She doesn’t blink. And she doesn’t back down. She releases a long breath, then says, “Fine. One meal—one conversation. That’s it.”
My smile is appeasing. Charming. “See, was that so hard? I’ll even be nice and let you pick the restaurant, Viper.”
Her lips tighten as she turns to continue walking down the hall. “Don’t call me Viper. It sounds like a stripper’s name.”
I walk next to her. “What’s wrong with a stripper’s name? Some of the best people I know are strippers. Besides, Viper was a badass character from the Captain America comics. She was my favorite villain—and she was hot. Most teenage boys had Playboy to inspire their fantasies. I had Marvel. You should take it as the highest compliment.”
She snorts, shaking her head. But it almost sounds like a laugh.
And that, right there, is progress.
• • •
We sit at a round table in the back corner of an empty pub just a few blocks from the courthouse. The lights are dim and the music is low enough to talk with our indoor voices but still fill any silences.
“Two bacon cheeseburgers, medium rare,” I tell the waitress. “She’ll have onion rings instead of fries and barbecue sauce instead of ketchup. And two draft beers, please.” I glance at Kennedy as I return the menus. “We should pace ourselves—save the hard stuff for later.”
After the waitress goes on her merry way, the blond viper stares at me, her mouth an adorable—annoyed—bow.
“What?”
“Maybe I wanted the veggie burger. I could be vegetarian now.”
I grimace. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Then kindly cease the bitching.” I lean back in my chair, legs open, getting comfortable—debating how to begin.
Kennedy takes the issue out of my hands. “I can’t believe you told Judge Phillips I broke your heart.” Then she kind of snorts, shaking her head, like the notion itself is ridiculous.
I look at her straight on. “You did. It’s been fourteen years, but I can still remember how it felt—I was shattered when you went out with William.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word shattered.”
“Yeah—I do. It’s when you give me the greatest orgasm of my seventeen-year-old life, let me hear you moan my name as you come spectacularly around my fingers—and then ten hours later, push me to the fucking curb for William goddamn Penderghast.”
Did that sound bitter? Good.
Kennedy leans forward, eyes blazing. “You were already back together with Cashmere before I agreed to go out with William!”
I blink. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
And the waitress brings our beers—perfect timing. We both take a healthy chug.
After my frosty mug is back on the table, I suggest, “Let’s start at the beginning.”
“Fine,” she agrees. “Parents’ weekend, junior year.”
You up for a little time travel? ’Cause it’s time to party like it’s 1999 . . .
7
Saint Arthur’s boarding school, junior year
“Kitty!”
“Mitzy!”
Our mothers hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. A Welcome Parents sign hangs across the entrance to the main building, the sun is shining, and the air is warm with a hint of early spring crispness. Eagle-Eye Cherry plays from a radio somewhere across the quad, and clusters of families dot the lush green grass.
“I feel like it’s been ages!” Mitzy says. “We should all have lunch together! There’s that fabulous little place down by the lake . . .”
As my mother quietly agrees, I take advantage of my dark, Risky Business–era sunglasses to check Kennedy out. She looks especially cute today. Her brown hair’s wrapped around the top of her head in a messy, kind of sexy bun. She’s wearing snug blue jeans and an open, oversized navy checkered flannel shirt, but the white tank top beneath it shows off her flat waist and sweet-looking tits. She got her braces taken off last month too. Bonus.
And at the moment, she’s doing that thing with her lip—clasping the plump bottom one between her teeth, sucking just a bit. That move gave me my very first boner when I was thirteen years old, and, damn, if it doesn’t hit me the exact same way right now.
Kennedy and I have always been tight . . . up until this year. When I became captain on the lacrosse team and started seriously dating Cazz. Seriously, as in—fucking her. These days, Kennedy hangs with her roommate, Vicki Russo, and I hang with . . . other people.
She adjusts her glasses and smiles up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Like a disapproving blond wraith, Kennedy’s sister appears at her side. “Would it have killed you to dress up a little bit? Honestly, Kennedy, Mother and Father drove all this way . . .”
I slip my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Hi, Claire. It’s good to see you.”
“Brent.” She smiles tightly. “You’re looking . . .” She takes note of my jeans, sneakers, and white-collared shirt under a navy blue sweater. “. . . typical.”
I put my hand up. “Claire, please—I realize I’m an irresistible specimen of male perfection, but your obsession with me is getting embarrassing.”
Kennedy snorts. The uncontrollable urge to laugh bubbles up from my chest and I don’t even try to resist it—because the sour look on Claire Randolph’s face feels so much more hilarious than it actually is. She turns away and follows our parents up the path, leaving Kennedy and me relatively alone.
My smile is appeasing. Charming. “See, was that so hard? I’ll even be nice and let you pick the restaurant, Viper.”
Her lips tighten as she turns to continue walking down the hall. “Don’t call me Viper. It sounds like a stripper’s name.”
I walk next to her. “What’s wrong with a stripper’s name? Some of the best people I know are strippers. Besides, Viper was a badass character from the Captain America comics. She was my favorite villain—and she was hot. Most teenage boys had Playboy to inspire their fantasies. I had Marvel. You should take it as the highest compliment.”
She snorts, shaking her head. But it almost sounds like a laugh.
And that, right there, is progress.
• • •
We sit at a round table in the back corner of an empty pub just a few blocks from the courthouse. The lights are dim and the music is low enough to talk with our indoor voices but still fill any silences.
“Two bacon cheeseburgers, medium rare,” I tell the waitress. “She’ll have onion rings instead of fries and barbecue sauce instead of ketchup. And two draft beers, please.” I glance at Kennedy as I return the menus. “We should pace ourselves—save the hard stuff for later.”
After the waitress goes on her merry way, the blond viper stares at me, her mouth an adorable—annoyed—bow.
“What?”
“Maybe I wanted the veggie burger. I could be vegetarian now.”
I grimace. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Then kindly cease the bitching.” I lean back in my chair, legs open, getting comfortable—debating how to begin.
Kennedy takes the issue out of my hands. “I can’t believe you told Judge Phillips I broke your heart.” Then she kind of snorts, shaking her head, like the notion itself is ridiculous.
I look at her straight on. “You did. It’s been fourteen years, but I can still remember how it felt—I was shattered when you went out with William.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word shattered.”
“Yeah—I do. It’s when you give me the greatest orgasm of my seventeen-year-old life, let me hear you moan my name as you come spectacularly around my fingers—and then ten hours later, push me to the fucking curb for William goddamn Penderghast.”
Did that sound bitter? Good.
Kennedy leans forward, eyes blazing. “You were already back together with Cashmere before I agreed to go out with William!”
I blink. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
And the waitress brings our beers—perfect timing. We both take a healthy chug.
After my frosty mug is back on the table, I suggest, “Let’s start at the beginning.”
“Fine,” she agrees. “Parents’ weekend, junior year.”
You up for a little time travel? ’Cause it’s time to party like it’s 1999 . . .
7
Saint Arthur’s boarding school, junior year
“Kitty!”
“Mitzy!”
Our mothers hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. A Welcome Parents sign hangs across the entrance to the main building, the sun is shining, and the air is warm with a hint of early spring crispness. Eagle-Eye Cherry plays from a radio somewhere across the quad, and clusters of families dot the lush green grass.
“I feel like it’s been ages!” Mitzy says. “We should all have lunch together! There’s that fabulous little place down by the lake . . .”
As my mother quietly agrees, I take advantage of my dark, Risky Business–era sunglasses to check Kennedy out. She looks especially cute today. Her brown hair’s wrapped around the top of her head in a messy, kind of sexy bun. She’s wearing snug blue jeans and an open, oversized navy checkered flannel shirt, but the white tank top beneath it shows off her flat waist and sweet-looking tits. She got her braces taken off last month too. Bonus.
And at the moment, she’s doing that thing with her lip—clasping the plump bottom one between her teeth, sucking just a bit. That move gave me my very first boner when I was thirteen years old, and, damn, if it doesn’t hit me the exact same way right now.
Kennedy and I have always been tight . . . up until this year. When I became captain on the lacrosse team and started seriously dating Cazz. Seriously, as in—fucking her. These days, Kennedy hangs with her roommate, Vicki Russo, and I hang with . . . other people.
She adjusts her glasses and smiles up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Like a disapproving blond wraith, Kennedy’s sister appears at her side. “Would it have killed you to dress up a little bit? Honestly, Kennedy, Mother and Father drove all this way . . .”
I slip my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Hi, Claire. It’s good to see you.”
“Brent.” She smiles tightly. “You’re looking . . .” She takes note of my jeans, sneakers, and white-collared shirt under a navy blue sweater. “. . . typical.”
I put my hand up. “Claire, please—I realize I’m an irresistible specimen of male perfection, but your obsession with me is getting embarrassing.”
Kennedy snorts. The uncontrollable urge to laugh bubbles up from my chest and I don’t even try to resist it—because the sour look on Claire Randolph’s face feels so much more hilarious than it actually is. She turns away and follows our parents up the path, leaving Kennedy and me relatively alone.
