by Sarina Bowen
“Okay. Really?”
Judd’s incredulous voice slices through my thoughts. I look over. “What?” I ask between bites of my sandwich.
“We’re really going to pretend you didn’t come home with Bailey just now?” he demands. “What the hell were you doing with that loser?”
I delay answering by taking another huge bite. “Needed a ride,” I say with my mouth full.
“Huh?”
“He needed a ride into town.”
“And you gave him one?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Judd is eyeing me as if I’ve personally betrayed him. “Bailey’s such a prick, dude. And he pretty much stole the presidency from you!”
“First of all, he’s not always a prick.” The half-assed defense of Bailey just pops out of my mouth that way, because it’s accurate. The dude is as prickly as a porcupine, but he seems to have his reasons.
Judd snorts.
“And he didn’t steal the presidency. I dropped out.”
“Yeah, and you still haven’t even told me why!” Judd slams his beer can on the table. “You just said you changed your mind—”
“I did change my mind,” I protest.
“And now you’re acting like you’re all cool with Asshole Bailey being in charge of our frat, which is fucking unacceptable, and that’s not even the biggest slap in the face, Keaton—the real slap in the face is that I have to hear from Therese that you and Annika broke up. What the fuck?” Judd’s anger sputters out like a dying car engine. He goes quiet. Defeated.
Shock silences me for a moment. Judd is upset with me? I honestly had no idea. “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Oh. I…ah, I’m sorry, man. I…”
“Forget about it,” he mutters, reaching for his drink again.
“No, I’m not going to forget about it. I really am sorry,” I say roughly. “I should’ve told you about Annika, but…I was embarrassed, I guess. You were all happy about getting back together with Therese, and I didn’t want to admit that I got dumped.”
He raises an eyebrow. “She did the dumping?”
I nod.
“Fuck. I didn’t know that. Therese just said you guys broke up.” Judd lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I mean, I figured you’d tell me about Annika eventually, but you weren’t saying anything, and you’ve been acting all weird lately—”
“Weird?” I cut in. Shit. Does he know something?
“Like, distant,” he clarifies. His jaw tightens. “And then this morning I see you leave here with Luke-fucking-Bailey—”
“He needed a ride,” I repeat. “We’re not best friends or anything.” The denial burns my throat. Except we’re really not friends. I merely let him fuck me last night.
But that’s top secret. Judd can never know.
A flutter of panic fills my throat. Christ, what have I gotten myself into? I wasn’t panicking this morning when I woke up next to Bailey. And when I remember the sex, it doesn’t evoke much anxiety, either.
But this—the notion of telling my friends that I…like dudes. Or, oh God, telling my parents? How the hell are they going to react? Look at Luke’s family, for fuck’s sake. I’ve never met anybody who seems more secure about their sexuality, and yet Luke’s own brother calls him a faggot.
No. I’m definitely not ready to share this with anybody.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” I add. “I was caught up in finals, and the holidays, and this Annika mess. Not to mention that our season ended so poorly after that winning streak…” Bad as I feel about it, bringing up football is a calculated move on my part. It’s a tried and true method to distract Judd Keller.
“I know, right?” he laments. “I can’t believe New Hampshire made it so far in the off-season. We’re like a million times better than those fuckheads.”
“Right?”
“Next season, I’m taking charge of the defense,” Judd says firmly. “Dano was such a shit captain. He was so bad for morale, and you know how important morale is when it comes to…”
I tune him out. Again, I feel bad doing it, but my mind is elsewhere. This thing with Luke is confusing. I’m wildly attracted to him and I want to have more sex—that much I know. But anything else, whether it’s friendship or something more...I have no fucking clue about.
Luke sleeps until dinnertime. I know this, because I’m studying in my bedroom and I don’t hear a peep from his room until six o’clock rolls around. Then he’s a symphony of noise—footsteps in the hall, the shower cranking on, water running. After his shower, I hear him in his bedroom again. Music comes on, and my cheeks heat up at the sound of the sultry beat. It’s not the same track he danced to last night, but very similar.
I wonder if he’s warming up for his shift at Jill’s tonight.
And look at that, my dick is hard.
I rake both hands through my hair, the bio textbook in my lap all but forgotten. Luke Bailey is definitely messing with my head. Not only is this newfound attraction to him making me act “weird” in front of my friends, but apparently now I can’t even think about the guy without developing a full-blown erection.
Screw it. I drop my book on the bed and head for the door. For his door. I don’t even knock, I simply walk into Luke’s room unannounced. Because, hey, if he’s jerking off, even better. I’ll just go over there and finish him off.
But he’s not jerking. He’s sitting cross-legged on the patterned bedspread, staring at his laptop screen. His teeth dig into his bottom lip in frustration.
“Hey,” I say over the music.
He glances up. Instantly, suspicion fills his expression, and I wonder if there’ll ever be a time where he sees me and his default emotion isn’t mistrust. I hope so.
“What’s up?” he asks, his gaze returning to the screen.
I close the door and move deeper into the room. As I pass his wireless speaker, I turn down the volume. “I wanted to see if you, ah, wanted pizza for dinner,” I lie, because he’s plainly busy and I’m certain he’ll reject me if I suggest fooling around. “We’re all pitching in.”
He flicks me a knowing look. “Is that so.”
“Yeah.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweats. “Well. No.”
Luke grins. “You wanted to hook up, eh?”
I blow out a breath. “Yes.”
Husky laughter tickles my ears. “I created a monster.” He laughs again, and then gestures to his laptop. “As much I’d love to fuck your brains out right now, I’m a tad occupied. And before you ask, no, it’s not going well. This entire day has been one big clusterfuck.”
“When it rains, it pours.”
That gets me the finger. “Thanks for that, oh wise one.”
Grinning, I sit at the foot of his bed. “What’s wrong now? You forgot to do a homework assignment or something?”
“I never forget an assignment.” His hard voice tells me he’s speaking the absolute truth. I doubt this guy has ever slacked off in his life. He clearly works like a dog.
“So what is it?”
“Minor hiccup,” he says, but the frustration returns to his gaze again, belying his casual words. “For my finance class, a major component of the final grade is an interview with a finance executive who’s raised money in the capital markets. I had an interview lined up this week with the CFO of a Stamford venture capital firm, but the fucker’s secretary just emailed to say he’s heading out of town early. And won’t be back for three weeks.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” He types something on his laptop. “I had all my interview questions prepped already. But now I’m sending out emails to every CFO in Connecticut requesting an interview. And on Monday I’ll have to make some cold calls.”
“What happens if you don’t find anyone?”
“I don’t have any idea.” His tone becomes glum. “I’ll have to ask my professor for help, which will reflect poorly on me. And he’ll probably send me to some youn
g alumni who’s willing to do me a favor.”
An idea tugs at my brain. “You should come to brunch tomorrow.”
Luke stares at me. “Um. Yeah. I don’t see how that solves my problem in any way, but, thank you, I guess? I’m going to pass, though.”
I smirk at him. “Oh really? You’re going to pass on brunch with the CEO of a pharmaceutical company? They just issued convertible stock last week. It’s all my father could talk about over the holidays.”
There’s a pause. “Wait... Really?”
“Why not? My dad drives up from Long Island most Sundays to have brunch with me.” To keep tabs on me, really. “I’m inviting you to join us, moron. In fact, let me check something…” I hop off the bed and duck into my room to grab my phone.
I try not to think about it too hard as I compose a message to my father. Because didn’t I just freak out downstairs about revealing that I’m attracted to men? What if Dad sees me and Luke together and somehow knows we hooked up?
Bringing Luke to brunch has the potential to create chaos I don’t want to deal with, and yet when I return to Bailey’s room, I can’t stop myself from hitting Send.
“Who did you text?” Once again, Luke’s entire face is stiff with distrust.
“My dad. I asked him if he’d be willing to sit for an interview with you tomorrow.”
Luke’s jaw falls open. Then it snaps shut. “Hayworth.” The two syllables wield a sharp edge.
I look up from my phone. “What?”
“What the hell is this? Some kind of charity bullshit?” His cheeks flush. “I told you, I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity.” I offer a shrug, my brain working to phrase everything in a way that won’t raise Luke Bailey’s hackles. I’m discovering that he’s mighty sensitive when it comes to receiving assistance. “This is an entirely selfish move on my part. I fucking hate sitting through these Sunday brunches. Usually I have Annika there as a buffer, but, well, you know what happened with that. Plus, I haven’t told Dad that I lost the election. This way I can leave that honor for you.”
It’s Luke’s turn to smirk. “Making me do your dirty work, huh? Pussy.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
Dad: Your fraternity brother is more than welcome, son. I must say, I am overjoyed that you’re finally taking an interest in the business. Looking forward to discussing the ins and outs of convertibles with you boys.
“Dad says he’s happy to talk to you,” I tell Luke. “So what do you say? Let me use you shamelessly so I don’t have to engage one-on-one with my father?”
“Sure. I’m in.”
And although I’m pleased that Bailey accepted my help, I find it incredibly telling that he only agreed to it when he thought I was using him. Someone helping him from the goodness of their heart is completely inconceivable to him, and damned if that isn’t one of the saddest things I’ve ever encountered.
Presentable
Luke
When my alarm goes off on Sunday morning at nine thirty, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, and force myself to wake up. I had another long shift at the club last night, followed by a long bus ride home. But now I need to look sharp and charm Mr. Keaton Hayworth Jr. into giving me enough detail about his capital structure to write a paper.
My problem can’t possibly be this easy to solve, could it? I don’t trust it.
I drag myself into the shower and then shave carefully. My eyes look bloodshot from lack of sleep, but there’s nothing I can do about that. In my room, I stare into my closet. Next year I have to interview for jobs. I’m going to have to buy at least two suits, some nicer shirts, and shoes.
So just add that to the lengthy list of things I’ll need to save up for.
Now, though, I put on my best oxford shirt and my only pair of khaki pants. Then I study myself in the mirror.
The dude staring back at me looks presentable. There’s nothing about my reflection that says: stripper with a fucked-up family, from the wrong part of town. Although nobody would mistake me for Keaton or one of his rich friends. Someday they will, though. I won’t stop until I have everything I want.
And wherever that is, it won’t be anywhere near Darby, Connecticut. I can’t wait to leave this place behind.
I’m ready to go by the time I hear Keaton step into the shower. I wait at my desk, reading everything I can find about convertible stock and about Hayworth Harper Pharmaceuticals.
“Knock knock,” the company’s young heir says from my doorway. “I was gonna ask if you were ready, but I can see that you are.”
“Yep.” I grab a notebook off my desk. “Let’s do this. You really think he’ll answer my questions?”
“Sure he will. Talking about himself and his business is Dad’s favorite thing in the world.”
I grab a jacket and follow him downstairs. The house is quiet, because most everyone sleeps late on Sundays. We climb into Keaton’s BMW for the second time in two days. And both times I’ve managed not to comment on his choice of vehicle.
Go me.
“So,” I say as we roll toward the waterfront, where all the expensive restaurants in the county are. My credit card will hate me for this. “What is my role here, besides interviewing your dad?”
“Ah,” Keaton says. “Your role is to be someone he doesn’t know well enough to criticize me in front of. That’s all you have to do. Oh, and run up his credit card.”
“I can’t let him pay,” I say. “Not if he’s doing me a favor.”
“Pfft,” Keaton says. “Of course you can. That’s what parents are for.”
“Really? I wouldn’t know.” I regret the comment as soon as it leaves my mouth.
Keaton turns to me immediately with an apologetic glance. “Shit, I’m sorry. That’s what parents should be for, anyway.”
A wave of embarrassment washes over me. I can’t believe Keaton witnessed the shit show that is my family yesterday. “Moving on.”
“It’s just up ahead,” he says. “And we’re on time, for once. Dad will be astonished.”
“You’re usually late?”
“Annika,” he mutters, and then sighs.
“Still feel bad about that?” I’m genuinely curious. I mean, he didn’t seem all that broken up about her on Friday night…
“Kind of,” he grumbles. “We spent a lot of time together. It will take a while to get used to not having her around. And Dad will be bummed.” He shakes his head. “He loves Annika. And he’ll ask me what the hell I did wrong.”
And sure enough, the first thing Keaton’s dad says as the host of this slightly fusty wood-paneled restaurant leads us to his table is, “Keaton! And Luke? Great to see you both. But where is Annika?”
Keaton waits until I’ve shaken hands with his dad and we’re both seated and holding oversized menus printed on parchment. Then he says, “About Annika. She dumped me.”
His dad sits back in his chair suddenly, like a man slapped. As if he’s astonished that a woman would ever reject a Hayworth man. “What ever for?”
“No particular reason,” Keaton says carefully. “She just wants to widen her horizons. Or something.” He tugs at his shirt collar, looking uncomfortable.
“What’s good here?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Everything,” Mr. Hayworth says. “When I’m really hungry, I go for the steak and eggs. The quiche is also excellent.”
The waiter pours coffee all around. Mr. Hayworth orders a mimosa, but I ask for plain orange juice.
“I’ll have the pancakes and bacon,” Keaton says.
“I’d love the eggs Benedict,” I say, passing over my menu.
Mr. Hayworth laughs, and I have no idea why. “That’s what Annika gets,” he says.
My gaze collides with Keaton’s, and then we both look away quickly.
“I’ll have the quiche Lorraine,” Mr. Hayworth says, noticing nothing.
But I still feel a frisson of discomfort. If it weren’t for this interview I so de
sperately need to ace, I would never have come. My sex life until now has been set up to avoid meeting the parents of the people I’m screwing. And it’s not like I’d start now.
Here we are, though. I feel like a fraud, as usual. I’m playing the role of someone who fits in at Darby College. I’ll keep playing it until someday, hopefully before I die, it feels like I really do belong.
“What’s your major, son?” Mr. Hayworth asks.
“Business, with a finance concentration, sir.” I break a roll in half, and move a pat of butter from the butter dish to my bread plate on the left. These are things I learned three years ago on YouTube when I was trying to get a waiter’s job in a decent restaurant. But they’re things that Keaton was taught from birth.
“I’ve set up a finance internship for Keaton over the summer,” he says. “But it would be great if he could take finance courses next year, too.”
“Wow, sounds like a great summer opportunity.”
I glance up at Keaton, who suddenly gives a lot of attention to buttering his roll. And didn’t he tell me he was applying to some kind of research internship for the summer?
Hmm. If his father doesn’t know that, I’m not going to be the one to break the news. At least now I know Keaton wasn’t fibbing when he said he disliked brunches with his dad.
I clear my throat. “I was really hoping you could tell me about that convertible bonds deal you just did. Specifically, why convertibles?”
“Ah, of course!” Mr. Hayworth says. He’s actually beaming. As if I was asking about his favorite child. And maybe I am. “Pharmaceutical companies love convertibles. The debt comes at a reasonable interest rate, because the buyers are hoping our development products will get FDA approval, which will lead to an equity upside.”
I flip open my notebook and click my pen. “How reasonable is the interest rate?”
“Well, if you take a look at LIBOR spreads in the pharmaceutical industry…”
I start scribbling. And I write down everything he says.
It’s Always My Treat
