Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

  Hartley searches my expression for what feels like forever. “You really weren’t trying to be an ass to him, were you?”

  I unhappily shake my head. I realize that I’m the male version of Felicity. I won’t leave Hartley alone, even though she keeps demanding it. I’m self-centered. I make other people miserable with my stupid, impulsive decisions.

  Actually, that’s not very Felicity like. She’s a cunning planner. I just want to have a good time.

  But not at the expense of others.

  “Oh, Easton.” There’s a wealth of disappointment in those two words.

  “I know.” I straighten my shoulders. “I’m going to fix it.”

  “How?”

  “I have no idea. You’re my best friend, though. Can you help me out?” I throw her a pleading glance.

  She surprises me by moving closer to squeeze my arm. “We’ll figure something out,” she assures me.

  And then she proceeds to shock me again—this time by planting a quick kiss on my cheek. Maybe I’m not the male Felicity, after all. Hartley likes me and she’s as decent as they come.

  My entire body soars from that one second of physical contact. Down, boy, I order. We’re friends with Hartley and that means no getting excited in inappropriate places.

  “Coming?” she asks, a few steps ahead of me.

  A perverted comeback pops into my head, but this time my brain beats out my mouth. It’s a close call, though.

  Chapter 18

  The next day, I’m on damage control. First order of business? Make things right with my quarterback, whose only crime yesterday was being the unwilling pawn in my mission to rid myself of Felicity.

  I wait until the locker room clears out before I approach Bran. “Got a sec?”

  He scowls at my approach. “What do you want, Royal?”

  I offer a rueful smile. “I come with a peace offering.”

  “‘That so?” He doesn’t look at me as he shuts the locker door harder than necessary. He’s already dressed for practice and looks impatient to get going.

  I glance around to make sure we’re alone, then hold out the ten crisp hundred-dollar bills in my palm.

  His green eyes flash. “What the hell?”

  “Look, I’m sorry about last night, man. You were right, okay? I was trying to set you up, but not in the way you think.” I try to press the bills into his clenched fist. “Take it.”

  He shoves my hand away. “Keep your money, Royal. I’m not a charity case.”

  “This isn’t charity. It’s reparations.”

  Bran snorts.

  “I’m serious. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or dis you about not being loaded like the rest of us.”

  “No?” His voice is tight. “Then what were you trying to do?”

  I heave out a sigh. “I was hoping you’d shoot the hell out of those targets and get Felicity so hot and bothered that she’d ditch me for you.”

  His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Um. What?”

  “I made a huge mistake agreeing to go out with that girl,” I admit. “She was on my case at the carnival, and I figured, hell, maybe I could get her off my back and onto your dick. Win-win.”

  A reluctant smile creeps onto his face. “Win-win? As in, you win and Felicity wins? Because I don’t see how I’m a winner in that scenario.”

  “Hey, she’s not a bad chick.” I’m lying through my teeth. She’s awful. But I already screwed up and cost Bran probably all of his savings—I’ll look like a total dick if I admit I tried to saddle him with the demon spawn.

  “She’s hot,” I add, and this time I’m not lying. Felicity is hot. “She’s popular. She comes from old-school money.” I shrug. “She wouldn’t be the worst choice of girlfriends if you’re looking to date someone at Astor.”

  He bends down to lace up his shoes. “Uh-huh. If she’s such a great choice, why don’t you want her?”

  “Because I don’t do girlfriends,” I answer truthfully. “I suck at that shit. I was wasted when I said I’d go out with her, wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

  “Okay.” Bran straightens and runs a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Let me get this straight—you bet me in a shooting match so that you could lose and I’d look good in front of Felicity?”

  I give a sheepish nod.

  “Because you want me to date her.” He pauses. “So that you don’t have to date her.”

  I nod again, biting my lip to keep from laughing. But then Bran barks out a laugh, and I can’t help but chuckle in return.

  “That’s some messed-up logic.”

  “I’m a Royal. Messed up is my middle name.” I shake my head in exasperation. “I just didn’t count on you getting stage fright and blowing the match.”

  “Hey,” he protests. “A thousand bucks was on the line. I choked.”

  I reach out and smack him on his arm—his non-throwing one. “Don’t let Coach hear you say that. Choking ain’t allowed.”

  “There’s no money on our games,” he replies. “Which means no money pressure. Just the pressure Coach puts on us to win.”

  “Money pressure?”

  “Yeah, that kind of shit stresses me out. Probably because cash has been tight in my house ever since I was a kid.”

  Once again, guilt lodges in my throat, making my voice come out hoarse. “Seriously, dude. I did a crappy thing last night. And it’s not that I think you can’t pay your debts. It’s just that I shouldn’t have made that bet in the first place.” I forcibly grab his hand and smack the bills into his palm. “Take it. It’s not charity. It’s me promising to never again throw you under the bus to save my own hide. I’ll deal with Felicity another way. If you don’t take it, I’m going to follow your ass around and shove the cash in your pocket at inconvenient times. I might even buy you a car and park it in the lot outside with a big-ass bow on top. I can be real annoying.”

  “I never would’ve guessed,” he drawls.

  “So you’ll take it?”

  After a long moment, he nods. “All right.” Gratitude and a tinge of respect line his voice. “I’m glad you told me the truth. I really didn’t want to have to hate you.”

  I laugh. “You wouldn’t have been able to hate me, anyway. Nobody can.”

  Bran and I bump fists and then head out to the practice field.

  * * *

  Next up is Hartley. As I make my way to first period, I finger the chain in my pocket. There’s a fancy velvet box that goes with it, but I figured that would be overkill.

  “Hey, bestie.” I catch up to Hartley before she can enter the classroom.

  She steps away from the doorway to let a few other students in. “What’s up?”

  “I made up with Bran.”

  “Did you?” She brushes a strand of hair away from her face. My fingers itch to do it for her.

  “He can’t resist my charm,” I tease.

  “No one can,” she replies with a grin. “Not even me, obviously.”

  A broad smile breaks across my own face. I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace. “Anyway, since I’m apologizing, I want to give you this.”

  Her eyes widen as I dangle the necklace in front of her. She stares at it for a moment and then reluctantly brushes a finger across the delicate chain. “I can’t accept this.”

  “I got it from Candy Machine,” I tell her. “So either you take it or I’m going to throw it away.”

  “A candy machine?” she asks. Her fingertips linger on the chain, tracing it down to cradle one of the three little gold charms. She wants it, but for once in my life, I don’t press her. She likes to make her own decision and in her own time.

  “Yup.” I grab her palm and drop the chain in it. “Here. It’s yours to do whatever you want with. If you don’t want it, toss it.”

  And then I make myself walk into the classroom without another word.

  * * *

  The rest of the day flies by. Much to my relief, Felicity steers clear of me,
even at lunch. She sits with her headband-wearing girlfriends, looking like a ’50s girl band, while I joke around with my own friends.

  In Calc, I sit between Ella and Hartley, but we don’t get a chance to talk much because Ms. Mann springs a pop quiz on us. To my uneasiness, she watches me for most of the period with an unhappy look.

  I’m not the only one who notices. At one point, Hartley pokes me in the ribs and whispers, “What’d you do now?”

  “Nothing,” I whisper back. I haven’t had any contact with Ms. Mann since I, well, had contact with Ms. Mann.

  “Mr. Royal, Ms. Wright,” comes the sharp voice of our teacher. “Less talking and more solving, please.” She’s just asked everyone to solve questions one through five in the textbook.

  Hartley immediately bends her head to resume the task. I’ve already solved all five equations, so I scribble something else in my notebook. I tear off the corner of the page, wait until Ms. Mann is looking away, and slide the note onto Hartley’s desk. I’d written: Coming to the game Friday night?

  She stiffens for a beat, looks to the front of the room, and then unfolds the note.

  After she reads it, she picks up her pencil, writes something, and slides the paper back.

  Maybe, is her response.

  I scribble again and pass the note. Maybe?? We’re best friends! I need support tonight. Best friends support each other.

  She passes it back. I might have to work Friday. I told one of the other waitresses I can cover for her if she needs me.

  The note passes between us several more times.

  OK. But you don’t know for sure if you’re working?

  Not yet. I’ll find out the day of.

  OK. Let me know. If you’re not working, you’re coming to the game! OR ELSE.

  Hartley snickers softly, but not softly enough. Ms. Mann’s sharp gaze once again lands in our vicinity.

  “Eyes on your own work, Ms. Wright.”

  Hartley flushes at the implication that she’s been cheating. She discreetly tucks our note under her notebook and gets back to work.

  The moment the bell rings, I shove my books into my backpack and get to my feet.

  “Mr. Royal, a moment, please.”

  Crap. “See you at lunch?” I say to the girls.

  Ella nods and pats me on the arm, while Hartley shoots a wary look between me and Ms. Mann. Right. Hartley was outside the door that day, which frickin’ blows, because the last thing I want is to remind her of that. She already thinks I’m a dog.

  “Mr. Royal,” Ms. Mann commands.

  Gritting my teeth, I approach her desk. “Ms. Mann,” I mock.

  She glances toward the doorway to make sure it’s empty but doesn’t make a move to get up and close the door. I guess she wants to eliminate temptation.

  When her gaze returns to mine, her expression is cloudy with frustration and her voice is barely above a whisper. “Whatever you’re saying to people, you need to stop.”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  “Dammit, Easton!” She gasps at her own raised voice, swallows nervously, and looks at the door again. Then she’s back to whispering. “You told someone about what happened between us.”

  That gives me pause. I didn’t tell a damn soul about—no, wait. Ella knows. So do Hartley and Reed. And Pash definitely suspects.

  “Another teacher insinuated about it in the faculty lounge this morning.” Panic creeps into her eyes. “If this gets back to Headmaster Beringer, I’ll be fired!”

  I can’t stop a sarcastic retort. “Don’t you think you shoulda thought of that before you fooled around with me in this classroom?” I wave my hand around the empty space.

  Her pretty face collapses. She looks like I just slapped her, and even though a rush of guilt floods my stomach, I try to tamp it down. Why can’t people take responsibility for their actions? I knew what we were doing was wrong when we did it. I own that. She needs to own it, too. The woman made it clear from the first minute I stepped into her classroom that she wanted to take me for a ride.

  We didn’t even do that much.

  I try to reassure her. “Look, relax. Nobody saw us, and there’s absolutely no proof that anything happened. If Beringer questions us, we just deny it.”

  Ms. Mann bites her lip. “We deny it…”

  “Yes.” My tone is firm. “It never happened, okay?”

  A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “What never happened?”

  I grin wryly. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  After the last bell, Felicity corners me at my locker before I can escape. With quick, determined strides, she marches up and plants a loud, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  “Awww,” someone sighs from behind us, but I can’t tell if it’s with appreciation or jealousy.

  I turn briefly and notice the covetous stares of the girls standing at the end of the locker bank. They take one look at me and Felicity and start whispering to each other.

  There’s a tug on my hand. I peer down in time to see her lace our fingers together. I try to snatch my hand back, but she holds on tight. Man, she’s got a lethal grip for such a tiny thing.

  “What are you doing?” I growl.

  “Holding my boyfriend’s hand,” she chirps.

  I take a deep breath. Then, slowly and methodically, I bring my mouth close to her ear and hiss, “Swear to God, woman, I’m about to lose my shit. I told you a million times, I was drunk. I’m not fucking doing this.”

  She stares up at me. “Yes, you are.”

  “This is over, Felicity. Do you hear me?”

  I don’t bother to lower my voice, and Felicity whirls around to make sure nobody heard what I said. When she’s satisfied her cover hasn’t been blown, she speaks in a tone you’d normally use on a bratty toddler.

  “Easton. We had an arrangement, and it doesn’t end unless I want it to end.”

  “That’s not how this works.”

  “That’s exactly how it works.”

  I can feel the anger surging in my veins. I hate Felicity’s kind. I’d pick girls like Ella and Val and Hartley over girls like Felicity and Lauren and Jordan any day. Their sense of entitlement makes my blood boil. Which is all sorts of ironic, because I’m as entitled as they are. I get whatever I want, whenever I want it. That’s what it means to be a Royal.

  But for some reason, it’s really unattractive when I see that quality in other people.

  Does Hartley view me with the same scorn and disgust I feel toward Felicity? I hope not.

  “Look, can’t we just walk away like normal, non-psycho people?” I ask politely. “Having a girlfriend, even a fake one, cramps my style.”

  She makes an annoyed noise. “I told you, as long as you’re discreet, you can hook up with whoever.”

  “Discreet? Baby, I don’t know the meaning of that word. I screwed my brother’s ex-girlfriend in his bed. I hooked up with Niall O’Malley’s mom during an after-party at his house. I took on two of the Pastels a year ago in the Carringtons’ pool. If we keep this up, I’m just gonna embarrass you and make you look bad.”

  Her nostrils flare.

  “Not on purpose,” I add hastily. “But because that’s who I am. I don’t think about shit before I do it. Do you really want to be the girlfriend of the guy who broke it off with his girlfriend over a text message?” That’s what Claire likes to tell people, even though I conveyed the message in person. For once, that lie is going to work in my favor.

  Felicity goes quiet. When her haughty expression eventually falters, I know I’ve gotten through to her.

  Girls like her are all about image. And, yes, having a Royal on her arm is a massive image booster, but we both know she’d be better off if that Royal was Gideon, my upstanding older brother. Or Reed, who might be a broody bastard but doesn’t usually fuck up in public. Me, I’m the Royal mess and everyone knows it.

  Her hands drop to her sides. I can see the wheels in her head turning and turnin
g. “Last night at the pier…” she starts. “You said I could tell everyone I broke up with you.”

  I eagerly grasp onto the lifesaver she throws me. “Yes,” I answer quickly. “You can say I did some terrible thing to you and that you dumped my ass.”

  “No. Telling them is not enough.”

  For fuck’s sake. “So what do you want, then?”

  “A public breakup,” she says decisively. “I want to tell you off in front of everyone and make it clear that you are so far beneath me and I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

  It takes some effort not to roll my eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “My beach bonfire is on Friday,” she reminds me. “After the game. You said you would come.”

  Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to it, but I probably would’ve ended up there anyway. “Okay.”

  “We’ll hang out for a bit before I break up with you. And you’ll just stand there and take whatever I give you.”

  Hey, if the end result is being free of this wacko, I’ll run through the bonfire buck-naked and let her throw tomatoes at me. I nod at her. “Fine.”

  Pleased, Felicity rises on her tiptoes and gives me another kiss on the cheek, probably for the benefit of a passing trio of pretty sophomores. My skin crawls, but I manage to fake a smile. Also for the benefit of the sophomores.

  “So I’ll see you at the party tonight?” she says cheerfully.

  Unfortunately. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 19

  Bran’s first play of the game on Friday night is a fifty-yard pass directly into the hands of his receiver, who runs it in for the TD.

  That badass play sets the tone for the rest of the game—we score on nearly every other drive, if not touchdowns then field goals, and we have a twenty-seven-point lead going into the half.

  Hartley didn’t end up having to work, so she’s in the stands with Ella and Val again. So are Seb and Sawyer. Lauren, surprisingly, is nowhere to be seen.

  I can’t miss Coach’s halftime speech, so I’m not able to stop and chat, but I grin and wave at my crew before disappearing into the tunnel. I’m pumped that Hartley came. I hope this means she’s going to chill with us after the game.