by Erin Watt
“My rating scale for people is usually based on how much I want to bang them.”
Felicity ignores me. “You know where you rank on the importance scale?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
“Ten.”
“No way!” I mock exclaim.
She ignores that, too. “Sure, you have a scandalous history, but you’re attractive and you have money and your daddy’s family has been around since this place was a colony, so your past is mostly forgivable.”
“Thanks for the positive feedback.”
“You’re welcome.”
She’s not being sarcastic. Which means she didn’t pick up on my sarcasm. This chick’s weird.
I look around restlessly and wonder for the umpteenth time what in the hell Hartley’s doing that I couldn’t do, too. I think it’s time to go. Even the solitude of Dad’s study is more appealing than listening to Felicity drone on about social rankings. Maybe I’ll just cruise by Hartley’s place. See if she’s home and needs a hand.
“Appreciate your eval of me, Felicity, but I’m gonna head home.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“You’ve already spent way too much time assessing my status.” I give her a mocking smile. “When do you have time to do your homework?”
She sniffs. “I don’t need to do homework. Getting ahead in life has nothing to do with grades. You, of all people, should know this.” Her tone is condescending as hell. “Getting ahead is about connections. The person with the best connections will go further than the person with the best grades.”
Sadly, she’s right.
I take another swig of vodka. I figure if I drink this whole bottle, doesn’t matter what Felicity is saying. I won’t be able to hear her. Besides, she seems to know more about Hartley than anyone I’ve run into, and that keeps my ass in the chair. “What else do you know about Hartley?”
Felicity’s eyes gleam. If I was less drunk, I may have been able to read her expression, but her face is beginning to look blurry to me. And her voice sounds blurry, too. Can voices be blurry? They must, because hers totally is.
“She left school three years ago and just came back this summer. She doesn’t really run in our circles.”
“You mean she’s not an entitled asshole like the rest of us?”
Again, my barb falls to the ground. Felicity doesn’t give a shit about me or my opinion. She waves a manicured hand and says, “We’ll come back to Hartley, okay? First, let me tell you what I want.”
I’m starting to think what she wants is not me naked. Damn. Total waste of a night, right here. “Whatever. Just make it fast.”
“I want to sit at the top of Astor,” she says bluntly. “There are a couple ways to do that. Option one—I can take Ella down.”
I straighten up, my shoulders tensing. “Not happening.”
“I could absolutely get it done, sweetie. Luckily, there’s an easier way.” She smiles, and this time, even in my drunken state, I correctly read it as a warning signal.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be eaten alive?” I mutter.
“Option two—if you can’t overthrow the Royals, then you join them. The easiest way for me to rise to the top is to be with you.”
“I’m not the only Royal around,” I tell her as I get to my feet. The thought of being with Felicity is making me nauseous.
“No, thank you. I’m not interested in the sick little games your brothers play.”
“Hey, now,” I say sharply. No one talks trash about my family. “They’re not sick and they’re not games.”
Felicity wisely backs down. “I’m sorry. You’re right. As part of the Royal family, I shouldn’t insult my boyfriend’s brothers.”
I snort. “Boyfriend?”
“Yes. I want to date you.”
“Why? What’s wrong with you?” I laugh drunkenly at my own joke. But then I frown, because I think I just made fun of myself.
Her lips tighten. “This is our senior year and I want to have some of the benefits of dating a Royal. Like flying to DC to have dinner or being taken out on the yacht. I want those things. I want girls to look at me and envy me. I want to be on the cover of Southern Woman with a pictorial of you and me and your family gardens.”
“Greedy girl. You want lots and lots of things.” I drop the vodka bottle on the table. “Sorry. Not interested in helping you out.”
“Wait!” She rushes in front of me and grabs my arm before I can reach the door. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll give you in return?”
I shake her off. “I don’t want anything from you, baby.”
“No, but you want something from Hartley Wright, don’t you?”
That gets my attention. Kind of. My eyes are having trouble focusing on Felicity’s face. Or on anything, really. “What’s this got to do with Hartley?”
“It depends. Do you want to hook up with her, or do you want her to be your girlfriend?”
I snicker. “I don’t do girlfriends.”
No, wait, I’ve done girlfriends.
I had Claire, right?
But I didn’t like Claire after a while.
Hartley’s not Claire, though.
Maybe I do want a girlfriend?
Dammit, my head is spinning. I can’t hold on to one single thought. They all pass through my head like wisps of smoke.
Looking a bit relieved, Felicity nods. “That’s what I thought. All right, so you want to sleep with Hartley. But she doesn’t want you.”
“Hey,” I protest. “That’s a bitchy thing to say. You’re a bitch.”
Felicity rolls her eyes. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I told you, I’ve been watching you. That girl wants nothing to do with you. But…”
My ears perk up. But. I like buts.
“If you go out with me, you instantly become unavailable, and girls always want what they can’t have. Hartley will be so jealous to see you with someone else that she’ll start throwing herself at you. Trust me.”
I’m not sure I can associate the word trust with Felicity, but she’s not totally wrong. We all want the unattainable. The forbidden. Isn’t that why I screwed around with Ms. Mann?
“Plus,” Felicity continues, “there are other benefits. By dating me, you can go to prom and homecoming and events at the country club but without expectations. If you ask another girl, she’ll think you like her. But I don’t want to sleep with you, and you’re free to sleep with anyone you want as long as they don’t go to Astor.” She sees my frown and quickly adds, “Except for Hartley. You can sleep with her, once or whatever—I mean, you said it’ll just be a hookup. So you can do that, in secret, preferably. But if anyone finds out, I’ll admit you cheated on me with Hartley but that I forgave you and we’re stronger than ever.”
“You’re saying you want a fake relationship and I can make Hartley jealous and hook up with her but only if it’s in secret.” I think I’m too drunk for this conversation. But I like the idea of making Hartley jealous. Making her chase me.
“It’s a business relationship. I do something for you and you do something for me. No one gets hurt.”
No one gets hurt. I like that. It’s pretty much my motto. Live your best life without hurting someone. I squint at her, because her face looks hazy again. “’Kay.”
“Okay?” Her voice holds a note of surprise.
“Yeah, ’kay,” I slur. “Let’s make Hartley jealous.” I love this idea.
Felicity sounds a bit frustrated. “That’s not the only purpose of—”
“’Night,” I say as I open the door. Or, at least, as I try to open it. It takes three attempts before it swings forward. “Thanks for the vodka!” I call over my shoulder, and then I stumble out of the pool house.
Chapter 14
Despite a massive hangover that knocked me on my ass my entire Sunday, I’m not late for practice on Monday morning. Go me. Most of the time is spent getting Bran up to speed on our spread offense. He’s a qu
ick learner and has good on-field instincts. I’m only able to tag him once during our end of practice full drill. Since I’m not allowed to tackle him without every coach on the sidelines drilling their foot up my ass, I give him a warning hug and then push him aside.
“Not bad, Mathis,” I tell him.
“I’m just glad I don’t have to face you this year,” he says, patting his red pinnie that designates him as off-limits. Defensive players aren’t allowed to touch the quarterback when he wears the red jersey.
“There’s still Carson Dunn over at North and TJ Price at Gibson High,” I warn.
“Nah, I know. But you’re the best D-end in the league this year. You give quarterbacks nightmares, you know.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “When I got hurt last year, the first thing my teammates said was that I did it on purpose so I wouldn’t have to run from the Royal brothers.”
The wistfulness in his voice when he speaks of his old school is obvious.
“Miss your boys, do you?” I say sympathetically.
“Yeah.” He tips his head back as guys do when they try to hide their emotions. “There were some good guys there. But you make sacrifices for your future, right?”
“I don’t,” I say bluntly.
His chin drops and a rueful grin tips up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ve heard that about you. I figure once I’m in college, I can try to stop worrying about what my parents think.”
He gives me another slap and then runs off to the locker room. I follow, but at a much slower pace. I’m in no hurry to get to class today. Mostly because I can’t decide whose schedule to follow—mine or Hartley’s. Maybe I’ll do mine today. I have study hall first period, while Hartley has Feminist Thought. Study hall means I can sleep.
And, no, it doesn’t escape me that I slept all day yesterday. I know if Ella hadn’t driven up to State to see Reed, she would’ve spouted off some long, long lecture about how my drinking is getting out of control.
She’d be right. I can’t remember a damn thing from Saturday night, other than pouring half a liquor store down my throat and then drunk-walking on the beach. I feel like I might’ve gotten laid, though? Maybe? It probably hadn’t been too good if I don’t remember it.
After showering, I head for study hall. Ahead of me, Bran is hurrying somewhere, drawing the hungry attention of more than one girl. The Astor chicks aren’t much better than the Astor boys. They’re eating up the newbie with their eyes. Bran might miss his old school, but there’ll be plenty of ways he can find comfort here at Astor Park Prep.
Because he’s hurrying, he ends up mowing down some poor bystander. She falls backward, her black hair flipping up.
Oh shit. It’s Hartley.
I rush forward, but it’s Bran who catches her before she hits the tiled floor. He helps her to her feet, and Hartley, the girl with the perpetual scowl on her face, actually smiles at him. Then they start talking.
Why’s she always so nice to him?
“Hey, East, where you going?” Pash calls out to me from the classroom door.
“I’m going to class.”
“This is your class,” he points out. “We’ve got study hall.”
“Nah.” Change of plans.
By the time I reach Hartley’s classroom, it’s all full. I walk up to the guy sitting next to her and say, “Move.”
He scrambles to his feet. Hartley pretends not to notice any of this. Her gaze is fixed on the front.
“What were you and Bran talking about?” I ask.
“How is that any of your business?” she replies without looking at me.
I clench my teeth. “What, you’re a jock chaser now?”
“Seriously?” She sounds dumbfounded. “You’ve got issues, Easton.”
Yeah, I do. Lots of them. And one of them is that I don’t want to be her friend. “Are you still mad at me?” I blurt out.
Something in her body language relaxes. She glances over, sees my expression, and sighs quietly. “Argh. You’re like a little kid, you know that?”
I’m about to make a smart-ass comment about how I’m all man, but she keeps going before I can.
“You get this guilty little-boy look on your face when you know you’ve pissed someone off.”
“So you are still mad at me,” I say glumly.
She doesn’t answer.
“But you said we’d talk on Monday,” I remind her.
Hartley raises one dark eyebrow. “Are we not talking?”
“We are. But…” I’m unusually flustered. “I just—”
Before I can say another word, Felicity Worthington appears in front of my desk. Then, to my utter amazement, she bends down and kisses me right on the lips.
“Good morning, sweetie.”
I gape up at her. “What?” I say stupidly. Why’s this girl kissing me?
“Good morning,” Felicity repeats, then looks at Hartley. “Good morning. Hartley, right?”
Hartley looks as confused as I feel. “Morning,” she says absently.
“Miss Worthington,” the teacher calls from the front. “Is there a reason you’re in my classroom? Because according to my list, you’re not in this class. For that matter, neither are you, Mr. Royal.”
“Sure I am,” I call back, and she shuts up, because we both know I’m not leaving.
Felicity, meanwhile, beams at the older woman. “I know, Mrs. Ratcliff. I just popped in to say good morning to my boyfriend.”
A collective gasp comes from the females in the class.
“I’ll be on my way now!” Felicity gives me another quick peck on the lips and then leaves.
Okay. What the hell is going on?
“You and Felicity are together?!” Nora Hernandez is practically salivating as she twists around in the chair in front of me.
I’m half a second away from saying hell no when I notice the slight frown on Hartley’s lips. That makes me freeze. Is she jealous that I’m dating Felicity?
Wait. Jesus. I’m not dating Felicity. Even thinking it makes me want to hurl.
“Absolutely not,” I tell Nora, and hide a smile when I notice Hartley’s shoulders relax. The thought of me with Felicity did bother her. Ha.
During class, she pays attention only to the teacher, and afterwards she walks out without saying a word. I race after her, but I’m brought up short when a hand grabs my blazer.
It’s Felicity. “Let’s go to Basil’s tonight.” Her commanding tone rubs me wrong.
I stare at her. “Why?”
“Because it’s a good restaurant, and I want to go.”
I keep staring. “Felicity.”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“What do you think is going on right now?”
Confusion passes over her expression. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why the fuck would I go out with you tonight, and why are you calling me your boyfriend—” I stop abruptly.
Memories from Saturday night crash into me like a tidal wave.
Me wandering along the sand, drunker than drunk can be. Felicity popping up in front of me and dragging me to her pool house. I was there for a while, and although I can’t remember every last detail of the conversation, I remember the important ones.
Like agreeing to a fake relationship so I could make Hartley jealous.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“We made a deal,” Felicity says in a low voice, oblivious to my growing panic. “And I specifically made sure to kiss you when Hartley was looking.”
Christ. I need to stop drinking. I need to.
“Um.” I gulp. “Look. Felicity.”
Her blue eyes narrow.
“That deal…” Dammit, this is stupidly uncomfortable. I notice several kids eyeing us as I lead Felicity toward a row of lockers, away from the foot traffic in the hall. “I was drunk when I agreed to it.”
“No, really?” Sarcasm oozes from her tone.
“Like, really, really drunk. Blackout drunk,” I add, because it
’s true. I woke up on Sunday morning with no recollection of even seeing Felicity, let alone saying I’d be her boyfriend. “So, uh, yeah…whatever I said I’d do…I’m gonna have to back out.”
She purses her lips, studying my contrite face. “No,” she finally answers.
My shoulders jerk up. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. You’re not backing out.” She curls her fingers over my forearm and gazes at me with fire in her eyes. “We made a deal, and I’ve already told my girls to spread the word that we’re together. It’s too late.”
Anger creeps up my spine. “Then unspread the word,” I order. “Because we’re not together.”
“Yes, we are,” she argues like a five-year-old. Her fingernails dig into the sleeve of my shirt. “Don’t make me mad, Easton. You really don’t want to see me when I’m mad.”
Why? Does she Hulk out and punch through walls? I don’t get a chance to ask, because Felicity flounces off, leaving me staring after her in dismay.
* * *
Word spreads fast. Felicity and her “girls” waste no time telling everyone at Astor Park that we’re dating. Each time I try correcting some ignorant idiot who brings it up, they grin or slap me on the back and say, “Sure, Royal.” I don’t know what Felicity’s saying, but nobody believes me when I insist we’re not dating.
Luckily, the only people who matter are Ella, the twins, Val, and Hartley. The first four laugh it off when I join them for lunch. But Hartley? She disappears again. AWOL for all our afternoon classes. And I say our because I’ve given up on attending my own classes.
In fact, after the last bell, I pop into the office and make an official request to change my schedule. “I’ll pass this along to the headmaster,” Mr. Miller, my guidance counselor, tells me.
“Thanks.”
He smiles dryly. “And if Headmaster Beringer denies the request?”
I shrug. “I’ll keep going to these classes, anyway. None of the teachers care that I’m there.”
Mr. Miller shakes his head to himself as I head for the door. “This school,” he mutters under his breath.
