by S. Love
To me, Cindy’s life is a vacation. I don’t say that, though. I keep my opinions to myself.
She shifts from the window, smiles at me, and then wheels in my suitcase that Topher ever so kindly dumped outside my door.
“I’ll leave you to get settled, put your things away.” Before Cindy makes it through the doorway, she turns to me and says, “Did you bring your job description with you? The list of duties you’ll carry out and when?”
“I have it,” I say. “Should I start right away?”
Please say no.
“I’ve given you today and tomorrow off, to allow you to get a feel for the house. See where everything is and settle in. If you get hungry, you can make yourself something to eat any time. You don’t need my permission. The boys are all out now, no one will disturb you. Go into town if you like, or to the beach. The rest of your time is your own.”
When Cindy’s gone, and I’m alone with my backpack and suitcase stashed with what I could fit in from my ordinary life back home, I leave them exactly where they are and curl up on the bed fully clothed, kicking my shoes to the floor. My mind doesn’t shut down for a solid hour or longer, but this bed’s too comfortable to resist, and I fall slowly into sleep with the sun shining in through the window and the ceiling fan whirring overhead.
I’m woken prematurely, and it takes a minute for my weary brain to register this isn’t my basic twin bed or my small, cluttered bedroom.
Music pounds from below, the heavy bass thumping. My eyelids protest the disturbance, and I give myself a little longer to fully come around. I’d fallen asleep while there was still daylight, but the sky’s indigo blue beyond the glass doors.
I pat down the quilt, looking for my cell phone. I locate it on my right side and press the button to illuminate the home screen. It’s four minutes before nine, and only a few minutes away from the indigo sky turning completely black.
I lie on my back listening to G-Eazy’s “Far Alone”, not making it to the end of the song before I’m forced out of bed, unable to relax through all the noise. I’ve slept so long I feel gross and sticky.
Locked in a silent debate with myself, staring at my suitcase while chewing on my lip, the suitcase wins, and I get out of bed to dig through the folded-up mess, searching for a comfortable change of clothes.
After minimal raking, I take out a clean set of underwear, a pair of cotton shorts, a thin sweater and my shower caddy. I hold everything to my chest, open the bedroom door and stick my head out, confirming the coast is clear. It is, and it’s a good thing, too, because I have no idea where the bathroom is.
I find it soon enough, or at least I’ve found a bathroom. A house of this size is probably hiding five more. Clean towels have been set out in a glass cabinet, folded according to size, and I strip out of my clothes, untie my hair, and then spend an obscene amount of time figuring out how to work the ten-thousand shower controls. When I finally get the water flowing, it’s like I’m standing under a gushing waterfall. Lifting my head, I smile and shove my face directly under the pouring water. I spend a few minutes just relaxing, my muscles unknotting before I reach into my caddy and take out my strawberry shampoo and conditioner.
My fingers are wrinkled when I shut off the water and wrap up in one of the fluffy towels. I wrap a smaller one around my head, gather my things, and haul ass back to my room, the marble floor intrusively cold under my feet after ten minutes in steamy heaven.
I close my bedroom door behind me, drop my shit onto the middle of my bed and unravel the towel from my head.
My phone rings as I’m dragging a comb through my dark tumble of wet hair. I answer, hitting speakerphone. “Are you there?” I say to my sister. I sit down at the stocked vanity table and swap the hair comb for my lotion. Prop one foot up on the table and rub the sweet-smelling cream into my leg.
“I’m here,” Talia says after a short delay. “Have you cleaned any toilet bowls yet? Or are you saving the best bits ‘til later?”
“We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m riding around in a Mini Cooper and your car’s farting soot in your face.”
“You can be my chauffer.”
“In your dreams.” I swap legs, banging the neck of the lotion bottle into my palm to release the last few drops. A fat, milky glob spills out and I rub it into my skin, all the way up over my knee, to my thigh.
“So, what are the Terrible Three like?”
“You tell me. I didn’t work at the country club, you did.”
“Abs,” she deadpans. “Abs everywhere. If you weren’t scrubbing dirty floors, I’d be jealous of you.”
What dirty floors? There’s none in this house. Even the driveway’s sparkling.
“Bad attitudes,” I tell her. “Bad attitudes everywhere.”
Talia laughs, but it soon turns into a sigh. “Well, guess I should go inside, huh? Hunt down my dorm room.”
“You aren’t even inside yet?”
“No, just standing here in the dark with my car for company, staring up at what I hope is the right building. I’ve been driving around forever, damn GPS.”
“Good luck.”
“Lyla?”
“Yes?”
“Watch yourself with those wolves. Save your paychecks, go back home and buy your car.” I pull a face at Talia’s cryptic message, staring down at my phone. “Bye, sis.”
“Yeah… bye,” I say.
I’m still staring at my phone long after I’ve hung up. Talia’s left for her freshman year at Bellmont University, six long hours away. It’s not like I won’t ever see her again, but my older sister’s my best friend, and I suddenly feel unbearably lonely without her.
Chapter 3
I overcompensate for my shitty state of my mind by blow-drying the curls out of my long hair. It’s never a good idea to sleep on wet hair, especially if it has the potential to get as wild as mine does. Besides, there’s no risk of me being able to sleep any time soon. The devil’s minions have made sure of that.
When I’m dressed, I pull on a pair of chunky, white socks, grab my phone and go find Cindy. Maybe there’s something she wants me to do, since I don’t quite know where to put myself.
My eyes search the foyer as I descend the stairs, but there’s no one in sight. There are voices, though, and laughter, and really loud music.
I track the commotion into the kitchen and realize that Cindy mustn’t be home. Not unless she allows rowdy and out-of-control gatherings to take over her house on a regular basis. And I didn’t really get that impression from her. I did get the impression she allows her sons to walk all over her. She’s the mother, but she’s no match for what she’s created.
The French doors are open, the rear-yard deck studded with white, halogen lights. Bikini-clad bodies recline on the upholstered sun loungers, and the party overflows onto the beach, right down to the tideline. On the other side of the kitchen, a male figure relieves an overhead cabinet of two full bottles of amber liquor. The muscles in his bare back and shoulders flex as he reaches for a second bottle of Jack Daniels, and my gaze roams the golden skin that ends at his hips. His track pants are riding dangerously low, and they fit like he’s doing the sports brand and the world a favor just by wearing them.
Ozzie closes the glass cabinet door and turns in my direction, as if sensing he’s being watched and doesn’t like it.
“You’re having a party?” I say when he just stares at me. I’m not the kind of girl who feels the need to fill a blank space with useless chatter, but there’s something about this boy’s eyes on me that whispers in my ear to scuttle into the nearest corner and hide.
“You catch on quick. You aren’t invited, but don’t sweat it, we’ll leave plenty for you to clean up.” He picks up all three bottles of the Tennessee whiskey, his full, pink mouth pulling up on one side in a sadistic smirk. My heart races with humiliation, heat sprinting through my insides.
“It was a fucking joke,” he says, when I must look like I’m about to cry. “You know what
one of those is?”
“Yes,” I bite out. “Only, they’re usually funny.” I don’t know why I’m letting what he said bother me. It was my choice to take this job, no one held a gun to my head. I should’ve known there’d be assholes involved. Where money’s concerned, there nearly always is.
“Left your sense of humor back in the slums, huh?” he continues to provoke me.
“I don’t know, did you leave yours up your ass? No, I’m sorry, that’s your head.”
Ozzie snickers, giving me a look that lets me know all I’ve achieved is to waste his time. He’s taken an instant dislike to me, and I can’t figure out why.
He takes the liquor outside, and I’m left alone in the kitchen, on the other side of the party and with the firm message I’m not to cross over.
Well, fuck him. I hope he winds up in hospital with alcohol poisoning. Or better yet, a messy and oozing STD. I came downstairs hungry, but the thought of eating causes my insides to sway. Clayton Osborne has ruined my appetite.
I go to the fridge, anyway, keeping up a charade. I take out all the ingredients for a turkey and cheese sandwich and make the snack in record time, clearing up after myself and leaving the kitchen cleaner that it was when I came in here. I carry my plate and a glass of milk into the TV room, directly opposite the kitchen, and close the glass doors, creating a partition between me and the racket that’s going on outside.
I pick at one half of my sandwich, nibbling on the sourdough breadcrumbs. Other than their names, all I’ve learned about Cindy’s sons is that they shattered the mold when it comes to the term ‘douche canoe’. Bunch of rich pricks.
I’m not dumb; I get that a proportion of rich people have more money than sense. But even if I was so wealthy it made me sick, I still wouldn’t behave like Cindy’s kids. My mom raised me better than that, showing me how money becomes less attractive when it’s an entitlement. Money should be earned, and then it should be respected. At least, that’s how it goes in our house.
I’m putting another morsel of bread into my mouth when I hear the latch click. I twist my head as the doorknob turns, and Topher strolls in wearing a pair of gray and white board shorts that are barely straddling his hips. His shorts and mussed, sandy-brown hair are damp.
“Tammy, get your ass in here,” he throws over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I say, when he bends down and swipes one half of my sandwich off my plate and demolishes three-quarters in one bite.
“Mmm. Turkey and swiss,” he mumbles with his mouth full. “Killer combo.” He drops onto the couch beside me, his damp thigh smacking into mine.
I shuffle over, creating a foot of space, and hand Topher the plate with the rest of my sandwich. It’s not like I want it.
A girl walks in, flaunting generous curves wrapped in a strappy, silver bathing suit. Topher pats his thigh, and the girl falls into him like I’m not sitting right there. Her arms wrap around his neck while he shovels my dinner into his mouth. One of his hands dips into the back of the girl’s bikini bottoms, and I make a disgusted sound, standing up and leaving them to it.
Sunday morning, following a restless night, I slip on a powder blue summer dress. Run a comb though my dark waves, grab my backpack with my phone and my money in it, and tell Cindy I’m going out.
This is my last full day of freedom before my next day off, and I don’t intend on spending a second of it around the Gruesome Threesome.
I stroll along the beach to the boardwalk, where the lazy Sunday crowds are starting to pick up. Cape Pearl is an exclusive, coveted marina town, but the weekends see the coastal spot swarming with tourists from all over America. It’s mostly the wealthy and the elite who vacation here, mainly because everything’s too expensive for your average joe like me. But the beach is open to anyone, and anyone turns up.
When I get to the pier, I recognize two girls from my homeroom, Kenya Phillips and Lauren Treadwell. Kenya’s sitting on the pier’s railing, and Lauren’s leaning over it, both watching the surfing activities going on below.
The waves are foaming white caps today; the perfect early-morning conditions to take your board out. I don’t have my own board, but I know the best time to be out on the water is the ass-crack of dawn. These guys out here now are cleaning up the rest of the offshore wind, but they would have been crawling these waters since before sunrise.
“Would you get a load of Falcon Osborne’s arms,” Lauren says, her eyes clouded with lust. “You think his dick’s just as thick?”
I roll my eyes at the mention of the name ‘Osborne’. I’d assumed after last night’s festivities the Gruesome Threesome would be nursing skull-crushing headaches today. At least, that’s what I’d wished for. Seems I’m shit out of luck.
I refrain from mentioning my involvement with the family. There’s no reason for anyone—especially friendly gossips like these two—to know I’m working for the Osbornes. I like Kenya and Lauren enough, but they’ll have the news spread around Cape Pearl before the sun’s reached its highest point.
Kenya cranes her neck, shoulder-length bubblegum-pink hair falling around her face as she looks down at the ocean. “Erin told me Con’s been seeing someone. For, like, almost a year, but they broke up. Bet she was clingy with him. He hates that. Guess that’s why he’s always hooking up”
“I’d be clingy if Falcon was my boyfriend. What do you think, Lyla? Falcon or Ozzie?” Lauren asks. “I’d transfer to Pearl Academy just to watch Ozzie’s ass in school trousers every day. He’s a senior this year, so this would be my last chance.”
Ozzie? I walk up to the railing, peering over and curling my hands around the white wooden ledge. Yes, Ozzie is there, and it looks like everyone knows who these boys are but me. Then again, Lauren and Kenya attend public school with me, but they both live in Cape Pearl.
“There’s still Topher,” Kenya points out, propping her chin on her knuckles.
Lauren agrees with a serious nod. “He isn’t even seventeen yet, but he is hot, for sure. Looks way older than he is.”
Their chatter floats around me as I look over the pier. Ozzie sits far out in the glittering gray stretch of water, straddling a white surfboard with a crazy hot-pink design painted on it. He bobs over the soft swells, behind the sandbar.
“Neither,” I say to Lauren, allowing how much the idea of any brother revolts me color my voice.
Lauren gives me a doubtful look. “Lies. Are you lesbian?”
“Yes, I’m a lesbian.”
“Masie O’Connor posted a selfie on her Facebook of her and Garrett cuddling up in her pool. Isn’t that your boyfriend?” The question spews from Kenya’s lips like an accusation, leaving me feeling like I need to defend myself for something I haven’t done.
“They split,” Lauren says.
It’s true. I’ve had the same on/off boyfriend since I was fifteen. I’m turning seventeen next month, and Garrett Jardine and I are officially no more. And apparently, he’s already over me. I’ve had so much going on in my life recently I’d forgotten about him for a quick minute there. I suppose I’ll have to get used to seeing him now I’ve taken up residency on his stomping grounds. It’s a matter of time before I run into him, and possibly his new girlfriend, Masie. I don’t know who Masie is, but my initial reaction is to place her securely in my ‘enemy box’.
Garrett doesn’t even know I’m here. He’s just finished up his junior year at Cape Pearl Academy, the preppiest private school in the district, so we only saw each other outside of classes. I was invited to his house a grand total of once. He always came to my neighborhood, and I could never quieten the niggling suspicion that he was ashamed to be seen with me. All the signs were there, I just chose not to believe them.
I’m in a daze when either Lauren or Kenya say, “Anyway, what’re you doing around here? I thought Talia was enrolled for the summer semester.”
“She is.” I put my back to the ocean. I’ve had enough of watching Ozzie. He receives too much attention as it is without me tip
ping the scales on his supremacy.
Lauren’s sympathetic sea-blue gaze bears down on me. “Girl, Garrett might be all that and a side of hot as fuck, but you’re way prettier. Don’t go following him around. You can do better.”
“I’m not following him around. We broke up a ton last year, I think I can handle one more.”
It’s not all lies. Garrett has me on a short leash, and if I had a stack of money to my name, I’d be important enough for other people to have realized that. Lucky for me, it stays my secret.
I spend the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon hanging at the beach with Lauren and Kenya, flipping between two library books while they both top up their tans. The Osborne brothers leave after their surf session, and I’m drunk from too much sun when I drag myself back to the Osbornes’ home.
It’s silent when I walk through the rear French doors, and I head straight for the stairs to go and wash the sand and seawater from my skin and hair. A day on the beach, doing nothing, is bizarrely draining, and moving my limbs is like trying to convince lead piping to bend.
Three steps closer to my destination, Cindy calls my name from behind me, at the bottom of the staircase. Without her heels, she’s snuck up on me.
“Sunday nights are spent at the country club. My husband Ray will be there, and the boys, too.”
Is that meant to swing it for me?
“I’d like it if you’d join us. Get to know everyone.”
“Um… sure,” I say. The correct word there was “no”, but Cindy’s my employer, and I don’t want to be rude to her. Up until now, she’s been generous to me. Working for this family could have easily turned into me taking on the role of Cinderella.
“We’re leaving in an hour. I suggest you change into something a little… nicer.” Cindy picks apart my dress with her critical gaze. “Oh. And don’t forget to clean up. You have some, uh…” She fluffs the left section of her blonde hair. “Sand or something in there.”