by Erin Watt
“You don’t have female friends, East.”
“Sure I do. You and Val.”
“Yeah, but only because neither of us would ever sleep with you. If we were interested but you knew going there would ruin our friendship, you’d still pick the sex in a heartbeat.”
“If you and Val were interested in having a threesome with me? Um, of course I’d pick the sex.”
“I didn’t mean a threesome,” Ella sputters. “Ugh. You’re the worst.” She leans over and whacks me across the arm with her water bottle. “Anyway, you know what I mean. You’re only friends with Hartley because she doesn’t want to hook up with you. If she wanted to hook up, you’d be more than friends.”
I shrug again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You should leave her alone.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she made it clear she’s not interested. And last night at the game, she was telling me and Val how she’s looking for a second job because her current one doesn’t pay enough. She said work and school are the only things she’s concentrating on right now.”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me, too.” I sit up. “Aren’t you remotely curious why a kid from Astor Park is living in a rundown studio apartment on Salem Street?”
“Of course, but she doesn’t want our concern, and I get where she’s coming from. I hated how everyone at Astor looked down at me. If she’s going to school and she’s feeding herself then we need to leave her alone. That’s what I would want.”
I decide not to point out that she’s kidding herself. She was in our business from the moment she stepped into the house. Ella’s a meddler. It sorta surprises me she won’t admit it.
I change the subject instead. “What are you working on?” I flick a finger at her papers.
“Continuous functions. I’m not getting this.”
“Basically it means that you could lay your pencil on the graph and continue it in negative and positive directions without lifting it off the paper.” I draw a sinuous curve. “Right?”
She nods.
“Then to determine if the function is continuous, you have to satisfy these three conditions.” I make a few quick notations and hand the page back. While she studies it, I check my phone. Pash texted me back. Finally.
Sorry. Lunch w fam 2day. We’ve got family visiting from Atlanta
Dammit. I throw my phone down. “How many problems do you have left?”
“Twenty.”
“How long’s that going to take you?”
“A while.” She stands up. “I need a snack.”
I trail her into the kitchen. “Great. Let’s go over to the French Twist. My treat.”
“I can’t go out with you, Easton. I’ve got to finish all my homework today because Val and I are driving up to State tomorrow. I’m surprising Reed to make up for not being able to go to his game today.”
Oh crap. I forgot that I’d planned to drive up for that—Ella usually hauls my ass out of bed and drags me to the car. But Reed won’t care if I miss his home game. He’d way rather see Ella than me, anyway, and I can always fly out to his game against Louisiana State next Saturday.
“Wait,” I say as something occurs to me, “why aren’t you going to the game?”
She keeps her back to me as she pokes her head into the fridge. “Because Callum and I have a meeting with the DA today. It was the only time that worked for both of them.”
That sucks. “What time are you going?”
“Around four, I think.”
“That’s like hours away. We have tons of time to go out. How about this? I’ll do your math problems and—”
“No,” she interrupts. “I need to do it myself. If I can’t learn these concepts, it’s only going to get harder.”
I dig my feet against the tile. “Then I’ll keep doing your homework. Come on, it’s not like you’re going to use half this shit in real life.”
“Not everyone can do complex math problems in their head, Easton. You’re too smart for your own good.”
“Really? ’Cause you’re always telling me how stupid I am,” I tease.
“I mean you do stupid things. I know you’re not stupid. You’re very smart. You know that, right?”
“Some stuff comes easy,” I admit. “But my grades suck.”
“Because you don’t like to take tests. Because concentrating on anything longer than ten minutes is boring for you.”
“I like flying and that takes longer than ten minutes,” I point out.
She places a platter of fruit on the counter. “There’s something interesting up there that doesn’t exist in class.”
True. In a small plane, you have to be on the alert, but mostly you feel alive up there. I can get close to that feeling on a motorcycle going a hundred down an open highway, but it’s just a dull copy. Not a substitution for the real thing.
“Fuck. I need to get up in the air again.” I grab a piece of melon and shove it in my mouth.
“Have you talked to Callum about it?”
I answer with my mouth full. “No. I already know what he’s going to say.”
“Which is?”
“Get your grades up. Stop drinking. Be more responsible.”
Ella slants her head. “Well. I guess you don’t want to fly that bad, if all those things are too challenging.”
I scowl at her. “That’s a little harsh.”
Unperturbed, she responds by raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to fight, Ella Bella. Come on,” I coax. “Let’s go play.”
“No.”
I give up. I know from past experience she’s not budging. Ella’s more stubborn than a pack of mules. That leaves the twins, I guess. “Sawyer and Seb home?”
“They’re in the media room with Lauren.”
I don’t stop my lip from curling. Lauren’s been over more than ever lately, and I’m kinda getting tired of it. She’s starting to act like she owns the twins, dictating where they can go and when. And they’ve been buying her stuff. Expensive shit that they can afford, but it strikes me wrong.
“Have fun today. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to occupy your time.” Ella pats me on the back before wandering back to the patio.
In the media room, I find Lauren sitting by herself, painting her nails.
“Where are the twins?”
The petite redhead lifts her head at my arrival. “Seb went to pick me up some ice cream at the store and Sawyer forgot something in his room.”
“We’ve got ice cream here.”
Lauren swipes a white line across her nail. “It wasn’t the kind I liked.” She lifts her hand and blows on it.
Jeez. Lauren has those boys wrapped around her finger. But I bite my tongue and go to find my brother.
I catch Sawyer carrying a shopping bag from Gucci. I squeeze the back of my neck. Do not say a thing, I advise myself. This is none of your business. “Want to go out?”
“And do what?”
“Dunno. Just get out of the house.”
“Let me see what Lauren wants to do.” He pushes the door open, but I know what the answer is going to be. Lauren doesn’t like being seen hanging out with the twins outside of home. At school, she generally acts like she’s only dating one of them. The twins think it’s funny. At some point, though, it’s going to start pissing one or both of them off.
Sawyer steps back out in less than a minute. “Lauren passes.”
“What about Sawyer?” In other words, what do you want to do rather than what does Lauren want to do?
My brother makes a face. “I pass, too.”
“Come on,” I wheedle. “You can go out for one afternoon. Or you know what, fine, let’s chill here for a while and plan something epic for tonight.”
“Lauren doesn’t want to go out tonight, either. Last time we went out, we got hassled and Lauren didn’t like it.”
“Maybe you need to date someone with thicker skin,” I suggest.
; Sawyer folds his arms across his chest and glares. “Why don’t you go find someone who gives a crap what you think?”
“Why don’t you find someone you can leave the house with?”
“Screw you.” He backs up and slams the door in my face.
Good job, Easton. You’ve alienated everyone in your house.
Ella’s choosing homework over me. The twins are choosing their spoiled brat girlfriend. Hartley made me promise not to bother her this weekend.
So, although it’s barely past noon, there’s really only one thing left for me to do.
Pay a visit to the liquor cabinet.
Chapter 13
I am drunk, drunk, and drunk. And somehow, nobody in my dumb family has noticed. Ella and Dad left for their meeting with the DA without even sparing me a glass. I mean, a glance. They just waved and left. The twins, I don’t know where they are. Maybe upstairs with Lauren. I’m sure one of them is fanning her while the other feeds her grapes.
I’m never gonna let a chick own my balls like that. Especially not Hartley Wright. Screw her. She’s mad at me ’cause I like to fight? So what. Guys fight. We do stupid shit. She has no right to get all judgmental on me.
I can’t believe she doesn’t want to hang out this weekend. I thought we were friends.
She’s the worst.
I hop off the couch and leave the media room. I meander down to Dad’s study, where I grab the vodka off the liquor shelf. I already finished all his whiskey. I doubt he’ll notice, though.
I take a swig straight from the bottle and sit in my father’s worn leather chair. On the desk are some documents. I carelessly flip through them. It looks like an investigative report of Steve’s movements from the past few months. Steve picking up his dry cleaning. Steve at a hotel bar. Steve, Steve, Steve. Lots of pictures of good ol’ Uncle Steve, the murderer.
I know I should feel bad about Steve killing Brooke, but I don’t. She was a toxic bitch. The thing I don’t like is that he tried hurting Ella in the process. And he didn’t come forward when my brother was arrested.
It wasn’t Steve who tried to pin Brooke’s mess on Reed—that was all on Dinah. She wanted revenge against the Royals, so she whispered in the prosecutor’s ear and even hired some caterer to lie and say that Reed threatened Brooke before she died. Dinah did everything she could to ruin our family. And Steve let her. He just stood there when Reed got thrown in jail, and didn’t confess that he was the real killer.
That’s unforgiveable.
And it pisses me off because I like Steve. Liked. I correct myself. Past tense. I can’t like him anymore. I can’t look up to him. I can’t wish I was him when I grow up.
Which is easy because I plan to never grow up. Adulting sucks. Adulting requires you to pretend to care about someone other than yourself. And that means doing shit you don’t want to do to make someone else happy.
What if I’m not happy? Who’s gonna take care of that problem? No one. No one but me.
I pour some more vodka down my throat and dial Reed. His game’s done by now. I wonder if he won. Probably. His team’s good.
“What’s up?” he answers.
“My dick,” I joke.
“Jesus, East.”
“Sorry. Being around Ella gets me going, you know?”
Reed breathes into the phone. I grin and suck down more liquor.
“When are you going to smarten up?”
“Why would I want to?”
“Because your act’s going to piss off everyone you love,” he says bluntly. “Knock it off with the Ella shit. It’s disrespectful to her.”
“And we wouldn’t want to do anything to upset the precious princess, right?”
“What is up with you? Why are you home on a Saturday night?”
“Nobody wants to play with me.” Well, that’s not true. There’re two parties tonight and three girls sent nudes in the past hour, but I’m too drunk and lazy to move.
“And you’re bored out of your mind,” he guesses.
“Oh, look at how smart you are since you went away to college.”
“You’re in a mood tonight.” There’s a short beat. “How much have you had to drink?”
I hold the bottle up to the light. It’s half full. “Not enough. What’s the plan for next weekend? Where’s your game?”
“Louisiana. Ella’s flying in for it. She’s getting in Friday night.”
“Of course she is.” I don’t even try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Ella kissed me first, I want to yell at him. I stepped aside for you.
“We’re not trying to keep you out. Why don’t you fly in after your game? Or Saturday morning?”
I hate the gentleness of his tone. It’s so fucking obvious he thinks I’m pathetic. “Sorry, bro. No can do. I’ve got lots of plans.”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the desk. It starts ringing two seconds later. Reed’s name flashes on the screen. I ignore it.
The bottle calls my name. I take another huge swig and wait for the buzz to kick in. Lately, it’s taken more and more drinks to get me to the place of comfortable numbness. The walls of Dad’s study seem to be narrowing. The air in here is heavy. So I pick up the bottle and walk out to the patio.
It’s dark outside, but our pool has lights that make the water look blue and eerie. I stare at it for a while before heading toward the path to the shore.
I wander down to the beach and toss a few pebbles back into the ocean. The vastness gets to me. It’s too quiet and too big out here, and too suffocating in the house.
I start walking, drinking as I go.
Stupid Hartley. She wants me, I know she does. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have stuck her tongue in my mouth when I kissed her. She would’ve just smacked me across the face and told me to never, ever kiss her again.
She’s pretending she doesn’t like me, and that bugs me. And now I have to pretend we’re just friends, which is dumb as fuck. Ella’s right—I’d totally give up Hartley’s friendship if it meant getting together with her.
Not that I want us to be together. I think she’d be fun to fool around with, that’s all.
But I’m tired of chasing after someone who keeps telling me to get lost. It ain’t fun.
“Hi, Easton.”
I jump, glancing up to see Felicity Worthington popping up like an unwanted genie. I wonder how I can stuff her back into her diamond-encrusted lamp.
She gives me a finger wave. I suppress a shudder and ignore her. I tip the bottle back to my lips, but only a few drops come out.
“It’s Saturday night and you’re all alone?”
“Gold star for you,” I mock. “You’re very observant.”
My sarcasm doesn’t faze her. She steps closer and pries the empty bottle from my hand. Then she takes my wrist and leads me up the path to her pool house.
I follow because I’m curious about what she wants. Felicity flirts with me, but she’s never given off any vibes that she wants to get naked. Her ass is covered in a plain khaki skirt and she’s wearing a prim white-collared shirt and pink vest. The outfit isn’t much different than her school uniform. Buttoned-up and boring is how I’ve always pegged her.
“Did you just come from a Model UN meeting or something?” I ask.
She furrows her brow. “No. My family and I were having a late dinner at the country club. Why?”
These folks put the stuffing in stuffy. “No reason.”
“Sit here.” She points to a blue, overstuffed chair. “Wait. Don’t move. You look filthy.”
She darts over to a cabinet and grabs a towel. After laying it on the chair, she waves for me to take a seat.
I look down at my T-shirt and jeans. I’ve probably had the shirt since I was fifteen. It’s a little tight in places, worn in others, but it’s comfortable and clean. We have a housekeeper, for chrissake. My clothes get washed.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I growl.
“It looks like you pulled those jeans out of the tr
ash.”
“The trash? Seriously? These things cost me a grand.” Yeah, I’ll drop a G on pants. Why not? I can fuckin’ afford it.
“That doesn’t make them any less ugly.”
“Ripped jeans are in. Everybody wears them.”
“Those aren’t ripped. They’re dirty and trashy. Seriously, you look like a hobo.”
There isn’t enough booze in the world that could help me endure this, so I stand up and head for the door. “Thanks for your fashion critique that I didn’t ask for.”
“Wait,” she says irritably. “You can’t go yet. I have a proposition for you.”
Since Felicity hasn’t taken off her clothes yet, I don’t think it’s an offer I’m going to care about. “You’re wearing too much for me to be interested.”
“How about this?” She opens another cabinet and produces a fifth of vodka.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I make a grab for it, but she whisks it out of my reach. “Tease,” I accuse.
“Sit and I’ll give you this bottle.”
My options include going home and being bored to death or drinking Felicity’s booze and possibly getting laid.
I sit down again.
With a triumphant smile, she hands me the bottle, which I quickly uncap and tip to my lips.
An expression of disgust sweeps over her face. “I can’t believe you’re a Royal.”
“Believe it, baby.”
“Are you ready to hear my proposition?”
“I’m not much of a listener.” I flash a grin. “Why don’t you just go ahead and show me what you’ve got and I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”
“I’m not doing a show and tell,” she says coolly. “Here’s the thing, Easton. I’ve been watching you all week—”
“Stalker much?”
“You’re one to talk,” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “You’ve been chasing after Hartley Wright even though it’s obvious she’s a big waste of your time.”
“She is?” Hartley’s a lot of things. Irritating. Prickly. Hot as shit. But I wouldn’t call her a waste of time.
“Of course she is. She’s pretty and comes from a moderately good family, but she isn’t a Royal. If we were going to rate her on a scale of one to ten in importance, she’d fall somewhere between two and three.”