Unraveling Blake Earnshaw Book 1: The Rich Prick

by Keilan Shea

  I take off my dress and Mom’s locket to double-check my bikini. My figure isn’t bad at all, actually. Mom taught me well. I place my hand on the cold, smooth reflection of my chest and trace the long line of my scar, smudging it.

  See, world? I’m fine. Don’t treat me otherwise.

  It’s time for me to leave, but I haven’t figured out what I should do about Blake Earnshaw tonight. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I’m hungry too. Rummaging through the fridge reveals nothing appetizing. The sight of bright chili peppers almost makes me lose my appetite altogether. This is the one thing that doesn’t line up with Harvey’s mild personality. He likes his food hot.

  I swipe a banana off the counter and gag down the sweet, mushy fruit.

  Then I scratch Rex’s floppy ears, glance at the fridge, and say, “You think Blake’s ever dealt with a ghost pepper before?”

  Rex barks.

  “Yeah, good idea, boy. I’ll put on some armor and pull out the juicer. You might want to hang out in the backyard.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The sky is dark and sprinkled with stars when my Prius joins the parked cars along the long stretch of private asphalt leading to the Radebaughs’ lakefront property. I pat Dad’s jacket and Corey’s slingshot, notice the weight of Mom’s locket around my neck, and emerge. This close to the string-lights lit beach, the DJ’s commentary and pulsing music are hard to miss. That dance beat is fierce; it rumbles up the ground, into my feet, and explodes through my body like a firework show. The mansions along Bloom Lake are masked by trees, mostly aspens, and they’re far enough apart that loud parties like this don’t disturb the neighbors if they’re contained.

  I’m late, but the party will burn through the night, and there’s a good chance Blake Earnshaw beat me here. Heat flares along my arms and chest and little beads of sweat gather under my armpits. I inhale and tell myself not to worry. I’m not going to be alone with him, and if he acts how he did in the parking lot, Johan will have him thrown out. If I don’t get to the drug addict first.

  I double-check the contents of my wristlet, mainly the mini glass bottle filled with liquid chili peppers. I butchered ten peppers and didn’t get much juice out of them, but it’s enough. A mere taste is like licking fire.

  A breeze blows in, rattling the quaking aspens’ leaves. It’s quiet at first, like maracas. Then more leaves join the chorus and it’s like cymbals. Visibility dies several feet into the trees. It’s black nothingness or the perfect hiding place. The air freezes in my throat like an ice bubble. Then it cracks, ice shards cutting into my flesh.

  I break out into a jog, slowing to a walk only when I’ve joined some people on the boardwalk. The bar is the brightest patch of light on the beach, but the string lights cover a lot of ground. The farther out you go, the moodier the ambiance, like dawn to dusk.

  One of the Radebaughs’ motorboats growls. Johan’s shirtless on the dock, running after it. The guys on board cheer and he jumps. He almost misses, clinging to the boat like a spider. The guys yank him inside. They laugh and slap him on the back as he takes control, speeding off into the water. Eventually, the boat decelerates to drift along its secluded party course.

  Exiting the boardwalk, I step onto the fine grains of sand covering the beach and snatch a chair. Some overeager couples are sneaking off into the trees to make out or fuck because it’s their only option. Johan never lets a party move into the mansion for a multitude of reasons. The beach is manageable to clean up, with the football team’s assistance, but the mansion is full of breakables that can’t be swept under a rug or replaced. The cameras would be a problem too, but Johan disables them for a party, and his parents don’t notice because they never have a reason to check the recordings.

  One of the couples loitering on the beach command my attention because I swear the guy is Blake Earnshaw, even though he’s wearing a worn black T-shirt and jeans. I almost don’t recognize him. His hair is wilder, as if he went to bed, woke up, and decided the party wasn’t worth his best. The most infuriating part is he’s sexier like this. That shirt and those jeans are tight, hugging his muscles in all the right places, and the tears in the materials reveal tantalizing peeks at more skin.

  I shake my head and force my eyes to the girl with him. It’s Eve. Her hands are clasped behind her back and she’s trying to angle her substantial cleavage so that Earnshaw can get the best view. I can’t believe she’s with him after what happened at school today. If Mia knew, she’d be furious. She knows that too, or she wouldn’t be acting so suspicious by casting her gaze over her shoulder every couple of minutes.

  Mia and Zoe are on the boardwalk. Eve sees them when I do and skitters over to them. She could at least try not to wear her guilt. Earnshaw stays where he is, hands hanging from his pockets. His forest eyes find me, and I suck in the crisp air.

  “There’s my bestie.” I expel my breath in a rush when Sarah’s eyes meet mine upside down; she’s hovering over me. Her hips sway as she poses in front of me with two beer bottles in hand. “What do you think?” She’s wearing a shimmery purple slip dress with matching eyeshadow. That ass she’s so proud of has competition with her bust tonight. I can’t believe William cheated on her. She’s gorgeous. The guys around us can’t stop staring at her chest. Her ass gets eyes too, but there’s something about skin. I cringe, guilty with my own ogling Blake Earnshaw.

  “Those boys are such children sometimes. I swear Johan will never grow up.” Sarah offers me one of the two brown-glass bottles. It’s a local brew, Blue Hue, compliments of Mia’s parents. Not that they’re aware of their contribution to underage drinking.

  “What’s wrong with fun?” I ask.

  “Nothing. It’s too bad you missed the ride. Johan would have picked you up and jumped in with you if he had seen you.”

  “We would have fallen into the water.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s virtually superman. You would have made it.”

  “The guys had to assist him,” I point out.

  “Love brings out his true power.” Sarah winks.

  “You think?”

  “I know.” She takes a swig of her beer. And another. She’s like me, doesn’t usually drink much, so this is abnormal.

  “Is Will here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I’ve been avoiding him. He hasn’t seen me yet. Teagan, about what happened in the gym—”

  “It’s okay. Really. I know the scar is ugly. I surprise myself every time the mirror catches my reflection before getting into the shower.”

  Sarah’s eyes open wide. “I don’t know what I should say in response to that.”

  I laugh a pretty damn convincing laugh. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “H-has Johan seen it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sarah puffs out a breath. “And it’s all good?”

  “It’s all good.”

  “You officially have the best boyfriend in existence. I’d be jealous if I could look at Johan as anything other than a brother.” Sarah tries to smile, but it’s wobbly. She clears her throat and throws back her beer, guzzling as much as she can before she needs to come up for air. “Will is getting to me after all.”

  “Don’t let him. He’ll get what he deserves.”

  “What does he deserve?” Sarah blinks rapidly, holding back tears. “And why do I still love him when he must not love me?”

  I take a sip of my beer, the sweet and bitter taste melting on my tongue. “Let’s start a drinking contest at the bar.”

  “What?”

  “Will is a lightweight and he’s been avoiding drinking since that time he threw up all over Zoe.”

  “Oh, you’re a bully, Teagan. I forgot about that.”

  “I figured, because you’re the ideal girlfriend. I guess even assholes get embarrassed, but he won’t turn down the competition if we get Johan behind it.”

  Sarah shoves her bottom lip aside with her finger, rubbing off some of the gloss. “Peer pressure. But this seems kind of mean, d
oesn’t it?”

  “This is what he deserves. He won’t come clean, so let ‘karma’ do its thing. Maybe it’ll inspire him.”

  Sarah pinches the skirt of her dress. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  As if on cue, the boat Johan jumped into arrives at the dock. Sarah and I wave to him and he runs. He doesn’t stop even when he’s close. I reflexively hold up my hands as if to stop him from bulldozing me over, but he snatches me up, lifting me by the waist. I drop my beer bottle to hang on to him for stability. He’s damp, so I rub my hands in his hair to make it spiky.

  “Thanks for getting me all wet,” I say when he sets me on my feet—not wet enough to reveal my scar, though. I rest my hand on his firm chest, drawing circles with my fingers. This kind of intimacy used to be as natural as breathing. Now I have to think about it, calculate it, because I’m not allowed to enjoy it.

  “I dried off.” He shivers. “It’s too cold not to.”

  “Your shorts say otherwise.” They’re sopping. “You weren’t driving drunk, were you?”

  “No way. I haven’t had a drink tonight.” He kisses me and I open my mouth when his tongue meets my lips. “But you have.”

  “Not enough to get drunk.”

  “You’ve never had enough to get drunk.”

  “I plan to keep it that way.”

  Johan grins. “You know, it can be fun, but I’m glad you’re so uptight”

  “I’m not uptight.”

  “You know what I mean. What’s it called? Strong-willed. You don’t let anyone push you around. And I want you sober.” He plants his lips on mine and holds me, hard and soft. I ache again, except it’s a different kind of ache. Johan’s seen most of my scar and wants me anyway. He shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I think … I think I want him too. That block of concrete is cracking, the butterflies set free, because Johan wants me.

  No.

  I’m not allowed to. I’m playing a part, and I’m not staying. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Blake Earnshaw.

  By not dumping me, Johan’s made it unavoidable for me to hurt him. Again.

  Johan stops kissing me to say, “Tea, I am so damn hard for you.”

  “Hello!” Sarah says. “I’m here. You might have missed me, lover boy, but get in line.” She steals my arm. “I get her first.”

  Johan lets me go. “What? You two—”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. You’re so horny.” Sarah sticks out her tongue in mock-disgust. “We’ve got a party-game idea and we need the host’s help.”

  “Oh. Then shoot.”

  “A drinking contest. We want you to announce it and require every guy on the team to participate,” I say. “Dress it up. ‘Anyone who isn’t a chump, come to the bar.’ Something like that.”

  Johan grimaces. “I don’t want to play, though.”

  “Then be a man, stick to your guns, and accept that you’re a chump,” Sarah says. “What do you care about more: the school’s opinion of you or Teagan’s vagina?”

  “Whoa,” I say. “Leave my vagina out of this.”

  “Wait. I’ve got better. Tell him he doesn’t get any Teagan unless he plays.”

  I shrug. “You heard her.”

  “Seriously?” Johan says. “What is this about? What’s gotten into you two?”

  Sarah cocks a hip. “Revenge.”

  “On lightweight Will. Got it.” Johan groans. “Fine.”

  “Thank you!” Sarah smooshes his cheeks, forcing his face down to hers. “This is why we’ve been best friends since kindergarten.”

  Johan can’t hide his puppy-dog eyes when he glances at me, though. “I know how to make all three of us happy,” I say and unzip my wristlet to reveal my hellfire chili juice. “My secret weapon.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Johan holds the microphone so that it’s almost touching his lips. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Sarah pushes the mic back so that his next words won’t puff out of the speakers.

  Cheers replace the quiet gap the once pulsating music left behind. They chant, “Go Tempests!” The kickoff game must have been spectacular, and Johan himself must have been phenomenal; when individual names are called, his rings out the loudest.

  He wraps his arm around me, which silences some of the spirited girls’ squealing shouts. Rumors spread after the accident. Many people must have thought Johan and Teagan were finally over, but Johan is grasping at forever. Old me would be with him.

  I was happy with everything in my life and believed nothing could taint that. I was invincible, naive, arrogant. I made an aggressive left turn and destroyed everything.

  My airway constricts. I push the memory aside and cling to Johan, a pillar of strength, to hide my weakness.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “Thank you,” Johan says to the crowd. “This party, having all of your support, is a great prize for winning, but I think we can take it to the next level.” Johan squeezes me and I reciprocate, encouraging him to continue. “Guys, the team is going to have a drinking contest. Whoever can drink the most beers gets anything he wants—within reason. I can’t send you to Mars or anything like that.”

  One of the guys on the team shouts, “Hell yeah!”

  Johan grins. “Rules, though. Teagan and Sarah gave me an idea. We’re going to raise the stakes and the entertainment. We’ll be drinking beers as fast as we can, but one of those beers will eventually be infused with chili juice. We’re talking ghost-pepper hot. That beer will be sent out when Teagan and Sarah decide the competition’s gone on long enough. The arrival of the chili beer signals the end of the game. Whoever gets it has the chance to win everything—if you can drink the whole thing. If you can’t drink it, the win goes to whoever drank the most beers within the time limit.”

  The cheers get louder.

  “Glad to have you all on board. Game’s at the bar, so get your asses over there.”

  Johan returns the mic to the DJ, and then he whispers to me and Sarah, “I hope you both know what you’re doing.”

  “Already filled Zoe in,” Sarah replies, “We’re golden.”

  “As long as Will drinks his first beer before I’m on my fifth.”

  “He will,” I say. “He doesn’t want to be a loser.”

  We have to push through a wall of people to get to the bar, but everything gets set up quickly because everyone is eager to assist. The guys are seated at round tables underneath the pergola and assigned a personal server who will fetch them a new bottle when they’ve finished the one they’re on. Slicked-back-hair William fidgets in his seat and he pales when Zoe volunteers to be his server. Her hand flies up so fast that there are no contenders for her place. No one dares confront her when she’s standing rigid like that.

  Sarah and I are the bartenders, so no one else is allowed behind the bar top. The prep counter lining the blond-wood back wall makes it easy to work in secret with my back to the crowd. I grab a beer, use a bottle opener to get at its contents, and cautiously pour in half of my chili juice. My eyes sting and water before the fumes settle. I blink a few times, holding my breath to avoid sucking in the burn, and then stow away the rest of my chili juice for later.

  Once Sarah and I have enough beers opened for two full rounds, we move them to the granite bar top for the servers to grab as needed—except for the chili beer. That one’s been moved to the open cabinet under the bar top, which is normally used for extra storage. It’s only visible to us bartenders, but it’s well within Zoe’s grasp. When the servers pass the beers off to their assigned players, the game begins. Sarah preps a few more bottles to keep everyone guessing, and the guys guzzle beers as if their lives depend on it.

  Sarah and I stand back to watch the show. Well, I stand back. Sarah rests her elbows on the bar top and stares at William. I poke her. “You’ll give us away.”

  “I don’t care. I want to see every agonizing second when he tastes that monstrosity.”

  I do too, but I want to get Blake Earnshaw with the rest of this c
hili juice more, and he isn’t staying for the competition. He and Eve take it as an opportunity to slip away with a beer and a water bottle. They’re heading for the aspens. When he slings his arm low around her waist and she presses into his side, it’s obvious what they have in mind. This is my chance.

  “Sarah,” I say, “I have to go.”

  She tears her eyes from Will. “But it’s time. Will’s finally done with his beer!”

  “Keep your voice down,” I whisper but match the severity of her tone. “You know how inconsistent my periods can be. I’m wearing white.”

  Her eyes widen and she pushes me out of the back bar. “Go! You didn’t say it was an emergency.”

  I dismiss myself without disturbing the rapt spectators or busy participants, though I take a detour before following my quarry. The noise would initially hide my pursuit, but sticking too close will make me easy to spot. I stop at the beach shack, the “public” restroom/changing room of the Radebaugh Estate, and pinpoint Earnshaw’s trajectory. When he and Eve dissolve into the trees, I move. Fast. The bar has gotten louder, meaning the game has reached its climax.

  I slow my pace and lighten my steps when I’ve entered the aspens’ rattling domain, where the commotion from the bar is a quiet echo carried on the wind. Some string lights are hung here, but it’s dim like dusk. Visibility isn’t the best, so I almost snap a tree branch underfoot; I throw my weight against an aspen to avoid it.

  “I thought I knew everything about you before today.”

  “Everyone thinks they know everything about me.”

  On tiptoes, I creep toward Eve’s and Earnshaw’s voices. Their drinks sit next to a blue spruce and thick brush. There’s a skinny path I can get through to spike the beer, but that’s not what I’m hoping for.