Dare You To Keep Me: HawkRidge High II

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Just because I wasn’t frickin’ covered in Armani or Alexander McQueen didn’t mean I looked like a piece of shit. But according to them and their beauty ideals, unless your outfit could feed an African village for a week, you looked like crap.

  Well, fuck them and the horses they rode in on.

  My anger well and truly up, feathers ruffling too, I straightened my shoulders as Sam rounded the car and grabbed my hand before he copped a feel of my ass. I grinned up at him and told him, “Lech.”

  His brows waggled. “A man can try.” He swooped down and pressed a kiss to my mouth, his tongue flickering against my lips, just waiting for an invitation inside. When I gave it, he grunted and as he thrust his tongue against mine, I almost melted into him. His hands went to my ass, one sliding up to my lower back, while he reminded me that the only opinions that truly mattered to me weren’t the bitches waiting within the walls of the house behind us, but my men’s.

  Unable to help it, I groaned into his mouth. My blood pounded through my veins like the rapids in a river, and the unnatural whoosh of it in my ears should have been a cause for concern—instead, it was a sign that all was right in my world.

  Sam always made me feel like this.

  After I melted into him, he pulled back with a quick nip to my bottom lip and whispered, “Did I tell you you look gorgeous as fuck?”

  I smirked. “No. You didn’t.”

  “Then I need whipping.”

  “First gang bangs and now BDSM? What else are you keeping from me?” It was my turn to waggle my eyebrows at him, and when he laughed, I felt the joy sweep inside me, taking away any tension or concerns I might have had in the run up to what was about to go down.

  “Don’t worry, you’re the only one I’d want whipping me,” he promised.

  “Well, aren’t I just relieved about that?” I rolled my eyes then darted up onto tiptoe and murmured, “Love you.”

  “Love you, too. And you do. You look fucking gorgeous. I’m glad you don’t have to go home tonight. We’ll see how decent this party is, because I’d prefer to go home and spend it inside you than at the edge of a lake.”

  “You would? How unadventurous of you,” I teased, but his statement reminded me of something. “Come on,” I urged, “let’s get this shitstorm underway.”

  He grimaced but nodded, and tugging at my arm, we walked away from the car and toward the gates. There were two sets. One for cars, which was open, and then another that was for people walking toward the property.

  Drew and Max were waiting for us at the ornate gates toward the drive, and as we approached, I asked, “Max, do you have permission to spend the night?”

  He shrugged. “I texted my stepmom earlier. She said yes.”

  I cut Sam a look and he grunted. “Seems like we’re staying here for the night then.”

  Drew hauled an arm over Max’s shoulder. “Be grateful that Jessa left her tent in my garage and that’s where we’ll be sleeping tonight.”

  “Why?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Because her tent is like a fucking palace. It has bedrooms and everything.”

  Max grinned. “Sounds as if it’s a good place to spend a cold night.”

  “You’d be right about that.” I shivered. “It gets freezing on a morning by the lake,” I told him as I tugged on Sam’s hand and hauled us down the graveled path. There were a couple of other students from our class that were making the same path and we greeted them as we headed toward the inner sanctum of the house.

  The Aspens liked to believe they were hot shit, so they had more security than even we did. I thought they were trying to believe they were more important than they actually were.

  Our security, on the other hand, was so subtle you didn’t even notice it.

  Of course, it was different from the time when we’d been in Saudi Arabia. God, I’d hated being there. In that place, only by a show of force was a person’s value measured. That meant, when we’d gone to school, my brother and I had been surrounded by bodyguards. It had been quite ridiculous…

  Kind of like the Aspen’s place, which had more external CCTV than the entirety of Hawk Ridge put together.

  As we approached the doorway, Sam murmured, “I’ll get her on the dancefloor as soon as I can. Jessa—”

  I squeezed his fingers. “Don’t worry. I know what she’s like.”

  And I did.

  I knew she’d lord a dance with him over me, would probably lie and say he’d felt her up or touched her inappropriately. One of the reasons we’d decided that he’d claim her attention this way—dance with her—was because I had a feeling she was that deranged, if they weren’t in public, she’d lie about him having sex with her.

  Maybe, when things turned sour, she’d even accuse him of something that would destroy his reputation.

  Women like Sarah Dunham were poison, and they tainted everything in their vicinity, poisoning it like oil on a reef.

  My mouth tightened when I saw her the second we walked into the big house. Ignoring her, I darted a quick glance around to see if there were any cameras inside, but not spotting any, I noted just how massive the foyer was with a large marble accent table filling the center. On top of it, there was a wild display of orchids I knew had to cost a fortune, because my mom loved orchids and some of the ones on there were very rare. I eyed one that I knew by sight if not by name, and whistled at just how pristine it was.

  My mom would love that.

  To me, it looked like a dick. Post orgasm. What could I say? I wasn’t the aficionado. But with its prostrate V-shaped petals that were pinstriped a gold and dark brown color, then a bulbous tip that, honest to God, looked like the glans of a cock, I still knew, phallic or not, my mom would adore it.

  Making a mental note to add that to my to-do list to grab it for her for the holidays, I eyed the staircase that ran up toward a wall of windows which, I knew from past experience, overlooked the lake. It was a beautiful view, and every aspect of the house was veered toward seeing as much of the body of water as possible.

  Still, relieved at the lack of cameras, I turned to look at Sarah Aspen who was hovering by the doorway, greeting people like this was a real fancy event and not just a house party for a bunch of teenagers, and had to shake my head at what she was wearing.

  The light blue dress was pretty normal if a little over the top for the occasion. With a sweetheart neckline, it clung to her waist before flaring out into an ankle-length skirt. The real eye-opener was what she wore on her arms. Ruffled about her biceps, two long sleeves billowed out around her forearms before tapering into cuffs at her wrist. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare.

  Sarah Beauchamp wore a bright, baby pink dress that, I swear to God, looked like she’d cut a round shape in the middle of a tablecloth and was wearing that as a dress. Two slits allowed her arms freedom and as she moved, the silky fabric did cling to her, revealing something of her shape, but if that was fashion, then she could definitely keep it.

  Sarah Dunham looked the least ridiculous in a bright gold jumpsuit that had an Art Deco feel to it. The trousers were culotte length, and though it dipped low into a deep V-neck, the short sleeves had a double edge that was frilly.

  In contrast to their outfits, I looked so normal that I wasn’t sure who was weird.

  I mean, I’d come to a party wearing stuff that was usually worn during the day, so maybe it was me. But then, Sam, Drew, and Max weren’t dressed up, either. Sam and Drew wore tailored shorts and tees in different shades of blue. Max wore a pair of jeans and a black The Smiths tee.

  We were casual.

  The Sarahs, on the other hand, were dressed up for the Met gala.

  “Sam!” Sarah Dunham squealed, almost elbowing me out of the way in her haste to hug my boyfriend. I saw his pained face as he allowed her embrace, and I hid a smile, because I didn’t want to rub salt in the wounds.

  Even though she had weird fashion taste and went with the trends way too much for anyone’s sake, she was
beautiful. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed that.

  With her sleek hair, perfectly made-up face, and a figure that a Sports Illustrated model would envy, she was hot as fuck.

  But Sam?

  Well, he seemed genuinely revolted by her. I wasn’t sure why, to be honest. I couldn’t understand it. Not a part of me was gay, and yet, I thought she was beautiful. Even if that beauty hid a vile creature from the rest of the world, I knew what I was looking at, and wasn’t going to delude myself.

  Sarah and Sam were kind of made for each other.

  They were the Prom King and Queen in the making.

  I could totally understand why she thought they should be together, and while that stung, I knew Sam would never ever agree with me. He hated her more than I did, and it was evident as he carefully pushed her away when the hug went on for an awkward length of time.

  Not that she cared.

  Christ, the girl had no shame.

  She just smiled at him and declared, “You’re going to dance with me. Right this second, Sam!”

  He glanced and I dipped my chin a scant inch, telling him silently that I really was okay with this. Hell, none of us had expected her to grab Sam so quickly.

  Apparently, that was a foolish expectation on our behalf.

  “Sarah, you’re the better photographer. I want this dance to go on our Insta account. Let’s show the sheep how they should look.” Sarah cast a look at me, and if her sneer was anything to go by, she didn’t approve of my outfit.

  “But I have to stay here to greet the guests!” Sarah A. half-whined.

  But Sarah D. was having none of that. Glowering at her friend, she murmured, “I want a picture!”

  Sarah A., apparently spying something in the other woman’s expression that I couldn’t, pouted but capitulated, “Okay.”

  When the hall was suddenly vacated of all the Sarahs and my Sam, I cleared my throat and murmured, “Well, that was easier than anticipated.”

  Max grunted. “This is just phase one. We don’t even know where Sarah A.’s bedroom is.”

  I cocked a brow at Drew. “Think you can help us with that one, stud?”

  His nose crinkled. “It was only once.”

  “Just as it was with Sarah B, if memory serves. That’s why she flashes her pussy at you every time she’s cheering.” I’d heard the gossip, and when his cheeks turned bright pink, had my confirmation. It was irrational to be jealous, so I forced a laugh and mumbled, “Come on, stud. Lead the way.”

  Though he huffed, he didn’t try to deny that he knew where her bedroom was. That stung, but hell, I couldn’t complain. Not when it was useful that he knew and we weren’t going to waste time opening doors, trying to find out where the Sarahs would be sleeping tonight.

  Max was right.

  This was only phase one, and we had to hope that Sarah D.’s phone was here. Derick said she appeared to keep it on her at all times, but appearances could be deceptive.

  Just like the bitch’s beauty.

  She might look like an angel, but that angelic façade was more demonic than anyone could ever imagine.

  As we moved up the staircase, it was a strange time to admit to the fact that I wasn’t scared or nervous. If anything, I was excited. My heart was pounding just as hard now as it had been when Sam had kissed me, and as we made it to the top floor and looked out onto the party, which had spilled over onto the front of the lake, I took a second to calm down.

  Excited or not, I didn’t need my heart beating this fast.

  Each step I took down the corridor, I had to watch as my feet squeaked against the hardwood floors that were so polished, they were slippery. There were grand oil paintings of old dead people that I knew, without a doubt, weren’t Aspens, because the Aspens weren’t even blue-blooded Americans, never mind Europeans. The oil paintings were like Reubens, for Christ’s sake.

  “Who are they trying to kid?” Max asked softly, his scorn evident even through his gentle tones, his attention where mine was.

  I snorted. “I know, right? They’re new money.” I winced, because I sounded like an elitist again, but heck, it was hard not to think these guys were dicks for faking it until they made it. “Figures that they want to look like old money.”

  Drew snorted. “Whereas old money doesn’t even have to try?”

  My lips twisted. “You know it.” Cheeks staining pink, I mumbled, “Not that I care.”

  Drew’s arm came around my shoulders. “Don’t worry. If you start throwing your weight around too much, we’ll knock you into touch. Won’t we, Max?”

  Max shot me a ghost of a smile. “We will. Fear not.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but that whisper of a smile had my eyes widening as I traced every inch of that faint twitch of his lips. His white teeth barely peeped through, and the way that scant smile lit up his face was enough to have my heart stuttering in my chest.

  As recognition slammed into me, a recognition of my attraction to him—and from the way his eyes dilated, an attraction that, like my mom and Sam had said, was definitely mutual—I inhaled a shuddery breath. Uncertainty came with the realization, but before I could have an internal panic attack, Drew had brought us to a halt.

  “This is her room. Prepare yourself for the pink,” he muttered, but even though his words were a warning, I had to laugh when I saw the inside of her bedroom.

  It looked like Barbie had thrown up in here.

  “Couldn’t get more cliché, could she?” Drew said dryly, as we stared at the princess bedroom for the overgrown princess.

  From the four-poster to the dressing table with an oversized mirror, then there was the chaise longue and the countless dressers… all of it was pink. All of it was like an indigestion aid.

  There was crap all on the floor, crap I knew came from the other Sarahs. The space was too large, the family too wealthy for the maid not to keep tabs on it, and from all the bags and makeup pouches, I knew this was the aftermath of their getting ready.

  The warzone really was not merited.

  Not for them to look so blah.

  Shaking my head at their folly, I headed over to one of the piles. The four-poster bed, though Pepto-Bismol pink, was definitely grand with its billowing curtains, and it stood in the center of the room. To its left was a set of French doors that looked out onto the hillside, not the lake. I peered over the mound of bags as I tried to determine which Sarah this belonged to.

  “Take a photo of it first,” Max stated gruffly. “That way we can try to put everything back as it was. It might look like a firework went off in here, but there might be some method to how they’ve put everything together.”

  His voice made me shiver inwardly. I didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him. My cheeks burned though, and my hands shook as I retrieved my cell from my pocket.

  I’d seen how handsome he was before. Had known it since I’d met him, for God’s sake. To look into his face was to see a beauty that the poets would love to discuss in their work.

  But I hadn’t responded to it.

  Not in earnest.

  Why was I now?

  Because of what Sam had insisted on talking about last night?

  I mean, I had feelings for Max. I enjoyed his company… hell, that was an understatement. I loved his company. He didn’t always talk about football, enjoyed the Classics, and being with him was as easy as being with Drew and Sam without the football talk. I didn’t know why that was the case, but then, who could explain love at first sight.

  Not that I loved him.

  I mean… I didn’t.

  When a set of headlights pierced the patio doors in front of me, I jerked in response. They were those weird LED ones that made headlamps look like eyes, and the car’s fender seem like a monster.

  I was almost glad to have my attention swerve away from Max as I recognized the car. Who couldn’t? With the lights from the Aspen’s house blaring over it, the flashy, bright red paintwork declared it to all the world for what it was—
a Ferrari.

  My mom would never describe herself as bitchy. My philosopher of a father would. For myself, I just thought she was opinionated, and when she’d seen Richard Harrison’s new car, she’d said, and I agreed with her, “No church deacon who lords it over the rest of the town should be driving a car like that.”

  Of course, my father had asked what kind of car he should be driving, and she’d had no answer, but I knew what she meant.

  It was a beast of a car, and whenever you saw it, you knew who was driving it.

  Wasting a few seconds, I watched as Laura climbed out of the vehicle and hurried away. I knew, like last year, she wouldn’t be spending the night.

  “Dick’s here,” Drew pointed out, seeing where I was looking. My lips almost smiled at the name he gave the pompous prig in the car that was more fitting for an American footballer.

  “Yeah. He’s weird,” I muttered, unable to help myself as I stared at Richard who, for whatever reason, hadn’t turned around and left the second Laura was out of the vehicle. “He turns my stomach.”

  “Why?” Max queried, his brow puckering at the statement.

  “He’s just creepy.” I shrugged. “Sets my stomach on edge.”

  “That’s a strong statement. Has he been inappropriate with you?”

  I heard the rage brewing in his voice, and this time, I couldn’t stop my smile from forming—he cared. “No. Don’t worry. He’s just… don’t you ever get a feeling about someone?”

  “I guess.”

  But I could tell he didn’t. At least, not the kind of feeling I was talking about.

  Maybe it was a woman thing?

  The kind of instinct that stopped you from walking down a dark alley, or, when you were alone in a strange part of the city, the instinct that had you grabbing your keys and thrusting one between your fingers so that you could use it as a weapon if someone approached you.

  I’d once read a list of things that women could do that men didn’t even realize were a problem, like walking into an empty subway station without feeling scared, or going out to a club and never taking your eyes off your drink just in case, and I had to reckon that my instinctual dislike of Richard Harrison was something I couldn’t describe to the guys.