My brow puckers. “I know that. I just thought…You know what, forget it.” I rub a tense spot between my brows. What the hell was I thinking offering to take her for ice cream? I need to keep my distance from Emily, for a bunch of different reasons. She’s right to keep a solid line between us.
Silence engulfs us as we walk, and I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.
“You have a sister?” she asks, after a few beats, looking at me inquisitively as we head out of fraternity row toward the main campus. I’ve no idea where we’re heading, but I’m following her lead.
“Phoebe. She’s twelve. Although, at times, she thinks she twenty.” I chuckle. “You have any siblings?” I ask, not knowing much about Coach’s family.
“No.” That one word is laced with evident sadness. I want to uncover the reason for it, but I’ve got to remember who she is and the fact it’s none of my business.
“Did you know who I was last night?” she asks, deliberately changing the subject.
The music from the frat houses begins to fade the farther we walk.
“I recognized you last night but not as Coach Parker’s daughter. I accidently ran into you when you were in the emergency room.”
Her gaze swings to me in confusion. Fine lines crease her brow as she thinks it over. “You ran into me,” she says, after a few beats, her brow smoothing out as realization dawns. “That was you?” I nod. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me,” she blurts, panic obvious in her tone and her facial expression.
“I haven’t told a soul, and I don’t plan to.” I reassure her, and she visibly relaxes.
“Thank you.” Silence fills the gap between us again before she fills it. “Why were you there?” Curiosity threads through her question.
I debate whether to tell her more about my personal life. But I already mentioned Phoebe, and Emily understands the need for privacy. The crew I sell to are usually extremely guarded and private. They are also some of the most manipulative people I’ve ever met, and they’d literally kill to keep their habit a secret. Her old man knows about Phoebe too. So, no harm, no foul.
“My sister has cystic fibrosis. She was rushed to the hospital with pneumonia.”
She sucks in a breath, her eyes widening as genuine emotion appears on her face. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
I’m about to speak when she slams to a stop in front of Randolph Hall, the oldest building on campus. It’s also where her mother’s office is located. Coach might not openly discuss his family, but everyone knows he’s married to the college president.
She stares at the building like it holds dark secrets. “My mom is probably up there working late as usual,” she murmurs, and I detect more sadness from her. She locks eyes with me, her sadness instantly fading as she slants me with a steely look. “No one can know I buy Molly from you,” she says in a low tone, casting a sharp look around.
“Trust me, I get it. Your father can’t find out either. He’d have a heart attack if he knew his quarterback is selling drugs.”
“Why do you?” she asks, appearing a little distracted. She’s still looking at Randolph Hall, and a new frown mars her beautiful face.
I follow her gaze. Maybe she sees her mom. But upon close inspection, all I see is a light spilling out of the second-floor window.
“I have my reasons.” None of them she needs to know, because I’ve already been forthcoming enough when she’s been cagey as shit. “Look, I sold to you and Zach last night before I knew who you were, but I’m not selling anything else to you.” I’m all about taking risks, but this one is too fucking close to home, and I can’t jeopardize it. Besides, those two bags I gave them contain twenty-four pills. That amount should last a while.
Her entire demeanor changes faster than I can blink. “I don’t think so.” She plants her hands on her hips, leveling me with a dark stare. “The last people I will tell are my parents, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”
I study her as her blue eyes battle with me. Desperation shimmers in her gaze, sucker punching me. I feel her anguish for a very different reason. Hers is to get high. Mine is to make money. It’s a win-win for both of us. But how can I trust her?
Suddenly, a list of questions bombard me. Why does the thought of losing her supplier terrify her so much?
What or who is driving this girl to drugs?
How badly is she addicted?
Does she just use it recreationally, or is it more serious than that?
A smart, beautiful girl from a good family shouldn’t need drugs. But I’ve been around this culture long enough to know people from all walks of life come to rely on narcotics, for a whole heap of reasons.
Still, she seems together, and I can tell from her eyes that she isn’t high right now, which should calm me down, but I’ve known addicts who appeared to be fully functioning members of society, and no one knew what was going on, before they spiraled. I’ve also known addicts who lie, cheat, steal, and manipulate to get cash for the next hit.
I don’t want to believe that of Emily, but I don’t know her well enough to form an educated opinion.
Now, I’m as worried about her as I am about my own little secret.
Phoebe, man. Money, bills, Mom, medical expenses.
That’s my priority. Not some girl I don’t know and can’t know. I need to steer clear of Emily, because getting any more involved with her is risky on so many different levels.
“I don’t sell on campus for a reason.”
“Like I don’t buy on campus for a reason.”
“You’re better off finding someone else. It’s less risky,” I continue arguing.
She steps in closer to me. “Think about it.” She runs the tip of her finger down my chest, batting her eyelashes at me, and I know what she’s doing. I step back, disappointed in her. She shrugs, smiling coyly at me, not willing to let this go. “This is the perfect arrangement for us. We both have a legit reason to keep our secrets. I trust you not to tell and you can trust me to do the same.”
Her logic is sound, but it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Yet, if I don’t sell to her, she’ll find someone else who will. It would make life easier if I had a few trustworthy clients on campus I can get rid of my gear to. And she knows what I do already. There’s nothing to stop her from telling her father, unless she continues to buy from me, and then she has as much to lose as I have.
I hate this fucked-up scenario, but there isn’t much I can do about it now. “You’re right. We both have reasons to keep this quiet.” I harden my jaw. “But if you double-cross me, my sister is the one who will pay the ultimate price.” I play on her emotions, because her reaction to Phoebe’s illness was genuine, and it might be the only thing to keep her lips permanently sealed.
She opens her mouth, to pry, no doubt, when a rustling sound claims our attention. Emily tenses, shuffling closer to me. I look around, but I don’t see anyone. “You worried about Wes? He’s a dickwad, and you should stay away from him.”
“Believe me, I’m trying.” Her gaze darts up and down the street. “He’s a family friend. Well, a friend of my parents’.” She visibly shivers.
I take that opening to untie the sweater around her waist. I suspect she’s not cold, but every fiber in me wants to touch her even as my head is screaming at me to step away. I drape the soft fabric around her shoulders, and she arches a brow, regarding me curiously. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I scrub a hand along my jaw. She shrugs, not offering me anything else. “What was that about with Wes back there?” I add, not letting her deflect. I’ve given her plenty to ponder, and she’s told me next to nothing. “Is he hassling you? I mean, it sure seemed like it tonight.”
“He wants me to date him although I’ve no idea why if he’s with the beautiful blonde.” I can’t tell if she’s hurt by that or it genuinely doesn’t bother her.
I gingerly grip her chin, guiding her to look up at me. Big blue eyes meet mine, and I’m drown
ing. “You’re a million times more beautiful than that blonde.”
She blinks long lashes as she stares deep into my eyes. An electrical charge crackles in the space between us, and her lips curl into a soft, sweet, pure smile that does strange things to me. Her hands slide slowly, hesitantly, up my chest, and she bites down on her lip, making me groan. “Are you hitting on me?” she whispers, her gaze settling on my mouth.
“Maybe,” I admit, because I’ve no idea what the fuck I’m doing.
Her hands curl around the nape of my neck, and her tits press against my chest, radiating warmth in everyplace we’re connected. My body demands I claim her, and I slide my arms around her waist, holding her even closer.
Her eyes continue to draw me in until it feels like I’ve lost all self-control. My dick throbs, urging me to take what she’s offering, while the voice in my head says I shouldn’t kiss her, shouldn’t get in any deeper, but my head is lowering on autopilot until our lips are almost touching.
Fuck. My heart is racing as my stomach flips like an out of control gymnast the moment my lips brush against hers.
She jerks back, as if electrocuted, snapping both of us out of whatever the hell that just was. “I need to go.” She wraps her arms around herself, avoiding eye contact. “We have a deal, right.”
“Yeah.” I reluctantly nod, even though she can’t see because she still won’t look at me.
“Good.” She walks backward. “I’ll be in touch.”
Then she takes off running, and confused and horny as shit, I watch her until she’s out of sight.
I take a shower the instant I get back to the dorm, coming hard against the wall as I imagine it’s Emily pumping my cock to release.
6
Emily
“You’re not coming to the fundraiser dressed like that,” Mom says, frowning as she examines me from head to toe.
I narrow my eyes, wanting to tell her she doesn’t look good in red or she should’ve worn a pantsuit like she usually does to university functions, anything to get on her nerves, but I know my criticism of her will only fall on deaf ears.
“What is wrong with this dress?” I gesture at the elegant, black floor-length gown she bought me for the annual university ball last year.
She swipes a hand up the back of her head, making sure not a strand of her blonde hair is out of place in her tight chignon. “You wore it last year, and a lot of the same guests will be in attendance, for one.”
“So what?” I flap my hands around. “It’s not like anyone’s going to remember what I was wearing.” True fact. Most people don’t give a rat’s ass who I am.
“They remember.” She gives me a tight smile. “You might as well just prop your naked breasts on the table for all the coverage it offers.”
It’s true it plunges straight down to my navel, and I can’t wear a bra, so it showcases some boob but not to the extent she’s implying. Mom is a B-cup, at most, and I’m a generous D-cup. It’s always bugged her, and the fact it does bugs me.
If she’s that envious, she can always get a boob job.
It’s not like she can’t afford it. Both my parents have high-paying jobs, and Mom comes from a wealthy family. When her father died three years ago, he left his entire estate to her. Mom could easily retire now and enjoy a comfortable life until she dies.
I admire the fact she wants to keep working, and I’m proud of her career. But she has achieved it at the expense of everything else in her life, and I don’t admire her for that.
When I needed her most, she wasn’t there for me.
And I won’t ever forget that.
It’s a pity my grandfather placed a stipulation on the trust fund he bequeathed me, ensuring I can’t get my hands on the money until I’m thirty. Or maybe he knew what he was doing. Because if I had access to that cash now, I’d be long gone.
“If that’s how you feel, why did you buy it for me in the first place?” I ask.
She rubs at her chest in obvious annoyance. “I didn’t realize it was so revealing.” Her blue gaze drifts to the clock on the wall in the living room. “I don’t want to be late, and we need to leave in five minutes. Go change into the green dress I bought you for tonight, and hurry.”
I’m cursing her under my breath as I stomp up the stairs, returning a few minutes later in said aforementioned dress. This one isn’t half as pretty, but I have zero fucks to give.
“That’s much more appropriate,” she says, nodding her head in agreement.
The dark-green dress has a tight-fitting bodice with a heavy lace overlay across the chest, which adequately squeezes and conceals my boobs, and the hem rests midway between my knee and calf. It’s like something you’d put on an older woman, but I don’t complain because I just want this night to be over.
I hate going to these things, because they’re usually boring as fuck, and I’m forced to make small talk with a bunch of overweight middle-aged men and their mute wives, who sip their wine while sitting dutifully by their husband’s sides even as they ogle my breasts and flirt with me outrageously.
But I’m especially dreading tonight because I’m pretty sure Wes is going to be there. It’s why I’ve just drained a quarter bottle of vodka for liquid courage. I’m going to need it to help me survive this night.
* * *
“Stop fidgeting,” Mom hisses in my ear as she smiles and nods at a few new arrivals from our position at the bar.
The ballroom is humming from the clinking of glasses to the soft music spilling out of the speakers overhead.
“The dress is scratchy and hot,” I complain, fighting the urge to pull at the coarse fabric again.
“Stop whining,” Mom says as Dad gestures to the barman for another round.
Mom sends him a sly look. “You need to slow down,” she hisses, under her breath, all the while keeping that fake smile plastered on her mouth.
“And you need to stop telling me and Em what to do,” Dad hisses back.
I’m ready to say “Thanks, Dad” when we’re interrupted.
“Coach. Good to see you.” A large man with gray hair and a matching mustache slaps Dad on the back, dragging him into a private conversation. This happens all the time when I’m out with both of my parents. There is always someone claiming their attention, and I’m left to the sidelines.
“I have to talk to a few people. Behave while I’m gone, and don’t do anything to embarrass me,” Mom warns, shooting daggers at me before she wanders in the direction of a dark-haired man with his arm around a red-haired woman.
The moment she’s gone I feel like I can breathe again.
I lean against the bar as I scan the busy ballroom, silently promising myself that once I graduate and leave this place behind I am never stepping foot into one of these stuffy events again.
The fundraiser is being held in a ritzy hotel in town, and it’s crammed full of the usual blue bloods—distinguished families with old money who’ve kept their traditions and names intact.
Obnoxious assholes in my opinion.
It’s the same ole, same ole, and I honestly can’t fathom how anyone finds these nights entertaining.
I spot a broad-chested guy with thick brown hair from behind, listening to an elderly lady, and immediately, my mind drifts to the frat party and Adam. I’ve thought about him a lot since our encounter in front of Randolph Hall. Like how my body ignited on contact at the unspoken intimacy we shared.
I can’t remember the last time I had that butterfly feeling, but I sure felt it with Adam that night. Thoughts of that almost kiss, and the way his hard body felt pressed up against mine, sends shivers coursing through me. I moan quietly, biting down on my lip and squeezing my thighs together, as an intense need overwhelms me.
But it’s short-lived when the guy turns around, and I discover it’s not Adam.
Part of me is disappointed.
The other part is relieved.
Getting involved with my drug dealer is a mistake, and he’s a football play
er too, which is a double no.
The broad-chested guy saunters away, and my gaze follows him until I spot Wes’s smug head. My face contorts, and a low growl escapes my mouth. He’s in a huddle by one of the tables with his parents, and he’s got Blondie on his arm.
Good.
All I have to do is ensure I’m not left alone with him, and I should be safe.
I eye the bar with longing, and I would literally kill for a drink, but I’m not legal, so I’m stuck with soda. The vodka I ingested prior to coming here has worn off. I don’t even have any Molly on me.
Not with Mom around.
She checked my purse before we left, like she always does. She loves any opportunity to remind me of my failure. But even if she didn’t check, it’s too dangerous anyway, especially knowing Wes is in attendance. I need my wits about me, which is unfortunate, because if there was ever an occasion where I need to get high or drunk, this is it.
“Hey, beautiful.” An arm drapes around my shoulder from behind. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I spin around, grinning at Zach. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a suit, and his blue tie brings out the color in his amber eyes. “Nor I you.” I fling my arms around him, genuinely delighted to see him. “Did you bring a date?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.
He snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “As if. I’m flying solo with my parents.”
“Please say you’ll sit at my table and pretend to be my date?” At least, if I have Zach there, it’ll be bearable. And I’ll have a buffer against Wes.
Zach places his hands on my lower back, steering me over into the corner where it’s more private. He toys with a strand of my hair, smiling mischievously at me. “I’ll sit at your table but only if there’s no pretending going on.”
I jerk back, eyeing his face to see if he’s joking, but he looks deadly serious. “You want to be my date? For real?”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Why is that such a surprise? We’re hot together.”
“That’s because we’re usually stoned and drunk when we screw.”
Holding on to Forever Page 6
