The Cad and the Co-Ed

by Penny Reid

  “Cara,” I said, putting on my most charming voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to invite you for brunch at my house tomorrow morning, eleven sharp. I apologize for calling so late, but I had a time locating your number.”

  “Yeah, I’m unlisted.” I smiled a little at this woman’s tenacity. Still, I wondered about the invite. “I might not be able to make it tomorrow. I already have—”

  “Whatever plans you have I’m sure you can cancel them. After all, you’re a father now, Bryan. It’s time you stepped up to your responsibilities.”

  Did she really just say that? Clearly, news had traveled fast, but I couldn’t think of who might’ve told her. It didn’t seem likely that Eilish would, and I knew for a fact that Sean would rather cut off his thumbs than give his aunt information like this.

  “I’m perfectly aware of that and I am taking responsibility,” I replied.

  “Then I’ll see you at eleven,” Cara finished, leaving me no option to refuse without coming across as a major arsehole.

  I gritted my teeth.

  If I knew anything about Cara Cassidy and her ilk, I knew that this was no innocent invitation. She had an agenda. People like her, like my father, always did. It was a good thing I was well used to dealing with her type and was immune to high society manipulations.

  I was just about to refuse—and in doing so, take full ownership of my arsehole nature—when a thought occurred to me.

  “Will Eilish be there?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Cara rushed to confirm. “Eilish has assured me she’ll be in attendance, leaving your son with my nephew for the morning.”

  “Fine.” I nodded once even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I’d rather accede another defeat to the Welsh than go to brunch at this woman’s house.

  But I would go.

  To see Eilish, to spend time with Eilish, my stubborn, sweet-as-hell Eilish, I’d do just about anything.

  18

  @ECassChoosesPikachu: If you don’t hear from me in an hour, a blue blood has poisoned my tea with narcissism or strangled me with grandmother’s pearls.

  @LucyFitz to @ECassChoosesPikachu: Your cousin says “She better put a ring on it.” Any idea what he’s talking about…?

  *Eilish*: Ten minutes.

  I was only going to stay for ten minutes.

  And don’t forget, everything you say and do is wrong.

  I reminded myself of this simple fact as I crossed the street and climbed the stairs leading to the old Georgian mansion. I’d texted Josey earlier and pushed back our Sunday coffee. The café was nearby, so as long as I left my mother’s house in under half an hour, I would still make it on time.

  No matter what, you are wrong. Go ahead and claim the sky is brown and the sun is purple. Just like old times.

  Gathering a deep breath, I held it within my lungs as I stared at the huge double doors. They were imposing; at least I’d always thought so.

  Ringing the bell, I waited, glancing up and down the road. Nothing had changed, not really. Margaret Donovan’s roses were still that same color of bright pink that my mother despised and Mr. Grady’s topiaries were still shaped to look like harps.

  “Miss Eilish.”

  I turned at the sound of my name, finding Jameson, my mother’s butler.

  That’s right, my mother had a butler. And he took the role seriously. Good on him, I say. Superb butlers, according to my brother Charles, were hard to come by.

  “Jameson, I hope you’re well.”

  “Tolerably,” he responded, taking my coat. “Your guest has arrived and is with Mrs. Cassidy in the blue room.”

  “My guest?” I frowned at the older man, making no attempt to hide my confusion.

  Jameson, I suspected, disapproved of outward displays of emotion, especially confusion. Something about my face made his eyes narrow slightly.

  “Indeed, Miss Eilish,” was all he said, turning and taking my coat with him.

  I watched him go until he disappeared, and then I turned toward the hallway off the foyer. The blue room was extremely pretty, the furniture and paintings impeccably maintained. Several of the pieces dated back to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and were museum worthy.

  I’d rarely been allowed in the blue room.

  Low voices met my ears as I approached, yet I was fairly certain the higher of the two belonged to my mother. Without knocking, I opened the door. Scanning the ornate parlor, I sucked in a sharp breath as my eyes locked with Bryan’s. His were twinkling as they moved over me, and I couldn’t tell if he looked amused or angry.

  Or perhaps a mixture of both?

  “Eilish,” he stood, smoothing his hand down his tie and dress shirt as he did so, “there you are.”

  I gaped at him, but I did not overlook the relief in his voice or the strained lines around his mouth. And that’s when my attention moved to the only other person in the room.

  “Mother,” I said, my tone forced lightness. “Where is everyone else?”

  She smiled, but it looked more like an aggressive baring of teeth. “You never said how . . . colorful Mr. Leech was.”

  Colorful was my mother’s code word for indecent or coarse. It’s what she’d always called my friend Josey. My mother had tolerated Josey only because her father was one of the first Internet millionaires.

  As my brother Charles—the banker—liked to say, “New money is still money.”

  Ignoring her reference to Bryan’s colorfulness, I returned my attention to Bryan, wanting to apologize to him. I was certain the time he’d just spent trapped in this room couldn’t have been pleasant.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said instead of apologizing, walking into the forbidden blue room and coming to stand at his side. An odd desire to protect him from this place and the people who dwelled here gripped me.

  The tense lines around his mouth relaxed as I approached, and he bent forward, placing an unexpected and gently lingering kiss on my cheek.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re finally here,” he said flatly, his words communicating so much more than their surface meaning.

  I tried to impart sympathy with my eyes while also endeavoring to make sense of his presence. I didn’t want to ask, Why are you here? because that would give my mother the upper hand. Better that she think I knew all along that he was coming.

  Right on cue, my mother asked, “Oh, did you know he would be here?” She sounded both shrewd and mildly disappointed, which was how she usually sounded.

  “Eilish and I speak frequently.” Bryan slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me to him.

  I glanced at him, impressed by his double-talk skills and his misleading non-answer. But then I reminded myself that his father was one of my mother’s type; he’d likely learned to navigate polite society and their impolite maneuverings.

  My mother issued Bryan an unfriendly smile and stood from her chair, glancing vaguely at her watch. “I must check on brunch, and Circe’s found a new breeder, she’ll want to tell me the details.”

  “Wait, mother.” I stepped out of Bryan’s hold. “Did you have those documents? For me to sign?”

  “Oh.” She frowned distractedly. “They’re not ready yet.”

  I blinked at her. Once. Slowly. And hard. “I suppose the ring is . . .?”

  “At the jewelers. Being resized for you.” Now she looked harassed. “Really, Eilish. I have to go.”

  “Go ahead,” Bryan said, giving her an unfriendly smile of his own. “We’ll just wait here until the food is ready.”

  She looked like she was going to protest. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Instead, her gaze slid to mine momentarily and then she turned, leaving the room without another word. Her footsteps echoed in the marble hallway. As the sound of them tapered, I released a heavy exhale.

  My mother was up to something and I knew it wasn’t good, because she was never up to something good.

  B
ryan squeezed my waist, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  “I was invited, so I came,” he said easily, then grimaced. “Worst mistake of my life.”

  I chuckled, facing him. “Was it very bad? With my mother?”

  “Yes.” His answer was immediate and full of humor. “Her talents are wasted on blue bloods, she should be interrogating terror suspects.”

  I laughed again, shaking my head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I get to see you, don’t I?”

  His words startled me, as did the smoothness and warmth with which he’d said them. I cleared my throat, glancing away, searching the blue room and its priceless antiques for something to say.

  Eventually, he bent to my ear and whispered, “How did you manage to grow up here without breaking anything? This place is like a china shop on steroids.”

  “I didn’t grow up in this house,” I answered, feeling oddly breathless.

  “You didn’t?” He looked surprised, interested.

  “No, not really. I grew up in boarding schools.”

  His gaze flickered over me, his eyebrows drawing together. “Boarding schools?”

  “Yes.” He was very close, so I took a step back and away, turning to the antique French couch and took a seat. “I had a room here, for the summers. But this is may be the tenth time I’ve ever been in this room.”

  “Huh.” Bryan nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still moving over me. “What was that like? Growing up in a boarding school?”

  I shrugged, cradling one hand in the other on my lap. “Fine, I guess. I imagine it was like most schools, some people were nice, others were not.”

  “Except, with most schools you go home at the end of the day. Not so with a boarding school.”

  “We were all in the same boat, so it wasn’t too bad.”

  “What boat is that?”

  “You know.”

  “How would I know?” He claimed the seat next to mine, sitting too close. Our thighs touched from hip to knee, but I couldn’t move. I was already pressed against the end of the sofa.

  “Your father is a high court judge, right? I imagine he had expectations for you.”

  Bryan chuckled, placed his arm on the back of the couch behind me and leaned forward, crowding me. “No. He didn’t have expectations of me.” His attention moved to my hair, and he tucked a loose strand behind my ear. “Once he divorced my mam, I hardly saw him. I didn’t hear from him for ten years, though he always sent us plenty of cash, but I guess he had to.”

  “Why did he have to?”

  “Court-ordered child and spousal support from their divorce settlement.”

  “Oh,” was all I could say, because this topic felt like a minefield.

  Neither of us spoke for a long moment as we studied each other.

  What was he thinking? I couldn’t tell. We hadn’t talked about money, not in so many words, but I got the sense he wanted to contribute. I didn’t really know how to feel about that. Logically, I knew it made sense. Patrick was his son. Of course he wanted to contribute to raising him.

  But illogically, I cringed at the thought. Bryan had been drunk that night. He’d blacked out. I’d been sober. He shouldn’t have to pay for a mistake he made while too intoxicated to remember.

  Was he hoping I would bring up child support? Was he waiting for me to do it?

  If so, he was going to wait a very long time. Probably forever. I’d rather take money from Sean than Bryan. How twisted was that?

  Bryan’s gaze drifted to my lips and I stiffened, a seductive heat whispering over my skin.

  Or is he thinking about what happened between us Friday night?

  “Eilish—”

  “Bryan—”

  We both stopped, laughing a little and swapping amused smiles.

  “Go ahead,” he said, his hand falling from the back of the couch to my shoulder, sliding along my collarbone to my neck. “You go first.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “I’m actually glad you’re here.”

  “Really?” He sounded pleased.

  “I mean, I’m not glad either of us are here, but I’m glad to see you. I want to thank you for your clear head on Friday.”

  He’d been sweeping his thumb lightly along the edge of my jaw but stopped at my words, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally.

  I kept my voice even and reasonable, dropping my eyes to my lap, wanting to spell things out rationally and openly. “I think you were right to put a stop to things. Obviously, we are attracted to each other, on some level.”

  “Some level?”

  I ignored the teasing edge to his voice and continued. “I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing can happen between us. Patrick comes first, and complicating things by indulging said attraction would be a terrible mistake. We must—”

  His hand tightened on my shoulder. “No.”

  “What?” I lifted my gaze, surprised.

  “I disagree.”

  “You disagree?”

  “Yes,” he said curtly, then leaned forward and placed a light kiss on my neck, whispering in my ear. “Nothing about you will ever be a mistake.”

  I shivered as his hot breath spilled over the sensitive skin, tilting my head reflexively. “Bryan, you must see that we can’t—”

  “No.” He tongued my ear, making me shiver again, my body tense, my thighs clenching. “You’re wrong. I’m attracted to you on every level. I want you, Eilish. I want you with every breath I take.”

  “Wanting isn’t enough. Attraction isn’t enough. We have to be adults about this.” I moaned, likely negating the sensibleness of my words.

  “Then let’s be adults.” Somehow, he made being adults sound positively wicked.

  “You know what I mean.” I reached for him blindly, my eyelashes fluttering as I grabbed fistfuls of his dress shirt. His hand slid up my thigh, under my skirt, his touch light and demanding at the same time.

  I was going to push him away.

  I was.

  I was.

  I was.

  . . . any minute now.

  “Come out with me on a proper date. I’ll be good.” He dipped his head again, suckling my neck, his fingers beneath my skirt, digging into my backside as though he wanted to guide me to his lap, wanted me to straddle him. I flattened my palms against his chest, preparing to push him away, but Bryan leaned back before I could.

  He held my face between both of his hands, ensnaring my gaze. “Give me a chance, Eilish. Please. We don’t have to say anything to Patrick. Giving me a chance changes nothing, I’m still his father, and you’re still his mother. What are you so afraid of?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught.

  I’m afraid you only want me because of Patrick.

  I’m afraid you’ll grow tired of me and of our son.

  I’m afraid you’ll walk away, leaving us both.

  I’m afraid of what it says about me—that I’m willing to settle for your scraps of attention, that I’m my mother—if I give you a chance.

  I couldn’t tell him my fears because they revealed too much, so I let the words burn in the back of my throat.

  “One date. That’s all I’m asking. One. Date.” Bryan pressed an urgent kiss to my lips, then touched his forehead to mine. “Don’t make me beg. I will, and it won’t be pretty. I’m loud when I beg. I’ll sing. And I’m a crap singer. Your mother’s dogs might like it, though.”

  Despite everything, that made me laugh and I covered his hands with mine.

  “One date,” he repeated, kissing me again.

  “One date,” I said before I could catch myself, the words more a wish than an agreement.

  His grin was immediate, positively beaming. “Great. Grand. Fuck, this is great.”

  Giving me no chance to correct myself, Bryan stood, pulling me from the couch and enveloping my hand in his.

  “W-Where are we going?” I asked. He pulled me
from the room, down the hall, and to the foyer.

  “We’re leaving,” he said, as though leaving my mother’s house was the only option and his response the most obvious thing in the world.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” Bryan glanced around the café, his eyes bright and his mouth curved in an infectious grin. He’d been grinning since I’d inadvertently agreed to the date.

  I’d explained to him on the way that I’d already made plans with a friend for the afternoon, but he was more than welcome to come. He’d readily agreed.

  “That’s our spot, and we can pull up a third chair.” I pointed to the table where I usually sat with Josey. She hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Got it.” He nodded and led me over by the hand. I tried not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t let my hand go since we left my mother’s house. I also tried not to dwell on the looks we were getting from everyone in the café.

  Keeping our fingers entwined, he easily picked up a wrought iron chair and added it to the small table, asking, “What’s good here? I’m starving.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go back and have brunch at Cassidy house?” I sent him a teasing grin as I sat in the chair he offered, feeling the loss of his palm against mine as he took his own seat.

  “I’d rather eat glass than share a table with your mother.”

  I barked a shocked laugh, my amusement increasing when I saw the serious set to his jaw. “I know she can be unpleasant, but it couldn’t have been that bad. What did she say to you?”

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “Nothing I want to repeat.” He must’ve seen the curiosity written on my face, because he relented. “She said that she’d spoken to my father about my behavior. She called me a drunk. She questioned whether I was good enough to be aligned with the Cassidys.”

  “Ugh.” I clutched my stomach, which had abruptly soured, then reached for his hand again. “I’m so sorry. She can be really wicked. Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end more than once.”

  We traded a commiserating gaze. “No. I’m sorry.”