by Alley Ciz
“Carter?” I say his name slowly, dragging out both syllables as I wait for him to make eye contact.
His left eye twitches, and his jaw pops before he lifts his narrowed eyes to mine. There are the tiniest of wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, his brows drawn, his mouth flat. This is his Carter King face, the one he employs as the leader of the Royalty Crew. When will he learn it doesn’t work on me? I stare at him flatly and wait for him to realize this simple fact.
“We had a meeting at the mayor’s office. We wouldn’t have made it across town in time for your dismissal.” Carter’s words are rough like gravel, like they’re being ripped out of him.
“And what did Chuck E. Cheese need on a random Monday in October?” Tessa jumps in to ask.
“Only you, T.” She preens, taking my comment as the compliment I meant it to be. Chuck may be considered an uncle sort to Carter and me, but only she can get away with using the name of a giant mouse as a nickname for a man who holds the title of mayor. I bring my attention back to my brother and wait for him to answer my earlier question.
“I’ll answer that. But first—” He leans forward, also spreading his knees. He clasps his hands and lets them hang loosely between his legs.
He’s attempting to come across as relaxed and non-confrontational. I don’t buy it for a second. I see the way his shoulders are hunched toward his ears.
“—why don’t you clue me in on everything that happened at the gala?”
Shit!
His lips curl, and both eyebrows bound up his forehead as if to say Gotcha! “You are forgiven for not doing so Saturday night since you were asthmatic”—his expression flips to a disapproving dad frown—“but it sure sounds like there was a detail or two you should have shared yesterday.”
There’s no way he’s talking about Jasper and me…right? Ooo, so now there’s a you and Jasper? It takes every one of my tired muscles not to glance at Tessa at that particular question. She’s itching to say she told me so the second I admit that might be true.
“What do you want to know?” I hedge instead. “It was a lavish event more suitable for a wedding than a school fundraiser. Natalie had me following behind her and Mitchell like a well-trained puppy while she lived her trophy wife dreams.”
A murmur of I bet rolls through the room.
I continue to tick off the highlights of the night—or better yet, lack thereof—on my fingers. “I was mostly by myself since Tinsley wasn’t there.” I pause. “The food was delicious. The chefs at the St. James really are top-notch.” I should know since every meal I eat when I stay with the Momster is catered in from one of the hotel’s restaurants. “Aside from that, the only bit of entertainment I got was watching Chuck ruffle Natalie’s feathers.”
“Ah, yes.” Carter strokes his chin. “He told us about that.” The identical smirks blooming on the guys’ faces make me think my brother wasn’t the only one to hear the tale. “Though…” Uh-oh. The knowing gleam in his eyes has goose bumps springing to life as a sense of foreboding slinks in like smoke. “That’s not the only thing he told us.”
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! He totally knows about Jasper and me. Oh god, how embarrassing. Heat floods my cheeks while the rest of me goes cold. When I’m not in the middle of a mini-meltdown, I might—lots and lots of emphasis on might—find the humor in this. Fuck! Embarrassing isn’t strong enough. I’m mortified.
“Who knew Natalie was such a fan of reality TV,” Wes muses.
My head spins with the random change of topic, and the girls and I give him matching WTF faces. And yes, before you ask, there is a difference between the standard What the fuck? face and when it’s said in IM-speak. Stripping expressions down to the acronym is an honor typically reserved for Wesley Prince.
“And to think”—he shrugs, ignoring our mass confusion—“I thought they canceled The Millionaire Matchmaker.”
“They did,” Cisco confirms, displaying his obsession with trash television. From Dance Moms to The Kardashians, there isn’t a reality TV show I haven’t seen him have on in the garage. “Years ago.”
“Um…” Tessa raises a hand like this is class and she’s waiting to be called on. She’s adorable. “Can someone explain why this conversation has taken a detour to an outdated channel guide?”
I snort, which unfortunately triggers a coughing fit. Ugh. One hand balled into a fist covers my mouth while the other goes to my chest to rub at it. All eyes laser in on me, a range of concern to panic in them.
“I’m fine.” I wave Carter away from my bag when he goes to grab my inhaler. I’m not having another attack. I’m just sore, my lungs always more sensitive in the days that follow having one, like they were scraped raw with steel wool.
“Bullshit,” he counters, but he abandons his mission. “I don’t care what you say—you’re going to the doctor tomorrow to get checked out. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye-aye, Captain.” I’m the one who says the sarcastic retort, but it’s Tessa who gives him the military salute. I love that chick something fierce. “We’re getting off track.” I return my attention to my brother after shooting my bestie a wink. “What is it Chuck told you?”
Outwardly, I’m the picture of unaffected calm. Internally? I’m freaking the eff out wondering if someone who’s like family saw me being diddled by a guy I’m not sure I even like and then told my brother about it. It gives me the willies.
“How Natalie was all about suggesting you spend your time with the governor’s son.” His brow curves upward as if asking, Is this true?
Wait…
This is about Duke?
It takes me a few to backpedal from once again jumping to the Jasper conclusion. Why do I keep doing that? Because he’s on your mind… I despise how singsongy that particular thought is.
“If you mean did she arrange for the Delacourtes to sit with us at dinner, then yes.” If anyone was all about setting Duke and me up, it would be his mom, not mine. Sure, Natalie seemed to almost crack a smile at Mrs. Delacourte’s comments and suggestion we dance together, but that was it. Natalie’s entire reasoning for me sitting close to Duke at dinner was to get me away from Chuck.
Although…
There is…something niggling at the back of my mind, but it’s gone before the thought can fully form.
“Duke?” There’s a hitch, a two-octave jump to Tinsley’s voice that has me knuckling my ear. “I thought it was Jas—” Her words cut off when my head whips around to face her, and color fills her cheeks.
Shit!
I squeeze my eyes shut, color dancing behind my eyelids from the force. With a deep breath, I peel one lid open and chance a glance to my right.
Carter’s eyebrows look like they are attached to his backward hat they’re lifted so much, and the dimple forming on the side of his mouth screams You have been keeping things from me, Samantha. I hate when he calls me Samantha, even if it’s only in a facial expression.
Tinsley starts to fidget, and I lay a hand on her thigh and give it a reassuring squeeze. She didn’t do anything wrong; that’s the last thing I want her to think. It’s certainly not her fault I have an overprotective brother who is used to knowing all the things. I was able to redirect him away from his inquiry the day he picked me up from school, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he forgot about any of it.
I watch in horror as Carter transforms in front of my eyes. Gone is the broody asshole he is ninety-nine percent of the time, and in his place is the charming lady-killer no sister needs to see. Eww.
Tinsley’s eyes flare wide, her jaw going slack while her body goes rigid. She sways the slightest bit as she falls deeper into the spell that is the Carter King charm. It’s gross, and I’m seriously contemplating throwing my body between them to sever the connection.
I know. *holds up hands in defeat* I realize I sound like a hypocrite given how much I flirt with Wes on the reg, but…yuck!
“No!” I moosh Carter in the face, squishing the end of his nose flat. �
��Oh, gross!” I squeak when he licks my palm and wipe off his slobber on my sweats.
Cisco tucks his face into his shoulder and Leo pulls the collar of his shirt over his nose as both of them attempt to hide their laughter. Wes and Tessa? They let theirs fly.
“I want a name, Savvy,” Carter demands.
My eyes jump to the three-story ceiling, my lips mashing to the side. Doesn’t he realize I hate being ordered around?
“You know his name,” I hedge. “You said it yourself.”
Both Carter’s lips and eyes go flat. He is not amused.
Fine…
I’ll tell him. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why I’ve kept Jasper’s name from my brother…
Lies.
Maybe if I do tell him, he’ll let it go. “Jasper.” The tilt of Carter’s head to the left says, Keep going. “Noble.” Recognition flashes across his face, but how or from what, I have no clue. That’s not the point. We’re getting off track, and I have the sneaking suspicion that was Carter’s goal.
Frustration and exhaustion war inside me like a game of dodgeball. For every time I’m told I’m a full-fledged member of the Royals, I can give at least one example of why that feels like a false claim.
I understand that I’m the youngest, and I was at school when they had their meeting. Lance clearly missed most, if not all, of it since he was tasked with playing chauffeur. Actually…as a Division 1 athlete, he has commitments that prevent him from being present for many things, yet he’s more up to date on the day-to-day details than I am. There’s also no doubt in my mind he knows the details behind Carter wanting me to be Samantha St. James at school.
“Look”—I slash a hand through the air—“Noble isn’t the issue—”
“The fuck he’s not,” Wes mumbles under his breath, and I cut him a glare.
A headache forms behind my eyes, and I rub my temples in a circular motion to alleviate the tension. I can’t be mad at their anger. Like I tried explaining to Jasper, bullying is not something the Royals condone. To have one of their own be subjected to such treatment is an insult of the highest order.
“You told me you trusted me to handle it.” This time my glare is accusatory as it swings back to Carter. Was he lying to placate me?
“I do,” he says, but a part of me doesn’t believe him. I hate it, hate how that small kernel of doubt takes root inside me.
“Then let it go.” I wait until I get four nods. “Now tell me what happened at Chuck’s.”
They do, and like a Facebook relationship status, it’s complicated.
CHAPTER 28
I exhale and lean back against a row of lockers, the metal cold enough to seep through the high-quality cotton of my uniform’s button-up. I ditched my jacket hours ago, the uneasy agitation simmering beneath my skin making even the soft cashmere restrictive.
“Jasper.” Someone calls my name, but it sounds like it’s coming from deep in a tunnel.
I kick a foot out, my heel scuffing the floor as I cross one ankle in front of the other, dropping my books with an audible thunk. My pen dislodges from where it was hooked on top of my notebook, and I absentmindedly watch it roll down the hallway as my thoughts stray to Samantha for what feels like the millionth time today.
She looked to be faring a little better than yesterday. Some of the healthy flush had returned to her skin, the dark circles under her eyes less prominent.
Duke did manage to get an eye roll out of her, but most of her plucky attitude is still absent and that defeated slump to her shoulders remains. I hate it and hate that I hate it.
“Jasper.” This time when my name is called, I look up to see Banks approaching.
“Hey, man.” I straighten, reaching out a hand to exchange a bro shake, then settle back in place.
Banks props a shoulder against the lockers, leaning to the side to face me. “Not coming to lunch?” He jerks a chin down the hallway as if I forgot where the cafeteria is.
“Waiting for Duke.” I tilt my head in the direction of the classroom behind him. Our physics teacher asked Duke to hang back after class, and I figured this would give us a chance to speak privately. Guess that’s not going to happen with Banks here.
“So…” Banks toes the ground, his focus on the way the rounded edge of his Ferragamo sneaker rocks back and forth on the marble. “Your girl hangs with Lance Bennett, huh?”
Ah…I’m not the only one with Samantha’s latest chauffeur on the brain. My lips twitch upward at Banks’s your girl reference while my fingers curl into my palms at the memory of another man’s name on her back.
This…
This right here is why my head has been a mess. Neither of these reactions is like me in the least, nor is the relief I felt having figured out whose hoodie she must have had on Saturday night—not that it means I like it.
“Ugh.” The door slams against the wall as Duke exits the classroom, saving me from having to come up with a response I don’t have for Banks. “I need food to wash down that bullshit.”
“I take it that didn’t go well?” I point toward the once-again-closed door and scoop up my books from the ground.
“It’s too damn early in the school year to be worrying about my grades,” Duke grumbles.
“Truth,” Banks agrees as we fall into step on our way to the cafeteria.
“Do we have to worry about your eligibility?” As much as we all bitch about school, maintaining a C average is a requirement we must meet if we don’t want to ride the bench when our season officially starts next month.
“Nah.” Duke waves me off.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, the tension leaving his shoulders as they fall away from his ears and his happy-go-lucky smile returning. “I think it was more Dad making the rounds with his phone calls last night.”
Ah, yes. The parental check-in is the other reason I can’t get a certain silver-haired siren out of my head.
Thanks to Duke being held back, we’re the last to arrive in the cafeteria. Most everyone’s already seated and digging into their lunches.
We make it through the line for chicken marsala in record time and are approaching our usual table when I decide to make a detour. Both Duke and Banks realize my intent and follow me outside. Banks grabs the end seat perpendicular to Tinsley with Duke taking over both across from the girls, ass in one, feet kicked out into the other. Samantha’s pouty lips turn down at the corners as they do, and she swivels around in her chair a beat later looking for me—as if she knows I wouldn’t be far behind.
A spark of something unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome lights inside me at the realization. She puts up a wall, fights me at every turn, yet she’s attuned to me. Thank fuck I’m not the only one dealing with this…pull between us.
Sliding my tray next to hers, I lift and move the other end chair until it’s touching hers, and I sit, my slack-clad thigh pressed against her bare one. Thank Christ for short uniform skirts.
“Are you guys lost?” Long silvery strands fall into Samantha’s face as she rests her head on her propped-up fist, her torso twisting toward me.
Without thought, I reach out and tuck them behind her ear, my fingertips skimming her soft skin as I do. Her eyes darken to a deep plum that brings to mind the color of her dress from the gala, which then triggers another memory of how her body felt writhing against mine as I fingered her to multiple orgasms.
My dick hardens behind my zipper. I need to make her come again. Need to taste her directly from the source this time. It’s not the fact that we are in school—though it should be—that keeps me from acting on the impulse immediately, but that there’s-just-something-off instinct.
There’s another momentary nuzzle into my touch before she jerks away, her hand coming up to rub over the spot repeatedly.
“You know…” My elbow slides across the smooth glass on the tabletop as I mirror her body position, my height automatically giving me the upper hand even seated. “You sure see
m to be concerned about my navigation skills. Are you afraid I won’t be able to find you?”
“I dream of the day that happens,” she says in a monotone.
“I knew you dreamed about me.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes, her hand slapping the table as she shifts away and lifts a french fry from her plate. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that that was your takeaway?”
I watch transfixed as she brings the fry to her mouth, the crunchy golden slice of potato slipping between her lips like temptation itself, until her straight white teeth rip into the fried spud, my dick jerking at the threat.
I’m beyond fucked when it comes to this girl, and not in the way I want to be.
“Someone’s got their panties in a bunch,” Duke singsongs, circling his fork to indicate Samantha.
“Can you not think about my panties?” she retorts while I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear and stretching into a grin at the way her body trembles when I ask, “What about the lack thereof?”
A tapping sound draws my gaze across the table to where Duke is kicked back like he’s on a lounge chair by a pool waiting for a cabana boy, or in his mind, a scantily clad cocktail waitress to bring him a frozen beverage. His knee bounces as his foot continues to tap out the staccato beat that captured my attention to begin with. When he meets my eye, he gives me an exaggerated wink, jaw hinging, mouth gaping open in a lopsided O, the side with the winking eye falling lower as the edge of his lip on the other curls inward.
I flip him off, which only has him breaking out into his trademark shit-eating grin.
“That”—Samantha stabs another fry in Duke’s direction—“does not give me the warm fuzzies.”
Duke shrugs, one-hundred-percent unaffected. “That’s only because you refuse to give in and be our friend.”
Samantha scoffs then starts to cough, thumping her chest twice with a fist. Tinsley jerks away from the latest flirt-tease-torture Banks is partaking in and watches Samantha with worry-filled eyes. She reaches for the bag hanging on the back of Samantha’s chair but stops at the head shake Samantha gives. I’m not quite sure what all that was about; all I know is it prickles at my own earlier concern.