring down at me.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Aren’t you going to say hello to Nan?”
“Hi, Nan,” he said to his stepmother, and she held her hand out to me.
“Hi, I’m Nan.”
I didn’t have a clue how to handle this situation. The handshake? Yes. Meeting the parents? No.
My fingers shook as I offered them to Nan. I wanted to run, knowing I should have excused myself like a good little employee. But for Aston, I didn’t.
“This is Bexley,” Aston said, interrupting my runaway brain. “Bexley, this is my dad, Peter Prescott, and his wife, Nan.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I said from my chair. I should have stood, but I was in a bikini.
Absolutely nothing was right about the moment. The only thing I was sure of was Peter Prescott’s disdain for me.
Towering over us, looking down his sharp nose at me, literally and figuratively, he asked, “Don’t you work in the snack shack?”
“Yes, sir,” I said meekly, with no misgivings about my social status. I was lesser than—there was no doubt about it.
“Well, nice to meet you,” he said without another glance my way. “Come on, Nan, let’s go eat. Aston, I’ll speak with you later.”
From then on, I avoided any public areas of the club where Peter Prescott may have been lurking.
And I didn’t believe a damn thing Aston said about keeping me.
Bexley
That summer, we spent more time panting like dogs in heat than anything else. For weeks, we survived on lingering kisses and brief touches. As for me, I was falling in love on borrowed time.
Close to a month after the first party, there was another one on the seventeenth hole, and Aston invited me. Just me. Not Milly.
“That’s up to Mike,” he told me. “I didn’t know they had a thing going when I told you to bring her last time. I kind of broke bro code when I said she could come.”
I sipped my iced tea while standing behind the snack shack, staring at a shirtless Aston with his swim trunks hanging low on his hips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He stepped closer, wrapping his hand around my braid and running his lips along my cheek. “It’s one thing if I want to fraternize and only make time for you. It’s not for everyone,” he whispered in my ear. “There could’ve been another girl there.”
“One who belongs with Mike,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Stop it,” Aston said sharply. “That’s him, not me. I don’t care about that stuff.”
Nodding into his chest, I pretended to believe him, but my heart ached all the same. Deep down inside, I knew we didn’t belong together.
His hand ran down my back and tightened on my waist, gathering me close. “Not me, you hear me?”
I nodded again.
“Say you hear me, Bex. I mean it. I don’t give a shit about anyone else, what they think or do or know. I’m my own man.”
“I hear you,” I muttered into his rock-hard chest.
Sadly, I was falling so deep in love—or lust—I’d started to believe he was right. I’d finally begun to believe there could be a future for us. A forever.
“Good. So later, why don’t you come back with me to my dad’s place and change there? He and the stepwitch went to some retreat in Tahoe, and the kiddies are with their grandma.”
It was the first time Aston had asked me to go inside his father’s house. Up until this point, we’d stolen moments in his car and on the golf course, but what he was suggesting made that all seem like child’s play.
“Are you sure?”
“Bexley Rivers, let me introduce myself. Aston Prescott,” he said, stepping back and offering me his hand. “Making a difference, not carrying on bullshit traditions. I like who I like, just like how I vote. I choose to vote how I want, not how my dad votes, and I vote to like you.”
I smiled huge, could a
ctually feel it spreading across my entire face and swirl around my heart. As my chest burned with an unfamiliar sensation, I said, “Okay.”
“Pick you up here around five?”
“Yep.”
I couldn’t stop smiling.
As promised, Aston showed up outside the snack shack at five, and led me to his car. We drove slowly back to the house, and he grabbed my hand as we made our way down the driveway. Inside the garage, he disabled the alarm and took my hand again.
The house was huge. You could put twelve duplexes like my mom’s just inside the foyer.
Leopard-print wallpaper covered every wall, and the floor was a dark polished wood. Twelve miniature crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, prisms of light bouncing off the crystal table in the center of the floor. I stood there, looking up and counting the light fixtures, my mouth hanging open.
Aston kicked his flip-flops off in the corner and came up behind me. “Don’t get like that. It’s just a big old house.”
His hand wrapped around me from behind and tightened over my stomach, soothing the butterflies hatching in my belly.
“It’s more than a house. It’s practically a museum.”
“Eh, forget it, Bex. Come on, let’s have a drink.”
We went into a kitchen built for a master chef, and Aston pressed his hand into what appeared to be paneling until it popped open. It was a refrigerator—of course. Duh.
“Water, wine cooler, wine, or beer?”
“Water’s great.”
He poured a glass of water and stuck a lemon slice on the rim, then grabbed a beer for himself.
“Cheers.” He touched his bottle to my glass after he handed it to me. “Sit up on the counter, make yourself comfortable.”
I eyed him.
“Come on, hop up.” He patted the bright white marble slab, and when I did as he asked, he wedged himself between my thighs.
“Is this what your house in California is like?”
He laughed. “Nah. My mom got the short end of the stick, thanks to a lousy prenup. She has a small ranch house in Sherman Oaks. It’s definitely nice, nicer than most,” he said, retracting his earlier comment, probably wondering about where I lived. “It’s comfortable and lived in, but my mom spends most of her time in bed, wrapped in a robe, yearning for something she’ll never have again.”
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