Willy Wonka: Thanks for the therapy session. You’re a good friend, control freak.
I remember asking myself why the word “friend” bothered me so much. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t. Why else would he sneak into my room all worried after I came home looking sad? He was just checking on his friend. I dismissed the sinking feeling in my gut and texted back.
Kass: Anytime, Willy
I don’t understand why I experienced these weird emotions then, and I definitely don’t understand why I’m experiencing them now. The words he said to me the night we broke into Alex’s backyard roar into my brain.
“I said I don’t do love, control freak. I never said I don’t fuck.”
Of course he’d a have a regular friend with benefits. I’m not sure what I expected. My phone lights up with a new text, zapping me out of Alex’s hot tub and back into the school’s busy cafeteria within seconds.
Speaking of the devil.
Willy Wonka: What are you doing tonight say 9ish?
I delete the conversation impulsively, loathing my own pettiness. He’s been texting me like this since we “slept” together. Every day, I get a “Good morning, control freak,” a few messages throughout the day, and a good-night. Although our good-night usually come at 3:00 a.m. once we’re done talking nonsense.
Will blamed our never-ending messages on insomnia, said it’s a recurring problem with him. I claimed I couldn’t sleep either when in reality my eyes were as heavy as concrete.
I’ve barely seen him since the night he snuck into my room, but I have art class with him last period. Isn’t that great? I’ll get to picture him banging Callie Cooper for a whole hour. Kissing her, twisting her hair around his fist as he…
My phone goes off again.
Willy Wonka: And you better not give me a shitty excuse like you gave Luke.
I delete his text once more.
I do feel bad about bailing on Luke. But I knew going to that date would mean leading him on, so I told him I was sick with food poisoning. That didn’t stop him from continuing to text me. He even asked me out a second time. I had to tell him I was swamped with homework and I’d let him know if my schedule clears up—notice my usage of if instead of when here. I don’t know how to make it clearer that I’m not interested without rejecting him, and he’s still my boss’s nephew.
Twenty minutes go by.
A third text comes through.
Willy Wonka: U there :(
I’m burying my phone into my back pocket when Zoey suggests we go enjoy what’s left of our lunch break. We vacate our table, following a stream of students out of the dining hall. Winter says she’ll catch up with us later and walks off.
I’m treading into my art classroom an hour later. I scan the room, the nuisance in my chest sinking like a rock. Will’s not here yet—emphasize on yet. Let’s just say I’ve never wanted to cut class more than in this very moment.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Morgan pops up beside me.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re mad. You’ve been mad since lunch. Something’s going on. Spill.”
I lecture myself for being so transparent.
“I… I was just thinking about my dad,” I lie.
She buys it. “He still hasn’t called?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sure he’s just been busy. Or the mystery woman didn’t tell him you called. There has to be a good explanation for this.”
I appreciate my best friend’s efforts at salvaging what’s left of my relationship with my father, but I can’t make excuses for him anymore. He doesn’t care.
Not about me.
Not about Kendrick.
Not about anyone.
“Yeah…” My smile wavers. “I’m sure he has a good reason.”
“How about he’s a pile of fuming shit who doesn’t deserve what he has?”
My pulse speeds up at the sound of his voice. I spin around, only to be met with beautiful, dark, unreadable ocean eyes.
Will’s.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, invading my space until his mouth hovers near my ear.
“Check your texts,” he says, his breath grazing my skin.
Fuck off, shivers.
Then he walks away.
I don’t move a muscle, my brain lagging for a moment too long before I snap out of it and make eye contact with Morgan.
That’s when I see her O-shaped mouth.
Translation: I am so busted.
“Oh my God…” Her eyes grow two sizes. “It’s him.”
“What are you talking about?” I clear my throat, struggling to regain my composure and saunter toward the teacher’s desk to collect my project. She doesn’t miss a beat, shadowing my every move.
“He’s the dude you’ve been texting when you think we’re not looking,” she shrieks.
For crying out loud, how does she see everything?
“What dude?” I play dumb.
“What kind of moron do you take me for? I thought maybe it was Luke, but then this. It all makes sense. You’re into this Will guy. That’s why you were pissed at lunch!” You’d think she’s about to pat her own shoulder for putting the pieces together.
I pretend I didn’t hear her so that I don’t have to refute her crazy claims and dig through the jumble of projects on Ms. Janet’s desk. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge what she just said, it will be like it never happened. I refuse to consider, for even a fragment of a second, that she might be right.
That I could be dense enough to have a crush on Will.
It’s one thing to be attracted to him—to have a natural, physical reaction to a sinfully hot guy—but a crush?
A whole damn crush?
Nope. Sorry. Not happening. Try again later.
That’s Will.
You don’t fall for a guy like Will.
Guys like Will never catch you…
I practically race to our table, cutting Detective Morgan’s investigation short, but because my bad luck is on a roll, Will calls me out the second I sit down.
“You okay?” is all he says.
He knows something’s off.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” I never meet his eyes.
He frowns at my tone but doesn’t insist. Luke joins us two minutes later. He greets me with a smile, which I return to the best of my “sorry I stood you up” ability.
Morgan, Luke, and I make small talk for the rest of the class. Will doesn’t comment once, depriving us from his usual snarky remarks, which makes for a heavy, awkward period.
“So, you’re feeling better?” Luke asks five minutes before class ends.
I stare question marks at him.
“You had food poisoning, didn’t you?”
“Oh, right.” I’m reminded of my lame excuse. “Yes, I’m much better, thank you.”
Will not-so-discreetly scoffs.
I glower at him while Morgan glowers at me, confused as to when on earth I got food poisoning. Makes sense. She has no idea Luke asked me out. It just didn’t come up.
“So… Does that mean you’re going to the pool party tomorrow night?” Luke continues.
“There’s a party?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s at Natasha’s place. Everybody’s going.”
My gaze travels to Will, whose attention doesn’t budge from his project whatsoever. His careless behavior sends my mind to a place I don’t like.
A place I can’t escape.
I picture him moving in and out of Callie, see her writhing beneath him, clawing at his back, and wonder if he slept with her recently. Probably. Maybe even the day he came over and slept in my bed. Why wouldn’t he? He’s single.
But so am I.
“I mean, will you be there?” I offer Luke a seductive smile, nearly wincing at the sour taste this bad decision leaves on my tongue.
That finally seems to be enough for Will’s head to jerk up.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Luke nods.
“So… you’
ll save me a dance, then?”
Why am I like this?
“Oh, I can save you a lot more than that.” Luke’s flirtatious response only fuels the disaster that is this conversation. I can feel Morgan’s eyes burning into my skull, hear her thinking, “Why are you leading him on?”
But I can’t answer her.
Because I’m wondering the same thing.
The bell rings and I make my way out of the classroom with Morgan on my tail. I beg her to accompany me to this party, tell her she owes it to herself to have at least one night out during her high school years, to which she replies with a reluctant “I’ll think about it.” The second I lose her into the crowd, a tall silhouette materializes in my blind spot.
“What the fuck was that?”
I yelp in surprise when a strong body cages me into the tight corner couples use to make out near the girls’ bathroom. Will stands tall before me, eyes flaring with… something. Anger? Hard to tell. For all I know, I’m just seeing what I want to see.
“Hey, Willy. What’s up?” I falter, my confidence crumbling.
He cuts to the chase. “I thought you said you weren’t into him.”
“Oh, Luke? Yeah, I know. But I changed my mind. You’re right. I should give him a chance. Hey, you should bring a date, too. I’m sure Callie’s available.”
His jaw drops.
What’s wrong, Willy? Was I not supposed to know about that?
I’m long gone before he can even think of getting a word in. I push my way through the crowd, forbidding myself from enjoying this as much as I am.
Winter is nearly done packing her stuff by the time I reach our locker and shove my books into my backpack. We make small talk, steering toward the exit together. I also try to convince her to go to the pool party with me since I know Zoey will most likely bail on me the minute we get there, and Morgan, well… Morgan hates people.
Winter absentmindedly agrees, her gaze combing through the halls. Haze hasn’t been at school much lately. That’s his thing. Disappearing whenever he feels like it. Something tells me he’s to blame for my cousin’s half-assed answers.
Winter tells me Will is giving her a ride home tonight, and I have to stop myself from asking why she’s randomly riding with him instead of me. What trouble has their street fight mess lured them into now?
We part ways a few steps out of the building. I’m working tonight, and the last thing this crap day needs is a warning from Jenny for being late. I unlock my car door, my phone pinging with a text just as I’m dropping into the passenger seat.
It’s Will.
Willy Wonka: Thanks for the advice. Callie said yes. I’ll see you at the party.
Kassidy
Kass: Hey. Is it true you’re banging Callie Cooper?
Sitting on the edge of Zoey’s unmade bed, I huff out a laugh at my own text and practically assault the Delete button. Like I’d ever have the balls to send him that. Granted it’d probably make things a lot easier—in the beginning, at least. Then it’d dig up secrets better left buried, shine light on questions better left in the dark.
Asking him would mean I give a damn.
A bit more than I should.
Shit… is Morgan right?
Do I like Will?
I didn’t message him back after he texted me he’d found himself a hot date yesterday. Felt weird. Turns out I got used to our 3:00 a.m. banter. I hate to admit it, but…
The little fucker grew on me.
“Perfect. See you there.” Zoey trails back into the room, hanging up her phone and securing it inside her bikini top.
“Who was that?” Morgan interrupts her wrestling with a curling iron to ask.
Yes, Morgan decided to come to the pool party, although she skipped the swimsuit part. Something about her cousins telling her she’d end up marrying books when they came to visit. She said one party couldn’t hurt.
Still waiting for the hidden cameras.
“Callie,” Zoey says, checking out her outfit one last time. Our ride should be here any minute.
I fidget with the short, sleeveless white dress I threw over my aqua bikini, tugging it up my cleavage for the fifth time as though I’m hoping it’ll magically turn into a hoodie.
“She’s making her move tonight,” Zoey elaborates, swiping red lipstick across her mouth and smacking her lips together.
“What move?” I question.
“What do you think? Hottie Blondie asked her out to a place that is not the back seat of his car. She’s freaking out. Thinks he’s finally interested in dating her.”
Morgan’s accusatory eyes find me, the message they hold crystal clear. Whose fault is that? they ask. And she’s right. I shouldn’t have tried to make him jealous. All it did was come back to bite me in the ass. If Callie shoots her shot tonight and scores, it’s on me.
I bite my tongue in an effort not to bury Zoey under a million questions and unlock my phone with the swipe of a finger.
I have one unread message.
My hopes sink faster than the freaking Titanic at the sender.
Winter.
She was supposed to meet us at Zoey’s but texted me she’ll be riding with the boys instead. Zoey informs us that the Uber will be here ten minutes later.
“Wait.” Zoey shrieks on her way to the door and tries to run back to the kitchen in her five-inch heels. “We need shots.”
We catch up to her, and I chuckle at Morgan’s curious expression. She almost seems excited.
Girl, just wait.
Zoey pours three shots of vodka into small plastic cups and hands us our first bad choice of the evening.
“To an amazing night.” She holds up her cup.
Amazing, huh?
We’ll see about that.
We throw the shots back, Zoey’s liquid courage burning my throat the entire way down, but I’m too busy watching Morgan’s face to care. Disgust. Pure and utter disgust. She gags, her eyes watering as she gawks at us, clearly thinking, “What the hell is wrong with you people? You mean to tell me you drink this… on purpose?”
Zoey and I laugh at her reaction for five minutes before dashing out of the large apartment building and squeezing inside our Uber.
The house is packed. And I mean the kind of packed where you can’t get around without wearing people’s drinks. I had no intention of committing to the “pool” party aspect of this night, but some dimwit from the football team thought his beer would look better on my clothes. Had no choice but to toss my soaked dress and settle for my bikini top. So glad I decided to wear shorts just in case.
Morgan spent the whole drive here swearing she’d never drink again. Until she found herself a sugary, juice-tasting drink that sent her promises of sobriety right down the drain.
I’ve been warning her that these colorful “juice” drinks are still filled with a shit ton of alcohol, only to be told, “Kass, stop mothering me.” I can’t help it. I remember how my first time drinking ended all too well.
Hint: my head in the toilet.
Rounded up around the lousy game the varsity team likes to call the “shot roulette,” I watch Zoey roll the dice that’ll determine the kind of booze and number of shots she has to drink. She gets a four.
Meaning four shots of Fireball.
Her pleading eyes fly to mine.
“Fine,” I give in, and she laughs, passing me two of the four shots. We tip the shots back, and I almost puke—the usual. Next, Zoey drags us to the fridge to stash away her bottles of tequila. There are coolers full of beers scattered over the house, but Zoey’s only ever liked the strong stuff.
As for me, I’d like to still have a liver tomorrow.
“That’s the good shit.” She clutches the full bottle she’ll most likely carry around all night against her chest.
My phone lights up with a text from my cousin.
Winter: I’m here.
Two simple words.
How are they enough to make my stomach churn? I stiffen up without mean
ing to, triple-checking the door every five seconds. If Winter’s here, so is Will. She was riding with the guys.
“Want some?” Zoey shoves the bottle into my face.
I’m about to decline but…
Then I see him.
Him and his infuriating smile, tousled, dirty-blond hair, fit body, and white unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt. Worst part is, I don’t even get a chance to appreciate how insanely hot he looks. Because there’s something wrong with his arm.
Something weird glued to his bicep.
Something.
Someone…
Callie.
Wearing an itty-bitty yellow bikini top and jean shorts, she laughs at something Will said. Her bleached-silver, curled hair—she changes hair color every month—flows down her tanned stomach, all the way to her pierced belly button. I can’t even lie. The girl looks like a supermodel.
I see Will’s eyes fall to her cleavage for a split second when she arches her back to draw attention to her gigantic tits—okay, maybe they’re not gigantic, but they’re much bigger than mine.
Yep. That’ll do it.
“Give me that.” I rip the bottle from Zoey’s hand, chugging it as she cheers me on.
Alex comes in after them, smirking as he elbows Will and shoots him a look I can hear from here: Someone’s getting pussy tonight. I know it, Alex knows it. Hell, the whole party probably knows it. They might as well get a room now.
I spot Winter behind them and wave at her. She smiles, making her way over just as Zoey notices Callie’s arrival and takes off to greet her. So, it took her a whole five minutes to ditch us. Not bad. That’s longer than last time.
“Kass, Luke’s staring at you,” Morgan sniggers ten minutes later.
She and Winter proceed to do the one thing you don’t want your friends to do in a situation like this: turn around and stare. I don’t bother seeing for myself, careful not to return Luke’s attention. I already feel crappy enough about leading him on as it is.
Forgotten Rules: A Brother's Best Friend Romance Page 11