by Callie Rose
Ugh.
I grimace. Just two days ago, she and Savannah had another blowout in the girls’ locker room over Trent. They both want him, seeing as he’s the fucking football captain, and they keep lying and backstabbing each other as they try to stake their claim on him. But apparently, that won’t stop Iris from sniffing around elsewhere too.
The sight of her grinding up on River bothers me for some reason, although I’m not quite sure why. But he doesn’t seem interested at all. She doesn’t stop when he fails to respond to her advances though, standing on her tiptoes to try to stick her tongue in his ear.
He jerks sharply at that and finally pushes her away. I can’t hear what he says over the noise of the music and the crowd, but it’s obviously a rejection.
That penetrates her drunk skull, and she blinks at him in shock for a second. Then she shoves against his chest, her voice rising to a yell that cuts through the surrounding noise. “Fuck you, River Bettencourt! You think I’m not good enough for you? Is that what you think?”
He shakes his head and mutters something to her as his three friends turn in their direction.
“Any guy at this school would be lucky to hook up with me, you asshole! You think you’re so much better than me?” She’s drunker than I thought, her voice slurring a little as she yells. “I shouldn’t have even bothered going after a loser like you!” A sneer curves her lips. “It would’ve been a pity fuck, and you know it. Why would any girl want someone defective like you?”
The last words are almost a hiss, but then she screeches as she’s physically hauled away from him. Dax releases her so fast she stumbles in her heels and almost goes down on her ass, but she flings her arms out to steady herself as all three of the guys converge around River, facing off against Iris. Savannah rushes forward to grab the elbow of her on-again, off-again friend, glaring at the four boys, who glare right back.
Holy shit. They’re fucking pissed.
When Lincoln stood up for me in the cafeteria, there was an air of bored nonchalance in his challenge of Savannah. But now, I swear he’s practically growling.
“Back the fuck off, Iris. You’re wasted.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know the truth,” she slurs. “Maybe the whole school should know—”
This time it’s Chase who steps up. I don’t hear what he says, but whatever it is, it makes Iris blanch. Her eyes spit daggers at all of them, but she and Savannah turn on their heels and stalk off—the effect only slightly ruined by her unsteady gait.
Lincoln turns to face River, saying something I can’t hear. The brown-haired boy nods, his jaw tight. The other three kings go back to their discussion, keeping an eye on the party-goers around them, as Rivers disappears down a hallway toward the back of the house.
Savannah and Iris settle into a corner to lick their wounds, and I find myself diverting from my original course. Instead, I slip down another hallway and make my way to the back, stepping out onto a wide terrace.
It’s dark out here, lit only by the glow spilling from the windows on the other side of the house. River is standing near the low wall that edges the terrace, and his head is slightly bent. He looks… sad. Broken, somehow.
Did Iris’s words really hurt him? How could they have? She’s a drunk, kind of skanky cheerleader, and when it comes to power and status at school, he’s got her beat, hands down.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry about that,” I say softly. This guy’s been kind of a dick to me, but he hasn’t done anything bad enough for me to relish in watching someone tear him down.
He doesn’t respond, just draws in a deep breath and runs a hand through his brown hair. He probably wants to be left alone, but I’ve never been great about walking away from things, so I step closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder with my free hand.
“Seriously, Iris is a bitch. I don’t know what her problem is, but she—”
My fingertips are a few inches from him when he spins, cutting me off as he clamps a hand around my wrist. His gray eyes look almost silver in the dim light, and he squints at me, breathing hard.
“What the fuck do you want?”
I’m shocked by the sudden movement, and by the look on his face. My heart stutters in my chest as I shake my head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say—”
“I don’t need your fucking pity. Just get the hell away from me.”
He pushes me backward and releases my wrist at the same time, keeping his gaze locked on me as I stand there and gape at him.
What the hell? I was just trying to be nice.
But I’m not Iris, so instead of throwing a temper tantrum about it, I just hold up my hands.
“Yeah. I’d love to.”
Spinning on my heel, I march back into the house. Lincoln sees me emerging from the back hallway and shoots me an assessing look, but I ignore him, taking a long pull from my beer before heading over toward the kids from my Business and Econ class.
I don’t get these guys. One minute, they’re assholes to me, the next they’re defending me. Then when I try to reach out, they’re jerks again.
Maybe that’s the lesson here.
I should be keeping my distance from all four of them.
9
I largely ignore Lincoln and the other three guys throughout the next week. It’s a little harder to avoid Lincoln since we’re living under the same damn roof, but it’s a big house, and it’s easy enough to find an excuse to leave a room if he’s in it.
On Friday, there’s another poker game in the same warehouse I went to last time. I sneak down the west wing stairs—the bedroom next to mine is empty this time, thank God—and slip out the front door. The ATM won’t let me withdraw more than a thousand dollars, which is too bad because I’m feeling lucky tonight. Ah well. If I can at least double it, that’ll help make up for the money Mom spent fixing her car.
When I step inside the warehouse, adrenaline spikes in my blood, sending pleasurable tingles over my skin. I live for this shit. The therapist my mom made me see a few times after I was officially declared cancer-free said a craving for adrenaline is common in survivors of life-threatening illness or accident—as is the complete opposite, where they worry constantly and become cautious about everything.
Maybe the therapist could’ve helped me work through it or something, but my mom couldn’t afford to keep sending me. And besides, I’m not sure I want to work through it. I almost died before my life ever really got started. If I’m still here, I’m sure as hell going to really live.
The guy who greeted me last time, Carson, scoffs when he sees me approaching. “You really think we’re gonna let you play here again, Pool Girl?”
Dammit. I open my mouth to try a little sweet talk, but before I can say anything, a voice comes from behind me.
“Sure, she can play. Why not?”
Lincoln grins at me when I turn to him. He’s flanked by Dax, Chase, and River, and they all look pretty fucking smug right now. They weren’t here last time, so either they were busy that night or they don’t usually come to these games. But their friend Ethan was here, and I noticed him watching me. He probably told them he saw me.
And if that’s the case…
They just came here to fuck with me.
The thought irritates me, but then I decide it really shouldn’t. I can take their money as well as anyone else’s. In fact, it’ll be a damn pleasure.
“Yeah, all right,” Carson grumbles, and I hand him my neatly folded bills in exchange for chips. “She’s sitting at your table though.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lincoln says with an almost feral grin.
I wonder if these guys are any good, or if they know how good I am. Well, guess we’re all about to find out.
We all end up at a table with two other guys and the steely-eyed girl from last time. Within the first round, I start to get the lay of the land. The kings of Linwood came here together, and they seem to function as a group in pretty much everything, but they’re definitely n
ot all playing at the same level.
Dax and Chase are pretty much equally bad, which makes sense—they’re both too impulsive and expressive, too reckless and easy to read. Lincoln is decent, with a good poker face but iffy strategy. River, though? He’s good. I guess that makes sense. He’s the quietest and most observant of the guys, the most likely to be slightly apart from everyone else, watching, taking things in.
I lose the first hand on purpose, even though I know it’s too late to try to convince anyone I don’t know what I’m doing. But even if they know they’re playing a skilled opponent, winning bolsters people’s confidence. And confidence makes them stupid.
Sure enough, River smirks in satisfaction as he reveals two pair and rakes in the pot.
We play a few more rounds, and between counting cards and learning people’s tells, I’m doing well. I’m up at least a thousand, but I want to double that.
I get my chance in the next round, with pocket aces and an ace on the flop.
Dax drops out almost immediately, which is a smart call because I’m pretty sure he’s got a shit hand. Chase hangs on for a little while longer, then folds too. I’ve got four of a kind, and I don’t think River’s got much, if my math is right. He’s looking down and to the side like he has every time he’s had a bad hand before, and the corners of his lips are pinched.
The steely-eyed girl, Monica, folds next, and Lincoln calls once then follows her. Finally, it’s just me and River left, and the pot has gotten big.
I have him. I know I do.
“All in.” I push my remaining chips to the middle of the table.
He narrows his thoughtful gray-blue eyes at me. But instead of just calling, he reaches into the front pocket of his dark-wash jeans and pulls out a quarter.
“What, are you going to raise me twenty-five cents?” I ask sardonically.
“No.” He smiles at me, and it looks like he’s actually having fun. I can relate to that; I am too. Because I’m about to take all his money. “This is a marker. Worth one favor. Anytime. Anywhere. No questions asked.”
“And you think that’s worth more than twenty-five cents?” I arch a brow, and he chuckles.
“Depends on the favor, I guess. But, yeah. You accept?”
I shrug. I just really want this fucking pile of chips. If it comes with a spare quarter and the promise of a random favor, so be it. “Sure.”
“Okay, then. Call and raise.”
Haha. This fucker. Fine.
I glance around the table. “Anybody got a quarter?”
Dax grins, reaching into his pocket. “For you, Pool Girl? Anything.”
He hands it to me, and I flip it onto the pile. Shit. That’s a lot of money. I’ll have to deposit it in a couple batches just in case mom checks her balance and gets suspicious.
“All right. What you got?” River’s gray-blue eyes spark with interest as he looks at me.
He’s dressed in a dark, long-sleeved tee that hugs his muscled frame without being obnoxiously tight, and his brown hair is styled in spiky peaks as always. He looks utterly relaxed, and I almost feel bad I’m about to ruin that for him.
Almost.
I turn over my hand, revealing my four of a kind.
His gaze tracks down to the cards laid out on the table, and his body goes still for a second. He blinks and nods slowly, then lets out a deep breath and places his cards down one by one.
A jack. A queen. A king. An ace. And a ten.
All hearts.
He looks back up at me, and he still has that serious, pensive look on his face, even though he just won.
He just. Fucking. Won.
Everyone else at the table laughs and whistles, their tension breaking. But I’m still staring at River, and he’s still staring back at me with those beautiful, soft, dangerously mysterious eyes.
How is that possible?
It shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t have that hand.
He fucking cheated.
My heart rate slows to a dull, heavy thud as he reaches out and rakes the pile toward him. All the chips. A thousand dollars of my mom’s money. And two goddamn quarters.
Fuck.
The game starts breaking up, everyone gathering their chips and talking amongst themselves. I don’t have anything left to cash out though, so I stand abruptly and make a beeline for the door. I’m shaking with frustration and fury—at myself, at River, at whatever idiotic demon whispered in my ear that I should make that bet.
I burst out into the dark, quiet night and am halfway to my car when the door opens again, casting light across the dim pavement.
“Something wrong, Pool Girl?”
It’s Lincoln, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He knew. They all must’ve known. They fucking planned this.
I whirl on them and hiss, “Of course something’s wrong. You cheated!”
“Yeah.” River shrugs. He either cashed out already, or he came out here first, which is more likely. “So? You did too. You think I don’t know you were counting cards? I just cheated better this time.”
“Well, I’m not doing you a fucking favor if you didn’t win it fair and square.”
“Really? You want me to go back in there and tell Carson you’re going back on a bet? You seem to love the game—it’d suck if you couldn’t find a single person willing to play with you.”
“You’re a cock,” I spit, my anger and annoyance making me forget the whole “your friend could get me fired” thing.
He doesn’t seem to mind the insult though. He actually grins wider. Maybe it’s because he knows I wouldn’t be this pissed if I wasn’t about to give in.
“Fine.” I drag the word out, my body resisting saying it. “One favor.”
“Anytime. Anywhere. No questions asked.”
“Fine. What do you want from me?” I blurt.
A brief flash of heat flares in his eyes, and against my will, an answering warmth blooms in my lower belly. He grins at me, and for the first time, it occurs to me what exactly I just did. How truly stupid my bet was.
There are so many things he could ask for.
And if I say no, I’ll be blacklisted from every poker game I could possibly get into. I can’t let that happen. Especially not when I need to make back what I lost tonight.
“I don’t know yet,” he says softly. “But I’ll think of something.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Great. Well, when you do, you know where to find me.”
Before they can say anything else or notice the breathy catch in my voice, I turn and walk quickly to my car.
There’s no music on the way home. No dancing behind the wheel. Just silence, and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the adrenaline wears off.
This is probably the kind of reckless behavior that shrink would’ve helped me stay away from.
Too bad it’s way too late for that now.
I sneak in the service door of the Black mansion and creep up the dark stairs to my bedroom. After slipping on a tank and shorts, I glance at my bed. I’m not exactly wired, but I know I won’t be able to sleep yet.
So I pad down the hall to Mom’s little apartment and head for her small bedroom. She makes a low noise when I crawl up beside her, then blinks her eyes open.
“Low? You okay?”
“Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.” It’s not a lie, but I don’t tell her the reason.
“Everything okay?” She reaches up to brush my hair out of my face, her brown eyes shining in the dim light from the window.
“Yeah.” I nod reassuringly. It will be. I hope. “How ’bout you? You made it through your first month as Executive Housekeeper. How do you like it so far?”
“I like it.” She smiles wistfully, her eyes going soft. “It’s honestly not as hard as I thought it would be. And Samuel’s nice. Audrey is… a little strange. But she’s nice enough too, I guess.”
Strange is one word for it. Doped up might be another.
We’ve been here just over four weeks, and I fe
el like I know as much about Audrey Black now as I did the day we were introduced. Not that I know any of the Black family members all that well, but at least I’ve gotten some kind of read on Lincoln and his dad.
My mom’s rose-colored glasses won’t let her see all the weirdness around here, and I don’t want to ruin it for her if she’s happy. But I resolve to be extra paranoid, extra vigilant on her behalf. There are some shady things in this house, in this town, and I don’t want any of it to get on us.
In a year, I want to be able to graduate and go to college without worrying about Mom. And in a few years, I want her to be able to quit this job and find a career she really loves because she doesn’t have to worry about living paycheck to paycheck anymore.
“Good. I’m glad you’re happy here. Love you, Mom.” I nestle closer, resting my head on her shoulder.
“Love you too, Low. More than anything.”
Her voice is already fading as she speaks, and a few minutes later, she’s asleep again.
I roll onto my back, in no hurry to go back to my room.
Instead, I lay awake for another hour, wondering what favor River is going to demand from me.
And when.
10
For the next few days, I feel like I have something hanging over my head. An anvil or a guillotine, maybe. Something that will almost certainly ruin me when it finally falls.
The weekend passes quickly, and on Monday, I meet Lincoln downstairs at 7:25 a.m. sharp. I don’t dick around with lateness in the morning anymore. I can still remember the feel of his gaze on my naked body, and even though my skin heats up at the memory, I really don’t want a repeat of that.
Our drives have settled into a routine too. I manage the radio, watching his face until I land on a song he likes and stopping there—as long as I find it acceptable too. Sometimes we talk a little bit, which is how I find out he’s lived in Fox Hill his whole life, that his grandparents on both sides are dead, and that he wants to study business in undergrad.
Today, I land on Ariana Grande, and as I sit back, I glance over at Lincoln. “You guys came to that poker night because you knew I’d be there, didn’t you?”