“That's a hell of a coincidence,” Micah says, polishing off his third cookie and heading for a fourth. Ranger just stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed, listening to the conversation. Things have been a little weird between us since the double naked baking incident. I've noticed he's been avoiding his frilly aprons a bit, too. Not cool. We need to work out all this tension. And, really, I mean, there's only one way to work it out.
“Truly. There are only two dozen students who've ever shared that sort of lineage in the history of the school.”
“Between Everly and Adamson, is there anyone else that fits the bill?” Ranger asks, but Church just shakes his head. Damn.
“Other than Selena’s brother, Gareth, no. Nobody else but you.”
“Me?” Ranger asks, wrinkling up his nose. “That shit must be from my dad’s side of the family then. I feel like my mom would’ve mentioned it. Does that mean it’s a dead lead?”
“Maybe.” But Church doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“There are most definitely three attackers,” I say, scrubbing my hands down my face. We only have about fifteen minutes before our first appointment of the day arrives, unfortunately, so this is our last chance to talk this over as a group today.
I feel a little niggle of frustration when I hear a knock on the door. It's still locked; we don't bother unlocking it until about five minutes before the first meeting. With a sigh, the boys brush the crumbs off their uniforms and disappear into the meeting room, leaving it cracked behind them, just in case.
What I don't expect to see when I open the door … is Aster Hayes smiling back at me.
“What is this crap about more girls coming to the school?” I snarl, storming into my dad's house without bothering to knock. He looks up from the dinner table with an almost bored facial expression, waiting until I come around the corner to see the rest of his dinner guests. “And postponing the Student Council elections just for them? That’s total toilet water.” Should’ve said bullshit, pretty sure toilet water is not a commonly used phrase.
Girls.
Three girls.
Aster being one of them.
She'd just stopped by the Student Council room to introduce herself today.
And to announce that she, too, was actually going to be running for Student Council President.
What. In. The. Actual. Fuck?
“When I told you that I'd be treating you as a headmaster would instead of a father—at your request, I might add—I was serious. Bursting into my home unannounced is worth a write-up, at the very least.” I just stand there fuming, looking between the three confused faces sitting around my father's table while Ranger guards my back, waiting just outside the open front door. “Girls, this is my … son, Chuck Carson.”
“Pleased to see you again, Chuck,” Aster says, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind one of her ears. She glances down the length of the table toward my father, her other hand poised on a fork that's currently resting on a plate of tri-tip, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. That's, legit, like my favorite meal, and Dad could barely be bothered making it for me, but he can make it for three strangers?! Three new guinea pigs to do his bidding.
I'm furious.
“We met at the Valentine’s Day dance, as well as in the Student Council room today,” Aster explains, smiling prettily. The other girls smile at me, too, and one of them even blushes and bites her lower lip. Spencer and Ranger act like I make such an ugly guy, but apparently, I don't have a ton of trouble getting female attention.
“Ah,” Dad says, eyeing me with no small amount of displeasure. “Well, you'll be sorry to learn then that Chuck is now engaged to our current Student Council President, Church Montague, and is presently off-limits.” His voice is as dry as sand and twice as grating. We glare at each other for a moment before he pushes away from the table. “Excuse me for a moment, ladies.”
Dad carefully folds his napkin and heads in the direction of his office, fully expecting me to follow. For once, I actually do. But mostly just so I can yell at him and try to get to the bottom of what's going on here.
I pause briefly to move over to the screen door and gesture for Ranger to step inside for a minute. The boys and I have been rotating partners, so that nobody is ever alone, not even when they're showering. I mean, nobody quite shares a shower stall the same way that Spencer and I did that one time, but …
Ranger moves into the dining room, and all three girls exchange looks. Yeah, yeah, I know he's handsome, but he hates most people, and you wouldn't understand the naked baking thing the way I do.
“Go talk to your dad, Chuck,” Ranger whispers in my ear, this big, intimidating presence over my shoulder that I've come to really like. It's comforting, having him standing there, like I know I've truly got someone that's willing and able to watch my back. “And let me deal with the girls, okay? They're nowhere near as cute as you, and you know how much I like cute things.”
My cheeks flush, but I refuse to give into the compliment.
“I thought you said I made an ugly guy,” I whisper back as I turn to look at him, well-aware that the girls are staring right at us. Ranger's sapphire eyes sparkle, and the edge of his mouth quirks a bit. Not into anything as obscene as a full smile, but close enough for him. His sugar, vanilla, and leather scent wraps around me, briefly knocking the common sense straight from my head.
When he captures my chin and leans in close, the girls squeal.
“Oh my god, they're having an affair,” one of them whispers, sounding far too excited about her discovery.
“While she's wearing the Student Council President's ring and everything!” another gushes, grabbing onto Aster's arm. Her green eyes twinkle excitedly as she grabs her friend right back.
“It's like a yaoi come to life,” she breathes, and Ranger rolls his eyes. Yaoi is the name for a genre of Japanese comics and TV shows featuring guy-on-guy action, but intentionally made for women to enjoy.
“Our love isn't for the female gaze,” Ranger snaps, and then he kisses me hard and fast, spins me around and pushes me in the direction of my father's office. It occurs to me as I stumble away that we've just had our first kiss. I feel drunk as I slip into the room and put my back to the door, pushing it closed.
“Did you come all the way up here just to act like a fool in front of my guests?” Dad asks, and it takes me several seconds of blinking to clear my head. Ranger is … such an unexpected treat, isn't he? He always said I was ugly in my glasses and baggy uniform and mussy hair, but he thought I was fucking cute.
“Huh?” I ask, blinking again to clear my vision and staring at Dad, sitting behind his desk like he thinks the big, old wooden antique is some sort of shield against me and my ridiculousness. “No, I … Why wouldn't you tell me you were planning on adding more girls to the school?”
“I've been working on this all summer, which, you might've known if you'd been willing to have a conversation with me. Everly and Adamson are working on an exchange program to test the waters. We're sending three boys to them, and vice versa. But we can't bring the girls over until they have a proper place to stay. We plan on starting them here during the second quarter, after the girls’ dorm is cleaned up and ready.”
“I see.” I can't decide if I should be angry, relieved, whatever. “What about Jason? What about Eugene? What about Jenica? I saw a dead body in those woods, Dad.” I look him straight in the eyes, and for the first time, I realize what all his anger is about. He's afraid for me. “Where is Mr. Dave?” I decide to ask, and Dad blinks back at me a few times, like he's surprised by the question.
“He had the flu, but he'll be back on Monday,” he says, and this time, it's my turn to look surprised.
“You've spoken with him recently?” I ask, because we haven't seen nor heard from Mr. Dave since the, err, stabbing incident. At this point, I've been choosing to trust Church, despite the evidence. I'd love to get Mr. Dave's point of view from that fateful morning. And isn’t it interes
ting how he never reported the attack to anyone? Not my dad, not the police.
“Just this afternoon, why?” Dad asks, standing up from his desk. He's decidedly calmer today than he has been since I called him a boomer. Heh. I mean, he's technically Gen X—I think—but you can call anyone a boomer that's acting like an asshat. Every Millennial and Gen Zer worth their salt in online slang knows that.
“No reason.” I pause, wondering if I should tell Dad about Mr. Murphy and the notes. But there's just something about the way he's been acting since we got to Adamson that makes me suspicious. I think about Ross’ casual mention of Mr. Dave and Mr. Murphy praising my father for sending me back to California.
A thought forms in my mind, and I shift nervously in place.
“I have to go,” I say, turning toward the door.
“Not until you sign this write-up,” he says, and I groan. Three write-ups is suspension. Seven is expulsion. Not good. I take the stupid thing and head back to the dining room where Ranger's still waiting for me.
“I just need to grab something from upstairs,” I murmur, bouncing up the steps and then creeping down the hall to my dad's room. His phone is where it always is, resting on the nightstand next to the bed, plugged in and charging. I could take it, but he'd know right away that it was me. Instead, I check to see if he still has the same pin code to get in and curse under my breath when it doesn't work. I try a few more combinations, including his birthday, my mom's birthday, their wedding anniversary. Nothing. Instead of wasting anymore time on it, I look through his closet real quick, his bathroom.
But there's nothing.
Some sleuth I am. In movies, don't characters like, have random revelations, and all the clues just fall into place? Why can't that happen for me?
Instead, I decide to quit while I'm ahead, moving into my room to grab a few extra jackets from my closet—stupid northeast autumn. It feels like it gets colder every damn day. When I step into the room, I see a set of girls' uniforms on the bed, three different styles with varying lengths of skirt, color combinations, and ties.
He must be trying to decide on a uniform for the new students, I think, stepping up next to my bed. The one thing they all have in common is a champagne colored blazer—meant for a senior. On a whim, I grab a uniform set, wrap it up in my coat, and then head downstairs and out the door before Dad can see or stop me.
I never wanted to attend Adamson as a girl.
But now that there are other girls preparing to come here?
It feels like a challenge.
Okay, that’s it.
I’m going to do it.
I’m going to attend Adamson in a fucking skirt.
Wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.
“You’re really going to do it then?” Ranger asks as he walks me back toward the dorms and I show him the uniform I just stole. It looks like it might be a bit tight in the chest, but compared to the bindings, I’m sure it’ll feel like the girls are a’bobbling around in the wind. “Go as a girl?” He gets out a cigarette, cupping his hand around the flame of the lighter as he tries to get it burning.
“I … think I am,” I say, furrowing my brow as I hold the garment bag up and then sling it over my arm. Ranger offers to take it for me, and I pass it over with a grin. “You’re quite the gentleman today.”
He snorts, but doesn’t say much else as we follow the curved path past the main building. It’s dark out, but there are brand-new lights along the path that really help drive back the creepiness from the surrounding woods. Somewhere nearby, an owl hoots and I shiver.
“It’s the least I can do, considering what I almost did to you in that kitchen,” he growls, his sapphire eyes ringed with black liner, the top buttons on his uniform undone just enough that I can see the edges of his Jenica chest tattoo.
“Meaning what, exactly?” I whisper, crossing my arms over my chest and trying not to let the darkness freak me out. Even if the three attackers came on us now, I have a new container of pepper spray in my pocket, next to my replacement Taser (since my original one was lost in the tunnels). And, you know, I also have Ranger. Just the memory of him putting Cody in a chokehold brings me great joy.
“Meaning I was going to throw you over the counter, slap your ass and leave a flour handprint, and then probably fuck you in that apron.” Ranger shivers and my mouth drops open, redness filling my cheeks as he stares down at me.
“I mean … that’s not what I was asking!” I put my hands over my face as he lets out a deep, dark chuckle from beside me.
“You should be clearer next time then,” he says, the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. “Because I could’ve described my fantasies in a hell of a lot more detail than that.”
“I was just wondering why you thought you needed to be a gentleman,” I ask, dropping my hands down as we pause outside the boys’ dorm. There are a few other guys out here, talking and smoking, so I make sure to cover up the uniform hanging over Ranger’s arm with my jacket. “You didn’t do anything wrong that day.”
“It was wrong because we hadn’t talked about it,” he clarifies and then sighs, ashing his cigarette in the wind and then bending down to scrape the burning cherry against the sidewalk. He puts the butt carefully into the trashcan, his eyes distant in thought. When he turns to look back at me, my skin breaks out in goose bumps under that powerful gaze. “But I guess, since we have talked about it … it wouldn’t be so wrong.”
“Are you saying you want to naked bake with me?” I whisper back, just before we hear the sound of footsteps on gravel and turn to see a boy that looks like an older version of Spencer Hargrove standing on the path nearby.
“Jack?” Ranger asks, a small flash of surprise taking over his face before he turns on that signature glare of his. That's when I remember that conversation Spencer and Ranger had during one of our video chats.
“Jack, huh?” Ranger had said suspiciously, just before Spencer gave him a look.
“Don't start on my brother, man.”
Right. Because that whole week that Spencer was missing, he was with his brother, former drug dealer at Adamson Academy, apparent asshole whose parents pay off cops, and holder of intimate Adamson geographic knowledge. He is most definitely a suspect, as far as I'm concerned.
Of course, I'm having trouble concentrating on all of that because I'm a romance addict who can't stop thinking about Ranger's-threats-that-should-be-promises. Flour handprint? Yes, please. I've never been spanked before, I think absently, fidgeting on the loose pebbles of the pathway.
“What are you doing here?” Ranger asks as Jack approaches us, his resemblance to his younger brother startling. They have the same face, although Jack's eyes are much lighter and bluer than Spencer's penetrating turquoise gaze. Jack's hair is a dark chocolate brown that I imagine must be Spencer's natural color, and he's also a good two inches shorter and forty pounds heavier than his brother.
“I was hoping I could talk to Spence real quick?” he says, eyes darting around nervously. Ranger notices. I mean, if my oblivious ass notices, then the dark, observant eyes of my new boyfriend definitely won't miss a move as obvious as that.
“Did you ever consider using a phone to call or text? Or hell, from what I remember, you pretty much live on your laptop. Facebook messenger? Insta DM? Send him a Snap or a Tweet? Post a fucking video on TikTok? Come on, Jack, we both know you're not here just to chat.”
My brows lift up as Ranger turns fully to face Jack, like he's squaring up for a fight or something. I curl my fingers around his arm, digging my short nails into the champagne color of his blazer. Ranger glances down at me, sapphire eyes dark, and then licks his lower lip before glancing back up at Jack. After a tense moment, he curls his arm around my waist.
“I'm not here to start trouble,” Jack says, but he does look a bit sweaty and worse for wear. His baggy t-shirt is wrinkled and his jeans are streaked with dirt. “I just … want to talk to my brother, okay?”
“We'll get him for you,”
Ranger says, eyeing Jack like he's suddenly positive that he's one of the killers. He steers me away from Spencer's brother and inside, past a sneering Mark who's sitting on the couch, surrounded by some of his meathead friends.
“Wow, I've heard that fags like to sleep around, but Chuck puts the uck in fuck, am I right?” Mark snickers as Ranger freezes in place, turning his head around to look at the football playing dickhead. Last year, he was the wide receiver on the Adamson football team, but this year, he's the quarterback, taking Eugene's place like he was never there.
“As lame as that sentence is, I'm still going to kick your ass for it.” Ranger pushes the jacket and uniform into my arms and then grabs Mark by his tie, choking him as he drags him over the back of the couch. Without skipping a beat, I whip my phone from my pocket and dial up Church.
“Ranger and Mark, lounge room,” I say without waiting for his greeting.
The other football guys don't seem to know if they should get involved or stay back, giving Ranger enough time to put Mark on his back and throw a hard punch into his pretty little face. There’s definitely a bit of blood on Ranger’s knuckles, and the sound Mark makes … is kind of like a dying giraffe. I mean, not that I know what a dying giraffe sounds like, but it’s high and keening and weird.
Guess that hurt.
“Make another homophobic joke, you prick. Piss me off a little more by insulting my boyfriend. See what happens.”
“Tsk-tsk, Mr. Woodruff,” Church says, appearing like a summoned specter at the bottom of the staircase. Like, he didn't even have to rush to get down here. “Violence isn't the answer, even when dealing with bigots, homophobes, and idiots.”
Ranger pauses a moment as I rub my thumb against the band of my engagement ring, glancing between him and our fearless leader/president.
“You heard him, you psycho. Get the fuck off of me.”
Luckily, the twins and Spencer appear at the bottom of the steps, panting, and ready to fight, evening the odds a bit. Seven of them, six of us, although I'll be the first to admit that I'm a tad useless. I do however, have that pepper spray and Taser on me.
The Forever Crew Page 8