by Bailey B
Rex dips his head again. His baby blues lock onto my grays once more, sucking me in. I lick my lips, unintentionally, and his gaze falls to my mouth. Our eyes meet again a split second later. He leans closer, his breath tickling my ear. I breathe him in. He smells of clean laundry, aftershave, and mint. Much better than last time.
“Offer stands. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner.” Rex pulls me against his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, enjoying what it feels like to be held for the first time in almost a year. My ear rests against his chest, listening to his racing heart.
All of this happens in less than a minute. A minute that lasts forever yet flies by too fast at the same time. I want to feel Rex’s body against mine a little longer. There’s no pressure or needles or any of the usual discomfort my anxiety creates. There’s just Rex.
4
Rex
I walk out onto the back patio for the second time tonight and shut the double-paned doors behind me. Bodies are everywhere—dancing, drinking, laughing. People make out on my Mother’s olive green lounge chairs and hook up in the shell-shaped pool. There’s enough semen floating in it to make another football team of self-entitled pricks. The girls swimming in there are practically asking to get pregnant. Thank God for chlorine.
Mother spared no expense in this house moving me—not us, me—here. She never does. Instead of transporting all our possessions from one place to the next, like a normal person, she stocks the house with shiny new things. Insisting that each home be perfect in the unlikely event we decide to visit one on a whim, which has never happened.
But come on. Who needs eight houses spread across the country fully furnished and stocked with enough clothes to fill a department store? Apparently, we do.
More people, whose names I don’t care to learn because in a little less than seven weeks they will be obsolete, gather around a plastic table procured from the pool house. A pool house my guests felt comfortable enough to go in without asking. That’s what happens when you throw three parties a week every week since January.
Why? Because a house full of strangers is still better than an empty one. Besides, who’s gonna stop me?
For almost everyone here, I’m the story they’ll tell their college buddies. They’ve been to country singer Kip Montgomery’s house. Were best friends with his son. Hung out with him every weekend.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
No one gives two shits about me. It’s all about my dad.
Story of my life.
Even my mother doesn’t care about me. When I was four, she left me at an airport. I don’t know if she did it on purpose but somehow in the midst of grabbing her purse— which I don’t actually remember, she always has a bag comparable to Mary Poppins only a thousand times more expensive— she got up and left without me.
Mother of the year right there.
I remember falling asleep, because it was nap time, and waking up by myself. I wasn’t scared, that’s usually what happened at home. But then I realized the faces around me were different. Four-year-old me was still pretty chill because I was a cool motherfucker even back then. But a kid can only be calm so long.
I walked for what felt like forever, the bubble of tears in my throat building, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I collapsed on the floor in a fit of liquid distress. Eventually some lady stopped and asked the questions you’re supposed to ask when you find a young kid all alone.
What’s your name?
Where are your parents?
Are you okay?
I didn’t answer any of them. I may have been freaked the fuck out, but I still remembered the golden rule—don’t talk to strangers. Eventually an officer came and took me to a secret room, the staff lounge. It was sheer luck someone had a magazine on the table open to an article about my dad. An article that just so happened to have a picture of me in it.
Airport security reached out and got ahold of my dad’s PR person. Hours passed before anyone came to get me. The shit thing, the person who showed up wasn’t my mom. It wasn’t even anyone I’d even seen before. My parents sent a strange woman with tired eyes and a sad smile to claim me like I was lost luggage. A woman I later found out would be my nanny for the next fourteen years, Gretchen.
Moral of my story, my own parents don’t give a damn about me. I sure as shit don’t expect the strangers who fill my house to either.
“Hey, Rex.” Thin arms wrap around my waist as someone’s chest presses against my back. I recognize the voice and turn to find Sarah Archer, one of the few names I do know, smiling up at me. Sarah’s a nice girl. The doodle my last name on her notebook type, but still nice. We have statistics together. She flirts shamelessly in class, but I’m not interested.
My mind’s been on one raven-haired girl since moving to this fiery pit of hell four months ago. I’m not saying that I haven’t hooked up since moving here, but that’s all those girls were. An easy way to pass the time and Sarah’s too sweet to fuck and forget. She links her fingers with mine, pulling me closer. I take a step forward, entertaining her desires, if only for a moment.
“Come swim with me,” Sarah asks, batting her long lashes.
I could peel my shirt off and swim in my shorts, but I don’t want to lead her on. Contrary to how the tabloids portray me, I’m not a bad guy. I don’t make sport of breaking hearts. Everyone I’ve slept with, here or elsewhere, knew long before I fucked them there would be no dates. No future. No us. “Can’t. Not dressed for it.”
Sarah stops pulling but doesn’t let go. She chews on her cherry red lip then flashes a come-and-get-me grin. “Neither am I, but who says we need clothes?”
“Ahhh.” I shake my hand free from her death grip and tuck my thumbs into the band of my pants “Sarah, you’re a great girl, but I’m not feeling it. Not tonight. Sorry.”
Sarah’s cheeks flush. Unlike most of the girls who approach me, she doesn’t strike me as the one-night-stand kind of girl. Outside of her poor choice in friends, she’s cool. She forces a smile. “No biggie, Rex. See you around.”
Sarah all but runs to the beer pong table and disappears into the crowd of people watching the game. She’ll be alright. A little alcohol and attention from some of the guys over there will soothe her bruised ego.
I look around and sigh. My house is full of people, but the one I want is nowhere to be seen.
Why did I come outside again?
Better yet, why did I throw this party tonight?
Because you’re a lonely fuck with no family and no real friends.
I grab a red Solo cup from beside the keg and fill it. Bottoms up. I down its contents in one big swallow, not feeling any better about myself than I did a minute ago. As I’m refilling it, Logan Harris catches my eye. Another name I know simply because he’s at every party I throw. He jumps out of my pool and runs towards the back gate, catching a dark-haired girl in his arms and swinging her around until his twin brother, Cooper, shoves him in the shoulder.
Piper.
Piper Lovelace is like a comet—fascinating to look at, but disastrous. Nearly every caution sign my dad’s publicist warned me about over the years is there. Still, I’m drawn to her. She’s by far the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she doesn’t even know it. Raven hair. Skin as fair as moonlight. Cold grey eyes that harbor a pain I don’t understand but can relate to. Full lips begging to be kissed.
The need to know her is all consuming but the thought of actually speaking to her is terrifying. She makes me nervous and I have no fucking clue why. I’m the son of a major country singer, I can score girls simply by sneezing. But Piper’s shown no interest in my dad or me. It’s almost as insulting as it is intriguing.
As horrible as it sounds, I’m glad I caught Tad trying to do whatever it was he was gonna do to Piper the other day. It gave me a chance to talk to her without the assumption that I wanted sex. That’s the only time anyone talks to Piper, when they want a favor.
I spent the next few days trying to figure out how to bre
ak the ice between us again. And then it hit me, her monthly meetings with the school counselor. Piper almost never shows up to first period after her session. So I sat behind Piper’s favorite oak tree, the one she was probably going to when Tad dragged her to the bathrooms, waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I heard a shuffling. I peeked around the side of the tree and saw the bottom of boots—Piper’s signature shoe. Every day is the same: knee high black boots, a uniform issued black skirt, a white button down blouse, because that’s what everyone’s forced to wear, with some sort of black sweater over it. And then, my favorite part, black hair with dark purple tips. I don’t think her natural color is so dark. Her eyebrows are a medium brown, but the dark hair looks good paired with all her dark eyeliner.
I took a minute to calm my thoughts. I’d never asked a girl out before and Piper was gonna be my first. Jenny, my only friend back in New York, says it’s because I’m scared to be rejected. She thinks my fears and social issues stem from my parents lack of involvement. Whatever the case, this was a huge moment for me.
I mustered up the courage to talk to Piper. Everything was going well until I went and ruined it. She shot me down, but I’m not done yet. Gretchen says, “If it’s easy it ain’t worth it.” From what I can tell, Piper’s totally worth it. She’s edgy, and not afraid to be herself. She’s real, aside from her hair color. Best of all, she doesn’t give two shits that my dad’s famous.
Piper’s thrown a long-sleeved Red Onion work shirt on with her school skirt. Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail with stray pieces falling around her face. I smile, taking in just how beautiful she is. Long legs. Round cheeks. Plump, red lips. Yeah… not even going to fight it, I’m screwed.
I grab another red cup and fill it to the brim with more head than beer. My heart races faster than a greyhound as I run over to her. Slow down. I force myself to walk and it’s hell. After the longest thirty seconds of my life, I stand beside her lawn chair, a smile that feels as lame as it probably looks greeting her. “Hey.”
Piper looks up at me, a small grin tugging at her lips. Her smiles at school are few and far between, unless they're to spite the hateful bitches who try her. This tiny bit of happiness I caused is gold. “Hey.”
I extend my hand with the extra beer too fast, spilling the frothy yellow liquid all over her boots. Smooth. I bring my arm back, spilling it yet again, this time all over my flip flop. This is going great— not.
“I’m not a fan,” she says looking out across the pool. I can’t be sure, but I think she’s watching the Harris twins.
Logan and Cooper are still going at it. Cooper points in our direction, brows furrowed. I’ve studied them, Cooper and Piper, the last few weeks. I don’t understand their relationship. He hovers like an overprotective parent, squashing every rumor, fighting battles I’m sure Piper doesn’t realize exist. On top of his classes and football practice, he still finds the time to be alone with her at school. Stealing a few minutes at lunch, walking her to class, and sometimes even hiding out in the north stairwell. Anyone with eyes can see how enamored he is with her. And yet they live together as siblings.
It’s weird as fuck. But they don’t kiss or hug in public. And that one bit of knowledge is what keeps me going, gives me a sliver of hope that I’ve got a shot. That and the fact that Piper’s rumored to be the school slut. From what I’ve seen, I don’t think it’s true, but Cooper doesn’t seem like the type of person to date an easy girl. Not saying that Piper’s easy. Fuck. I’m glad she can’t hear me right now; she’d think I’m an idiot.
“A fan of fights or drinking?” I ask.
“Both.” She says, her eyes glued to her foster brothers.
I study Piper’s face and find a small yellow bruise on her cheek, carefully hidden by makeup, unnoticeable to the passerby. But I know what happened. The faint discoloration under her concealer jumps out, especially being this close. “Are you okay?” I ask sitting beside her.
“I’m fine.” Piper looks completely out of her element. It might be the party. She’s pretty antisocial and probably isn’t comfortable around all these people. If she’s uncomfortable, she’ll leave and I’m not ready for her to go. I’ve got to make her stay.
“Want to head inside? It’s quiet. No one’s allowed in, and I promise I won't touch you or ask you to do anything.”
“Good because I won’t,” she warns.
“I know that.”
She snorts. “Sure you do.”
Piper has no reason to trust me. A Google search of my name doesn’t paint me in the best light. Not to mention the guys at our school are total douches. So, I level with her, let her have a piece of me, hoping to earn her trust. “My dad’s been the target of rumors for years. Paparazzi love to make shit up. Happy families and good decisions don’t sell papers. Sometimes they’d attack me, put it out to the world how I’m on benders and partying myself to death. So, the rumors about you and your reputation mean nothing. Until I catch you with your lips around some dude’s cock in the bathroom and watch him hand you fifty bucks, I don’t believe it.”
“Were any of the tabloids true?”
I tilt my head side to side. How do I explain that for a year or so, they were? I was young, maybe ninth grade when my parents moved me—not us, me— across the country halfway into my freshman year.
I was settled in Anaheim. I’d wormed my way into the popular group, which at the time felt important. I opened myself up to the idea of having friends because I’d been there for over a year. So when mother uprooted me without warning to New York and didn’t bother to come too...I acted out. I drank. I fought. I fucked the wrong type of girl twice, landing some not so great pictures in some very unreliable gossip magazines. I did everything shy of getting arrested for my parents attention. They never showed, and poor Gretchen was worn out that year.
After that, I made a promise to myself I wasn’t going to try anymore. Gretchen wasn’t my nanny or my friend. I realized she was my true mother, despite the fact that she hadn’t birthed me. I played with her kids; I spent the holidays with her. She wasn’t a part of my family, but I was a part of hers.
However, it didn’t matter that I turned my life around. Tabloids still printed stories, made me out to be a hot-headed, drunken, man-whore when in fact I’ve only slept with six women. “Some of it was true, but even after I got my act together, they kept the stories running. Like I said, good decisions don’t sell papers.”
Gray eyes, dusted with powder blue and silver slivers, finally find mine. She smiles. It’s small and only lasts a fraction of a second, but I see it. “Okay.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Did I hear her right? “Okay, what?”
Our gazes dance together for what feels like an eternity. My heart beats against my ribcage with Hulk-like intensity. It wants her. It wants to hold this beautifully broken girl and show her that she’s worthy of love.
Not that I love her, but I like her.
A lot.
Finally, Piper says, “Let’s go inside. I’m giving you a chance. Don’t make me regret it.”
5
Piper
If someone would have told me back in August that I’d be at a party this year, I would have laughed in their face. If they’d have told me I would be at said party to chase a boy, I would have said they’d lost their mind. And yet here I am, doing both.
Convincing Cooper to drive me after work was too easy. I almost think he wanted to come, although I can’t imagine why. He seemed to lose interest in high school parties the same time I did. Although his newfound interest might be related to his recent late comings and goings.
We parked halfway down the street behind an overpriced Lexus. It’s just one of the two dozen cars lining the sidewalk to Rex’s two story mini-mansion. Walking through the back gate, I was prepared for people. I was prepared for loud music. I wasn’t prepared for Logan to hug me.
In the
ten years we’ve known each other, Logan’s never hugged me.
He’s taking this good-brother thing to the extreme. I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need it. One overbearing Harris man is more than enough. Also, Logan doesn’t know about my issues with being touched, but Cooper does and from my peripheral vision he doesn’t look happy.
The instant Logan’s arms were around me every bit of confidence I had walking into the party vanished, squashed by the balloon inflating in my chest. He set me on my feet and I darted to one of the ugliest patio chairs I’ve ever seen in my life, away from the crowd of people partying and away from the Harris’ so they wouldn’t notice my trembling.
And then, just when I’d begun to worry that I wouldn’t get my shaking under control, Rex came over. Just his presence eases my nerves, but I don’t know why.
After the whole Logan situation, Rex sits next to me, his pinky brushing against my leg with a whisper of a touch. I wait for the tightness in my chest or the shakes or sweats or something from someone touching me to come back, but they never do. There’s nothing but excited tingles and I’m not sure how to take it.
Rex sets both cups, that seem to have spilt everywhere, on the ground and stands. He rubs his hands down the side of his shorts then turns and waits for me to follow. We take a winding path, twisting and turning through a sea of bodies. Practically senior and a good amount of our juniors are here tonight, unsurprisingly so. This is my first Montgomery party, but from what I can tell it exceeds the rumors.
Rex opens a set of double paned doors. I gasp as he leads me into his kitchen. It’s huge, bigger than my bio-mom’s whole apartment, and this is just the kitchen! I can’t begin to imagine what the rest of the house is like. There are probably servants quarters, hidden elevators and a recording studio somewhere.
He flips a switch, illuminating the room. Spotless marble countertops shine under the crystal chandelier, reflecting light towards the stainless steel appliances and Spanish tiles. He walks around the island in the center of the kitchen and opens one side of the fridge. “Water?”