Kade's Game (The Sterling Shore Series 1.5)

by C. M. Owens

  Chapter Five

  The source of the fishy smell is tuna. I found the cans today. The pantry has dozens of them. That's disgusting.

  "Kade?" Mel prompts.

  Ah, hell. What'd I miss?

  "Yeah?" I say, acting as though I'm distracted by the club dancers instead of tuna cans.

  "We're discussing the pilot program for Brock's..."

  All I hear is blah blah blah. I just nod and pretend to be listening. My input will have to wait until a night when I'm more focused.

  The party is just getting started, but I can't seem to think about anything other than the fact Raya is at home alone. There's really no point in me being here if I have no interest in joining the conversations being had all around me.

  Dane Sterling has made his way to our table, offering me a cold greeting. I offer him one just as cold, considering I'm not too fond of the guy. My cousin Rain was his best friend for years, and now she shudders at the mention of his name. There's only one reason for that, even though she won't say it. He fucked her and fucked her over. Point blank.

  But he's a Sterling, and the Sterlings run this town, so I keep my mouth shut. Admittedly, I'm happy when he finally leaves. I'm not sure why he's even here.

  "I'm out," I say to the guys who are just starting on their first drinks.

  "Dude, you're joking," Brock scoffs, not seeming pleased with my announcement.

  I toss down a few twenties to cover my untouched drink and tip. I should have just stayed home.

  "Nah. I've got studying to do, and I'm dying for a burger."

  They look at me as though I'm not really Kade, but I can't help it. We went to dinner first, but it sucked ass. What happened to cooking things in grease? Why does everything have to have an itemized list of everything it doesn't contain? It should just state that it doesn't have any flavor.

  There are a few burger joints open, and right now I can't wait to hit one up. I wave as I head out, turning my back on the dumbfounded table. Yeah, I'm just as confused.

  It doesn't take long to grab two burgers and some fries, and I gas it to hurry up and get home. It shouldn't be normal to want to see someone like this. The most we can be is friends.

  Apparently I left the garage door open, saving me the time of having to raise it. I park, get out, and hope she feels like eating with me. I'm not sure what's going on, but I really just want to hang out with her tonight.

  There's no sense of obligation. I won't need her down the road, and there's really no reason to do this other than I just want to. I can't remember ever just wanting to be around someone outside of my family.

  The second I walk through the door, I'm greeted by a sight I've been dreading and looking forward to. Raya is standing right in front of me—legs bare and ass encased by only a thin shred of fabric. My body reacts before my mind, and my pants tighten as I swallow hard.

  I'm frozen in place, staring at her like I've never seen a woman in panties before. Christ, she's driving me mad. Shifting to accommodate the unruly appendage in my pants, my eyes come up to see the horror on her face, and that's enough to snap me out of it, making my lips twitch in amusement.

  When her glass-shattering squeal rings out, my laughter breaks free before I can stop it, and I watch appreciatively as she runs up the stairs, giving me an even better show. Sadly, I'm wishing that damn tank top hadn't been covering the top half. Yeah, she's getting to me.

  As the door slams, I continue laughing, knowing how incredibly mortified she is right now. Time to play. This will be weird if we don't make it funny, and it is pretty damn funny.

  After dropping the burgers off in the kitchen, I take the stairs two at a time. I make my way toward her room, unable to wipe away the shit-eating grin on my face.

  "Raya," I say while snickering, rapping on her door simultaneously. "Come on. Don't hide. It'll only make it more awkward... for you."

  I can't stop grinning. In fact, this is the hardest I've laughed and smiled in so long.

  "I'm not hiding... I'm... getting decent," she says unsurely, which makes her lie obvious, and I do all I can to quiet the riotous chuckles escaping me.

  "Raya," I say again, my laughter returning against my will to restrain it. "Come on."

  She goes silent, refusing to answer me, but that won't do. I'm not leaving here until she sees me. Besides, I have a burger for her.

  "You know it was bound to happen sooner or later. Would it make it easier if I stripped down and let you see me in my underwear?"

  She'd get an eyeful if my pants weren't restraining me right now, so she'd better say no, or she'll find out just how much she affects me.

  "Raya?" I prompt, starting to worry.

  "Do not strip," she says at last, and I can't help but start snickering again.

  "Come out. I grabbed some burgers. It'll be better than the tuna you insist on eating. The house will stink less, too."

  I hate that damn smell. I'm really glad she doesn't smell like that. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be driving home early on a Friday night to see her if she smelled like that.

  "Promise you won't laugh at me?" she asks timidly, sounding so damn hopeful, but that just makes me laugh.

  What can I say to make this more fun?

  "I'm only laughing because I've been expecting it. You always ran around your house in your underwear. Not very smart for a girl trying to lay low."

  "Please tell me you're joking," she whimpers immediately.

  "You should have bought curtains or worn shorts if you didn't want anyone to notice."

  "I never thought anyone was peering through my damn windows!"

  It hurts. Damn, I've never laughed this hard. She's killing me.

  It takes a lot, and I do mean a lot, of effort, but I manage to speak. "Seriously? Your room was almost directly across from mine, and your bed was pressed against the window. How was I supposed to never see you lounging around in your underwear? Don't make it a big deal."

  It takes a few seconds, but she finally opens the door, her eyes narrowing at me as I grin like a fool.

  "I hate you, you know."

  I can't help but snicker quietly while motioning for her to follow me. She comes willingly, and I swear I hear her stomach growl. Good. I did something right.

  "I'll grab some plates," I say as I head to the cabinets. I quickly grab two clear plates, before turning back around. She's still embarrassed.

  She's staring at the bar when I put a plate in front of her. She looks adorable in a shade of crimson blush.

  "I thought you'd be at the club longer," she mumbles, frowning.

  "I don't ever stay long. It's business. Same for my parties. I hang out until the sobriety is gone, and then I head to my room for the rest of the night. Everyone got drunk earlier than usual tonight."

  It's the truth, well, except for the last part. Everyone was just getting started when I left, but I refuse to tell her that. That would just make things awkward, and I like this relaxed version of us.

  "Business?" she asks, bringing her eyes up to meet mine as the blush slowly starts to slip away.

  I smile while pulling the burgers out, and her eyes zero in on them like a starving woman. I definitely did something right. Finally.

  "Yes, business. My parties aren't for me to sow wild oats. I have fun sometimes, and let loose, but most of the time I'm earning contacts. Though Adam, John, Mandy, or Carla might seem like hell-raisers right now, in another few years, they'll be climbing high in whatever company they choose."

  I can't believe I'm telling her this. Only my family knows about this shit. If she told people, they'd stop coming. No one wants to feel like a tool. I need to shut up.

  "Pedigree rights," she says, but she has the decency to cover her mouth and look regretful.

  I shrug, trying not to act offended, as I carry on about my task. I refuse to let this night go sour just because of her feelings toward my finances. It's obvious it bothers her, considering all her past snarky remarks.

  "Ped
igree sometimes plays a part. Most of the time they're actually brilliant minds. There aren't a whole lot of people in an Ivy League college because they're stupid, Raya. One day, I'll need to call them, and they'll remember these years at college. Same for them and me. Business. You don't get to the top by hard work and brains alone. You play the game. Nothing else matters if you don't play the game."

  "So you play games?" she asks, making it sound a little flirty.

  That shouldn't make me so damn happy. It's much better than the bitter comment she made moments ago.

  "When I have to," I say, giving her a small wink before I open the cabinet to the glasses.

  "So, you came here to be close to your family and to play games with the other socialite offspring?" Nothing flirty about that tone. Back to bitter.

  I tense in front of the glasses.

  "Sorry. That came out a little... harsher than I intended," she says when I don't respond.

  I slowly turn back around to meet her apologetic eyes. It's obvious we need to address this, because I'm sick of it causing tension. People having money is apparently an issue for her, but I'm not going to continue to take the brunt of her resentment.

  "Is it just me you hate, or all of us?"

  She sighs as a touch of guilt weights her, acting as though she feels chastened, or maybe Sweet Raya is coming back out.

  "I haven't had the best experience with the upper class. Take this week for example. Until today, most of the campus has been running their mouths about me. The ones making my life hell weren't scholarship students."

  She has no idea how pissed about that I've been, but at the same time, she's really off base with the whole campus thing. So, in an effort to lighten the heavy air, my clenched jaw loosens, and I force a smile.

  "There are thousands of students here. It's college—not high school. Only a tenth of the population even know you exist. Don't be so dramatic."

  Her face falls.

  "Well, the ten percent who know I exist seem to be everywhere."

  "Still?" I ask. How much more of a message do I need to send? I assumed Joseph's mangled face would have been enough of a warning for everyone to keep their mouths shut.

  "No, but only because-"

  "They've moved on to something juicier," I interrupt, cringing inwardly as I silently chastise myself. I hate it when Dad cuts me off. But I continue, since I've already done it. "Don't treat this like high school. It's not the same. There's no queen, no king, and no cliques that rule it all. People talk whether you're in school or not, but it doesn't dictate anything. You choose how much you allow people to rule you."

  Great. I sound like Dr. Phil right now. I just lost all my coolness.

  "Was this your way of getting around my question?" she asks, biting back a grin.

  She shouldn't draw my attention to her lips. That's not nice. Not nice at all.

  "Ah, yes. Your question. I came here to be close to my family, as I said. But also because this is where most of the partiers will be—rebels without a cause acting out for attention. Believe it or not, the ones who don't end up in rehab will be some of the most successful businessmen or businesswomen in the country. Always are. And you build stronger bonds over beer than you do over brunch."

  I'm rewarded by her laugh as I start pouring my beer into a glass, watching to make sure the foam doesn't rise too quickly.

  "You want one?" I ask absently.

  "Um... I'm eighteen."

  "Old enough to vote and go to war, but not drink?" I ask, smiling.

  "I'll take one, but you can keep the glass."

  Great. Now I'm a pompous ass pouring a beer into a glass. Shit. It's just a habit. My mother would knock the hell out of me if I drank straight from the bottle.

  I chuckle while shaking my head, stalling.

  "I only pour it in a glass when I eat. Less backwash," I lie, trying to save face.

  Her nose wrinkles up as she says, "On second thought, I'll take the glass after all."

  She bought it. Good. Now I don't look like such a pretentious jerk with money. I really wish her opinion of me didn't matter.

  I pour hers, showing it the same attention I gave mine, and do well to ignore her eyes on me.

  "So you're twenty-one?" she asks, making casual conversation. Progress.

  "Yep. Not far from twenty-two."

  "And you're set to start work right out of school, I bet."

  She's creeping back into bitter territory, but I don't think she's meaning to. I still feel a need to defend myself.

  "Yes. Though, I doubt it's for the reasons you think. I'm not going to deny I'm lucky, fortunate in some areas even. Having a job lined up with my grandfather's company is one of those fortunate circumstances."

  "And it's just that easy. Finish college and take over his business?"

  I laugh, finding her too much like my father for my liking right now, and I'm dangerously close to sounding bitter. But I rein it in. She doesn't have a clue about all the work I've put into that place. Most people don't. Only my granddad appreciates it.

  "Definitely not easy. My father hates it. He built his business on his own, and then he married into money. He came from the belly of the lower-class, and he earned his right to stand high in the upper-class—as you called it. He thinks I should start at the ground-level and work my way up."

  And he harps on it every chance he gets.

  "And you don't feel you should have to?" She has to stop sounding like him soon, or this night is over. "You don't think there are people who have been working and waiting for an opportunity like you'll have?"

  Apparently I'm going to have to rehash the same argument I've had with Paul Colton numerous times. At least my dick isn't paying her a damn bit of attention right now.

  "My grandfather needs someone to take over certain pieces of the business as soon as possible. Those pieces aren't the ground-level. Though there are others who have been waiting longer for this opportunity, this is the company my grandfather built from nothing. He wants someone he can trust, and he knows that's me. So is it unfair to some? Yes. But do I feel guilty for being the one my granddad trusts? Hell no."

  The look in her eyes changes from judgmental to... I don't know what it is, but I really like it. Adoration maybe? Surely not. But she doesn't seem to want to shove her point down my throat anymore.

  "You're fond of your grandfather," she says randomly, eliciting a grin from me as I resume filling the plates up with food.

  "Very." I point to her plate. "If that's the end of the Capperton Inquisition, how about we move to the living room and watch a movie while we eat?"

  I'm ready to get away from this topic, because talking about him hurts. The fact that he has cancer haunts me daily. I don't need the reminders.

  "One more question," she says, following me as I make my way into the living room.

  She's relentless. Haven't we talked enough? I don't want to discuss money, family, or futures for right now.

  When she doesn't continue, I realize she's waiting on my permission to proceed. So I put my food on the coffee table and sit down.

  "Yes?"

  "Why are you being so nice to me all of the sudden?"

  It sucks that I was ever a dick to her. Had I known... It was all stupid. I should have invited her to stay here without having to be hauled into court and told what to do.

  My eyes fall to her shoulder where the bruises have almost faded into nothing, no longer telling a story of how close she came to dying. Instead of lying, I decide to be honest.

  "Because believe it or not, I don't like knowing you got hurt. I feel like an ass. Seeing the proof of the damage that could have been done... Let's just say it scared me. Now, can we eat?"

  She finally settles in next to me and eats her burger like she's been starving for years. That makes me smile.

  Once we're done, she sets her plate down, and the small gap between us on the couch becomes nothing. Our sides are touching, and it's not at all a comfortable thing when yo
u've got arms like mine. It makes it awkward.

  At the risk of her telling me off, I toss my arm over the back of the couch, making room for her to get even closer. Initially she doesn't, but as the boring movie progresses, she slowly gets closer, finally resting her body against mine.

  I smile—since she can't see me—when her head nestles into my chest. Then she damn near gets in my lap. What's going on?

  I sit completely still, scared I might spook her, and then I hear a soft little snore coming from her. I've never thought a snore was cute, until now. She's really getting under my skin. I'm getting pathetic.

  When her small hand comes up to rest on my chest, I use my free hand to hold it there, reveling in the feel of her.

  Then, in her sleep, she murmurs, "I'm sorry, Kade."

  I have no idea what she's sorry for, but I can only assume she's subconsciously feeling guilty for what she said earlier. Since this movie is terrible, I decide to end the night by carrying her to bed.

  Her arms wrap around my neck instinctively, and she sweetly presses her cheek against me as she gets comfortable. I wish her lips didn't look so inviting.

  When I make it to her room, I gently put her on the bed, staring at her long after the task of tucking her in is done. My eyes hit her nightstand and see her phone. I grab it up and call mine, then program my number into her phone. I should have her number and she should have mine. I didn't even know what she likes on her hamburger, and I couldn't call to ask. Fortunately, I guessed right.

  She looks too sweet to just leave, and I lose a bit of self control, kissing the top of her head. Something inside me almost snaps, and a thudding in my chest worries me. Raya Capperton is going to be a problem for me because she's one distraction I'm starting to want.

  Chapter Six

  The music is pumping, people are pouring in, and Raya is still in her room. I've been busy most of the day, considering everyone wants to text me all day on party days. I almost regret this, because I'd rather just have a quiet night with Raya again. It was... nice. Most people don't make me feel so at ease, but after she quit interrogating me, it felt so... peaceful.