Those Heartless Boys

by E. M. Moore

  This morning, though, I’m rethinking that decision. Especially since all the bedrooms are off the glass hallway that looks out onto the pool deck. They, too, have one glass wall that lets in the light, and right now, Wyatt passes by. He smirks, and I’m pretty sure I’m slipping a tit. God dammit. I should’ve used the remote to lower the blinds like Stone showed me last night, but it was so peaceful looking out at the stars before I went to sleep. It was like camping but better because of the bed.

  This. Fucking. Bed.

  I fall back down onto it, making sure the muscle shirt is covering the goods in case one of the other guys decides to walk by. With the blazing rays of the sun streaming in, it’s hard to tell what time it is, but if I had to guess, it’s probably almost mid-afternoon. Or at least late morning. I haven’t slept this long in ages. On Saturdays past, my father and I would already be up the mountain, sharing breakfast on the hike through the rocky terrain. College Saturdays have me doing homework until I gather my poor excuse for a hiking pack up and go in search of my father again. Though, I haven’t been able to do that for a couple of weeks since the truck has been broken. No wheels meant no ride to go searching.

  Finally, I have my truck back though. It’s ridiculous how much freedom comes with having a vehicle. It’s like I’m an eagle soaring through the sky.

  I pull myself out from under the luxurious sheets and head toward the en suite. When I readied for bed, my eyes were blurry with sleep. I don’t think I even turned the bathroom light on, but this morning, it’s bright as can be in the interior. I move my gaze up and am rewarded with a view of the Arizona sky. The bathroom has a fucking glass ceiling. Holy shit. A bird flies overhead, spreading its wings and gliding on a breeze.

  I keep staring as I do my morning business and then move into the huge shower stall. A rainfall showerhead greets me. It dances along my skin in the perfect thrumming of water. I could get used to niceties like this. Who couldn’t? I bet even if you’re the Dalai Lama you like nice things.

  After showering, I grab a soft bath towel and wrap it around myself. Believe it or not, there’s a toothbrush in an unopened plastic wrapper in the drawer of the vanity along with a hairbrush, toothpaste, and both men’s and women’s deodorant. It’s as if this place is set up for unknown and unexpected guests.

  I make use of the toiletries and then walk back out into the bedroom. This time, I use the remote to lower the blinds that slide down through two panes of glass. I’m prepared to wear the clothes I’d chosen for the party, but in a bag on the floor, I find a few sets of clothes from my closet along with my textbooks. One of them must’ve gone to my dorm this morning to get some things for me. I suppose this means they’re expecting me to stay awhile.

  It doesn’t matter. I dress in the clean clothes, of which I’m grateful for. What I realize, though, is that the clothes were painstakingly picked out. There are only one pair of overalls, and hardly any of my regular t-shirts. If I had to guess, this is Stone’s controlling ways coming out to play. He went out of his way to point out my different attire yesterday, and today, he brings me only my most fashionable clothes, if they could even be called that.

  I throw the clothes on, and as soon as I’m dressed, I raise the blinds again, letting that beautiful sunlight back into the room. I press on the door to open it. It releases via a small magnet. Or magic. I’m not sure which.

  As soon as the door opens, the smell of bacon calls to me. Bacon was a rarity in the Wilder household, and weekends were tough back in the dorms. The school is so small that the cafeteria closes on Saturdays and Sundays. If I hadn’t saved enough food from the cafeteria over the week and I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to see Dickie, there were times when I went to bed with a growling stomach. It was never that bad when my father was alive. We always had at least a little something to eat, even if I didn’t always like it.

  Shockingly, when I round into the kitchen, Wyatt is in front of the stove. He has a piece of bacon hanging from his mouth as he flips omelets, cowboy hat and all. “Mornin’, Tits. I thought I saw you waking up in there.”

  He gives me a wink, but if he thinks he’s going to make me blush about that, he can go fly a kite. He didn’t have to look into my room.

  “Tits?” a voice questions behind me.

  I turn to find Lucas striding into the room. His hair is a mess. More than it usually is, anyway. He yawns, running his hands through his brown locks, only to tousle it even further.

  “Yep,” Wyatt says. “I got an unexpected surprise when I walked down the hallway this morning. I think I’ll get used to having a girl living here real quick.”

  “You know the blinds lower, right?” Lucas asks, shooting me a look that’s half jealousy, half heat. Is that what his problem is? Even yesterday, he got moody when Stone—Well, I really don’t know what Stone was trying to get at. Maybe he wanted to rile his friend up.

  I stick my chin in the air. “I was just waking up. It’s not as if I was standing there with my tits out.”

  “If you do, make sure you let me know,” Wyatt says. “The only thing I’ve been seeing lately is a whole lot of cock.”

  “Stop looking and you won’t get an eyeful,” Stone says as he saunters into the room. “And please, Dakota, remember to use the blinds. Wyatt is the biggest perv around.”

  Wyatt shrugs as if he has no need to claim his innocence. “Women are—”

  “We know,” Lucas says, cutting him off with a stern look.

  “Keep that up, and I won’t be feeding your asses,” Wyatt says. He spins back to the stove, grabs a plate from the cupboards, then turns back around with a plateful of omelets. “Follow me if you want to eat,” he says, mimicking Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice.

  I chuckle and do as he says. I’m pretty sure I’d flash him for a strip of that delicious smelling bacon if that’s what he wanted. He leads us outside, a plate full of omelets in one hand and the bacon in the other. When he sets the platters down, an alarm goes off on his phone. “That would be my cinnamon rolls.”

  “Cinnamon rolls?”

  No one answers as Wyatt holds onto his hat while he walk-runs back into the house. Stone retreats to the side patio where Wyatt pulled a pool towel out of just yesterday and returns with silverware. Lucas and I sit while Stone goes back, returning with a tray of glasses and a glass pitcher of orange juice.

  Jesus. I think I died and went to food heaven.

  I bite my lip, telling myself to get a hold of the emotions threatening to crawl out of me. The food at school is nothing compared to this. Plus, I’m only ever eating half of it because I try to save as much as I can for when I’m not in school. The omelet platter itself is piled high, enough for three or four for each of us if we want it. That’s not to mention the bacon and fucking cinnamon rolls.

  Cinnamon rolls!

  “Go ahead and start,” Lucas says, moving the omelet platter toward me. “I hope you like meat and cheese because Wyatt refuses to put vegetables in practically anything.”

  I snicker. “I’m with Wyatt. Vegetables don’t belong in omelets.”

  I take a plate from Stone and use my fork to slide one of the omelets onto it. I add a few strips of bacon, trying not to horde it like I want to. I’m just biting into the bacon, letting a “Mmm” pass from my lips in appreciation for the pork goodness, when Wyatt returns with the cinnamon rolls.

  “That good, Tits?”

  “You can’t call her Tits,” Stone says, voice firm as well...stone. Apt, of course, as everything Stone Jacobs does is ruled, measured, and well thought out.

  “Why not? Lucas gets to call her Wild Girl.”

  “Tits is so demeaning,” Stone says nonchalantly like we’re discussing the weather.

  “Mmm,” Wyatt says, setting the cinnamon rolls down within reaching distance. I grab one just as he says, “You think that because you haven’t seen them yet.”

  “Ever,” I say around a mouthful of omelet. “Won’t see them ever.” I can’t seem to stop
shoving things into my mouth, which probably isn’t good while around three sexy as hell men. My cheeks flame. I definitely shouldn’t have thought that. Nope. Not ever. “You can call me Tits,” I say to Wyatt, trying to take their attention away from my red cheeks.

  The guys settle into their seats around the stone patio table. I barely notice any of them are there as I dig into my meal. I only look up when I’m grabbing my third omelet from the tray and stuffing the last of my second cinnamon roll into my mouth. When I do, they’re all staring at me, but they quickly look away.

  I cringe, telling myself to slow the fuck down. These assholes must eat like this all the time, so it’s not that big of a deal to them. I don’t need to stuff myself for days. My stomach clenches, and I decide I really do need to slow down. I eat my last omelet slowly. Then, I take one more cinnamon roll, picking it apart piece by piece while the rest of the guys finish their breakfasts. I finish the roll off with the remainder of my orange juice, sighing when I feel how full I am. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.

  “Want more?” Stone asks. He lifts the orange juice pitcher, and I nod. He tops me off. When he settles back into his seat, he says, “We should probably talk about how we’re going to move forward.”

  I eye the guys suspiciously. They’ve been alarmingly civil this morning, and I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop. There’s no talk of owning me or making sure I stay away from other people. In fact, it’s been almost nice. “Thanks for letting me sleep here last night,” I say tentatively. I was raised with fucking manners, and if someone lets you stay at their house because some weirdo walked into your dorm and left you a creepy message, you say thanks. Regardless of your feelings about said person. Or whether you trust them fully.

  “That about killed you, didn’t it?” Stone asks.

  I let out a breath. “Damn near. I think I feel a stroke coming on.”

  “You know, our families don’t have to hate each other.” He pins me with a look that I know is just a trap waiting to spring.

  “We’re just wired that way,” I tell him, shrugging like I can’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop the world from turning if I wanted to.

  “I’ve always thought it was dumb.”

  “I’ve always thought it necessary,” I counter.

  He narrows his gaze, and I find I actually do like talking to people. Who knew?

  “Now that we’re working together, I hope you’ll open your mind a little more.”

  I wipe my face with a napkin. “We’ll see,” I say. I stare around at the mess that’s left. We wiped out the omelets and the bacon. There are two cinnamon rolls left, and I have to tell myself that I don’t need to stuff them in my bag. I stand, taking my empty plate and starting to gather theirs as well.

  “What are you doing?” Stone asks.

  Lucas chuckles. “She’s cleaning up after herself.”

  “Oh,” Stone says, a line forming between his eyes. “You can stop that.”

  “Um, what?” The perplexed look on his face is, dare I say, adorable.

  “We have a housekeeper who comes in every day.”

  I drop my plate back to the stone table, and it rattles. “Of course, you do.”

  “I told you it’s weird,” Wyatt says, sniping at his friend.

  “We were ten,” Stone groans.

  Wyatt turns toward me. “This guy has never cleaned up after himself in his life. He’s lucky he can afford to keep the help. Otherwise, he’d be fucking screwed.”

  I glare at Stone. “Not ever?”

  “I can,” he says defensively.

  “But you just don’t?”

  Crimson rushes to Stone’s cheeks. “I can pick up after myself. I do it on occasion,” he says, glaring at his friend. “I was brought up with the idea that everyone has their jobs to do.”

  “And yours is to watch the help clean up after you?” Anger laces my voice. I just can’t help it. How fucking ridiculous? How is that teaching anybody anything?

  “No,” Stone growls. “My family is run like a business. Our jobs were to work on more complex problems. It’s why you see people hiring housekeepers or gardeners or mechanics,” he says. “We could all, theoretically, do the work ourselves, but that would take away from the time needed for more important things. If my father cleaned the house or did the dishes, do you think he’d be as well off as he is right now? Think about how many hours you waste doing things you need to do rather than focusing on school. Or when you get older, a job. Doing those things only takes away a precious, limited commodity: Time.”

  “But you might also learn something really important,” I say, disbelieving that he was really brought up like that. “How to be humble.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Dakota.” For the first time today, his voice gets that haughty edge to it again. It’s cold and lacking emotion. “You should only be humble to those who deserve it. Once you start acting that way, people see you as weak. A target.”

  I swallow. I can tell he believes every single thing that is coming out of his mouth. “What a shitty world you must have grown up in.”

  “As compared to yours? When’s the last time you had a decent meal, Dakota?”

  Fury surges through me like the crack of a whip. Embarrassment surges in quickly after. I push back from the table and ignore my name on his lips as he yells for me to stop.

  Just when I think they might be okay, I’m reminded of why us Wilders have sworn off the Jacobs.

  Pompous fucking assholes.

  15

  “God, you’re a fucking prick, you know that?” It’s Lucas’s sure voice that calls Stone out as I make my way back to the bedroom I was given. Sticking up for me, his voice is that kind of chocolate-dipped caramel dessert that calls to me. Stone responds, but I can’t decipher what he says.

  I go into the room, closing the door and keeping the blinds lowered, so I don’t have to see their faces or the fancy shit I’m surrounded in. At least in this room, I can just pretend I’m in a box. A well-furnished box, but a box just the same.

  I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve guarded myself more. Maybe I should ask Lucas how he does it. It’s like he can pick and choose what facets of himself he wants the world to see. With my dad, it was the exact opposite. He always told me to feel my feelings, unless they were about him, of course. I never went there.

  This house—this life of theirs—made me too comfortable. I’ve only been here less than twenty-four hours, but it’s true. I can see how your bones can ease in a place like this. Relax into a world where everything is done for you, and you truly don’t have to worry about anything. Hell, with their fancy security system, they don’t even have to worry about whoever this so-called other treasure hunter is. If that’s what’s actually happening.

  And who just might it be anyway? It makes no sense. This person would’ve tried for my father’s stash a long time ago. Everyone knows. Well, at least everyone knew we had the secret before the Jacobs showed up to the game. They twisted everything. They became the center spotlight. Taking the media’s attention, getting sponsors. I don’t think for one second that they use their own money to search for the treasure. Not that they don’t have plenty of it to spare.

  I will say that about Lance Jacobs. He took his family’s empire to a whole other level. I’m wondering if it’s the lack of morals that got him there. If that’s the case, I don’t want anything to do with that kind of money. Even if I find the treasure, I still want to be a good person.

  “Dakota?”

  It’s Lucas. I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I’m feeling particularly raw right now. Exposed. Like I just showed my weakest link to my sworn enemy, and he did just exactly what they do in books—they eat you alive because of it.

  “Can you let me in?”

  I still don’t say anything. Lucas has his moments where he’s a decent guy, but he’s still associated with that asshole. I should say those assholes. I saw the way Wyatt looked at
me too.

  I realized there was a difference between me and other kids when I went to school. The rest of the time, I could pretend I was just like everyone else, but not there. Not with their fancy lunch boxes and clothes and seemingly always knowing the right thing to say. My young mind thought it was because they all had moms and I didn’t. That might have been some of it, but as I grew older, I realized it was much more than that.

  We were fucking poor.

  The door opens, and I swing my gaze toward it as a body comes into view. Lucas gives me a small smile. “Funny thing about this house. No locks on the glass doors.”

  “I would’ve thought my silence said enough.”

  Lucas sits at the edge of the bed, and I move my feet, curling them up toward me as I bring myself to a sitting position.

  He just stares at me, and I grow tired. “I’m about to start homework, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Fucking off?” he asks.

  I smile tightly. “You got it.”

  “The thing is, I don’t want to fuck off, Dakota.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “You look like you need a friend, and well, I’m here.” He cringes. “Jesus. Is this the Dr. Phil show? Is he even on TV anymore?”

  I give him a dead stare.

  “I’m just saying,” he says almost in exasperation. “None of us knew how bad it was. If we had, we would’ve—”

  “We would’ve what?” I snap. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m not anyone’s responsibility. I don’t need to be taken care of, and I certainly don’t want to be treated like a porcelain doll.”

  “I think you just scared us down there, that’s all.”

  “Scared you?” I laugh. It’s caustic and bitter, and I know it makes me sound about as desperate as I feel, which I hate. “Just leave, Lucas.”

  He moves, but he doesn’t leave. He pulls himself back to the wall, leaning against it with his feet outstretched over the foot of the bed. Crossing his arms over his chest, he just lazes there, staring ahead. “I remember when I first saw you,” he says eventually. “You were dressed like a boy. I swear if it weren’t for your messy pigtails, I might have actually thought you were one.”