The floppy packer penis falls right out, right onto the pure white china at the same moment our waiter approaches to take our order, and the bus boy drops by with another pitcher of water for the table.
My eyes go wide, and Mom squeaks, cutting off midsentence to stare.
I very distinctly left that penis back in Connecticut. My eyes flick to the twins, who happen to be sharing identical grimaces.
“Charlotte Carson, masturbation is healthy and normal, but you don’t bring that sort of thing to a dinner reservation,” Mom whispers, and my entire body turns crimson. Spencer is trying his hardest not to laugh, while Ranger gapes at the offending member in all its floppy glory. It really does look like the real thing, doesn’t it?
“Mom, it’s a flaccid dick, I couldn’t … you know, with this if I wanted to,” I choke out as Ranger grabs the dick and tucks it inside his black suit jacket.
“So there’s where I left it,” he growls out, dark eyes flicking up to the waiter and the bus boy as if in challenge. “It’s my prosthetic, and I happened to misplace it.”
“Of course sir,” the waiter coughs, folding his hands together behind his back. The bus boy moves away, and my mother just sits there, looking confused.
“Shall we order?” Ranger asks, and even though you’d think in this situation, he’d blush, he doesn’t. Will he blush over a pair of unicorn socks? Sure. But not over a floppy winky in the bread bowl. Nope, not that.
The rest of dinner goes off smoothly, although the boys keep making jokes about Ranger’s prosthetic and Mom, bless her heart, genuinely inquires as to his story.
After we’re done, we head back to the apartment and Eloise goes in to give me a moment to talk to the guys.
“You assholes,” I growl, punching the twins in the shoulders. “You snuck that in my purse while we were—” I pause and give Spencer a look. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and raises a brow. “We went in the bathroom to, um, hang out.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ranger groans as Church sips his to-go coffee and watches the whole scene play out.
“You two are class acts,” Spencer says with a roll of his eyes, and the twins shrug.
“Your fault for dumping the dick in the bread. We just thought you might miss it is all. Or that maybe Spencer did.”
“Dude, I got so hard after squeezing that thing, you have no idea,” he retorts, lifting his chin in defiance and smirking. “It was so bad, that when I went in the bathroom after—”
“That’s enough of that,” Ranger snaps, holding up his hands and exhaling. “Look, we need to make progress on this Mr. Dave thing. You said your mom works on Monday?” He glances over at me, and I nod, wondering where, exactly, he’s hidden the packer penis. My eyes drift down, and Ranger narrows his, stepping forward to redirect my attention. “We’ll pick you up, and we’ll go back to my place, see if we can’t get some more information on the guy. And then we’ll bake something. Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a Culinary Club meeting.”
“Are you going to show her your room?” Spencer teases, and Ranger whips this dark glare over his shoulder. Spencer holds his hands up in surrender, but now I’m dying with curiosity to know what that’s about.
“Church, when is your parents’ party?” Ranger continues, ignoring the twins as they get into some sort of brotherly scuffle.
“End of July,” he says, tilting his head to one side, amber hair falling across his brow. “You’ll need a new dress.”
“Didn’t you guys just get me like a dozen new dresses?” I ask, trying to tuck my hands into the pockets of my blazer before I realize I’m not wearing one. God, I miss Adamson.
“Not a dress like this, for a party of this caliber.” He smiles at me, and I swear, I can’t decide if that bright cheeriness is more or less scary than that look of cold hell he passes out to his enemies. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out; we have time.”
“After we’re done here, my dad is coming,” I say, feeling this pit of cold dread in my stomach. “We’ll be staying in Santa Cruz for a while, and then I don’t know what his plans are.”
“I’ve got a stupid family trip in August with Jack and my parents,” Spencer says, running his fingers through his hair. “But other than that, wherever you go, I’ll go.”
“We’ll all go,” Ranger says, pausing as he glances over at the security dudes. “And we will figure out who’s stalking you, I promise.” He puts a hand on my shoulder before leaning down and kissing me briefly on the cheek. I’m so stunned by the move that I forget to respond when he tells me goodnight, sauntering back off in the direction of the car.
“What was that all about?” I whisper, but Church just shrugs and shakes his head.
“I have no idea,” he says, but then I remember that he lies as easily as he breathes.
So what the hell is Church Montague hiding?
The boys send a car for me, and I end up riding in luxury in the back of some sleek silver sedan to this fabulous estate in the Hollywood Hills. My eyes widen as we curve up the long drive and head through a private gate.
“This is somebody’s house?” I whisper, putting my fingers to the glass as we approach what—I’ll be honest here—looks like an industrial nightmare. I mean, it’s a big, expensive looking house, but it’s made of steel and glass, and all the lawns are freakishly perfect and unnaturally green. It’s very, um, upscale, but also pretty stupid. “God, I hate rich people,” I murmur as the driver parks and opens my door.
For whatever reason, traffic was basically non-existent today (I mean, the LA version of non-existent which is to say horrific, but not as horrific as usual), so we made it in record time. Pretty sure Ranger doesn’t know I’m walking into his mother’s glass palace by the sea until I step into the kitchen and snort.
There, on perfect display, are those luscious butt cheeks I know and love.
“Baking in grandma’s apron again, are we?” I ask, and he goes completely still. His reaction to my finding him naked in a gingham apron is quite a bit different now than it was last time. He turns around, presumably to hide his balls from view, and stares at me with an almost apologetic expression. “What? Now that you know I’m a girl, that somehow changes the game?”
“How the hell did you get here so fast?” he murmurs, the rich scent of cocoa clinging to the warm winds curling in from outside. I’m not even really sure where the house ends, and the outdoors begin. The whole thing is glass. I can see straight from one side to the other, save for a small area that I figure must be a downstairs bathroom.
“Little to no traffic,” I reply, hopping up on a counter and gesturing with my chin in his direction. “Come on now, keep it up. I don’t want to ruin your German chocolate cake a second time.” Ranger hesitates for a moment, and then nods, going back to his passion while I sit and tap my heels against the side of a stupidly expensive cabinet. “How much did this place set your mom back?”
“Do you always ask questions that some people might find to be super rude and invasive?” he queries back, piping pink frosting onto a small, white cake. “And also, around twenty-eight million. Why?”
“Did Jenica ever live here?”
I don’t mean to ask that particular question; it just comes tumbling out. It’s like … after all we’ve been through together, it feels like I know the girl personally. Ranger looks up at me, sapphire eyes burning, and then nods once, curt and businesslike.
“You can stay in her room,” he says, and I lift a brow. I wasn’t aware I was invited for a sleepover, so I didn’t bring anything but my purse. “I left your fake dick on the bed in case you wanted it.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, scoping out the ridiculously cool swimming pool and hot tub that sit on the edge of the property. They’re practically hanging off the side; I can’t even discern how the water’s even being held up. It looks like it’s floating. “Also, I forgot a swimsuit …”
Ranger’s mouth twitches.
; “I’ll send my mother’s personal shopper out to get a new one. She already has your measurements on file.” He finishes piping the frosting, and then goes for the fondant flowers with the crystallized sugar next. “Courtesy of Church, by the way.”
“Where is everyone anyway?” I ask, realizing that it’s a tad weird to be sitting here with a naked dude that I’m not dating, just chilling while his balls take in the warm breeze, and he covers a cake with stupid efficiency, turning a pink circle into a garden of glitter.
“They all had shit to do; they’ll be here soon.” Ranger stands up and spins the cake on its stand, piping in green vines and leaves with the skill and detail of a true artist. There’s this strong urge in me to tear my clothes off, don an apron, and get to work. My cheeks heat, and I tap my fingers on the stone countertop. Might be marble, quartz, something like that. “By the way, I had a private investigator look into Ian Dave. He seems pretty legit. He has no records, all his references check out, and I had the guy follow him for a few days. He’s boring as hell, to be honest.”
“Yeah, but come on. The librarian of our school is dating my mother? My mother? The recovering addict who lives in Los Angeles? No way. No way, I’m sorry, but I know Mr. Dave is involved in this somehow.”
“Sure he is, but he’s damn good at not leaving a trail.” Ranger pushes the cake aside, removes another from the oven with a mitt that looks like a kitty paw, and then gets to work on a sea of sugar cookies. He turns them into suns, moons, and planets with little effort. His work is flawless.
“I texted that guy back, the one who sent me Jenica’s yearbook, but I really don’t think he knows anything,” I add as Ranger puts a beautiful full moon cookie on a plate, and brings it over to me. There’s a very subtle face in the dark craters and shadows, and I can’t help but ogle it before I take a bite. The dude even brings me a glass of milk to go with it.
“I had him checked out, too. Actually, I’ve gone over your list.” Ranger grabs his unicorn notebook and tosses it onto the counter next to me. He’s taken some names away, and added new information on others.
List of Suspects
Mr. Murphy (note writer? protecting us from something?)
Mr. Dave (dating Charlotte’s mom, missing yearbook, rude AF)
Eddie the Janitor (grew up in Nutmeg, attended public school, no record)
Nathan the Night Watchman (no clue, had trouble finding much more info other than the fact that he used to teach karate)
Mark Grandam (he’s fucking guilty, I don’t care how, I just know)
Mark's crappy football friends (basically all pieces of shit, hard to say)
Rick, Jenica's ex (much as I’d like to see him die, not a suspect)
Jeff Rabot (hate this asshole, pretty sure he’s up to something, hates the Montagues)
Mr. Johansen (asthma, arthritis, was ancient even when Jenica attended Adamson)
Mr. Cruschek (he can barely move, so probably not, but whatever)
Mr. Tribble aka that PE teacher who shoved Charlotte in the locker room and made her see all that dick (didn’t start at Adamson until this year, has plenty of social media posts during the times of the attacks)
Yale Hartlett aka the guy that texted us pics of the yearbook (lives in France now with his partner)
Jack Hargrove (hope he isn’t guilty for Spence’s sake)
Kesha (don’t worry about her, I didn’t like her anyway)
Selena (who the fuck knows? probably? why not? her sister used to bully mine at Everly)
Aster (I have no idea who this is, sorry Charlotte)
Ross (definitely guilty, let’s hang the bastard)
A smile curves over my lips as I read down the list, pausing with a fingertip hovering over Kesha’s name. I’m not saying I was charmed by the way he wrote his list, only … I was totally charmed.
“What happened between you and Kesha, exactly?” I ask, and Ranger pauses, lifting his head up from a cupcake to stare at me.
“We hooked up at an Everly party last year. The sex was … whatever. I didn’t care for another round.” He turns back to his cupcake, transforming it into a lily pad complete with fondant frog.
“Was she your first?” I ask, because apparently I have a hard time controlling myself around Ranger Woodruff. He doesn’t look up this time, just keeps at what he’s doing, metal music playing softly in the background. It’s turned down so low, I hadn’t noticed it until just now, but it’s pretty funny, seeing this guy with blue-streaked hair in combat boots, listening to metal, wearing gingham, baking frog cupcakes naked. I don’t even know what to say.
“Nope, second.” He switches to a new cupcake. “I had another girl during sophomore year that I used to hook up with from time to time.”
“A girlfriend?” I query, taking a bite of the cookie and trying not to groan orgasmically over it.
“I don’t date,” Ranger repeats, and I make a huffing sound, hopping down from the counter.
“Why not?” I move over to stand beside him, and notice the firm muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening up. “Because of Jenica?”
“Basically. I lost the girl I loved most. Sure, I was a kid, but I’m not putting myself through that crap again.” I stand there, breathing in the smell of sugar and butter, mixed with a light dusting of flour that tickles my nostrils. What he’s saying makes sense, but it’s also a little sad. “She loved to bake, too, just as much as our grandparents. Jenica was the only person who put as much care into her food as they did. I have to carry on the tradition.”
I nod, and then sniffle a little, biting my lower lip.
Ranger pauses to stare at me, sapphire eyes dark.
“What?”
“Do you think …” I start, and then I exhale. “Maybe I could naked bake, too?”
He just glares at me.
“Are you fucking serious? No. You shouldn’t even be in here, go swim in the pool or something. You can borrow my trunks, and a t-shirt.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with us baking naked together?”
“Because you’re my friends’ girlfriend, that’s what,” he growls at me, moving past to grab yet another cake from the second oven. This kitchen is commercial grade. As ugly as I find this sterile house, Ranger’s transformed this room into something magical.
“So?” I repeat, pausing in between the island and the counter, and reaching down to take off my shirt. I chuck it on the floor, and stare at him defiantly, wearing nothing but a pink frilly bra. “Get me an apron, or you’re going to see a lot more of Chuck Carson than you bargained for.
“Jesus H.,” Ranger snarls, grabbing a white apron with pink hearts, and chucking it at me. “You are so fucking stubborn, it drives me nuts. No wonder we all hated you from day one.”
“And you say the word Jesus so much, you must like to pray, huh? I was starting to think he was a character in your novel.” I stick my tongue out, and Ranger rolls his eyes. He turns his back as I shed my clothes and slip into the apron, heart racing. “This is so unsanitary,” I murmur as I try to get the back tied. Doesn’t work. My fingers end up slipping, and I almost jump out of my skin when I hear a gruff sigh behind me.
“You are beyond helpless.” Ranger jerks me toward him, my back to his front, and goes about tying the waist and neck portions of my new outfit. It doesn’t escape me that he’s like, literal inches from my bare ass. “You remember how to make buttercream frosting, right?”
“Yes.” That one word squeaks out of me, barely audible.
“Good. Here.” Ranger slams a bowl down on the counter as I turn, and then storms off to do one of another million remaining tasks in the kitchen. For a while, we just bake together in silence, the wind rustling our hair, the riffing of guitars a backdrop for the sound of wooden spoons against ceramic mixing bowls.
There’s this tension in the air, though, that seems to build and build. It’s making me almost physically ill, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, not until I step back and accidentally bump
into Ranger. He drops a tray of cookies as my bare cheeks slide nicely up against his exposed side.
“I’m sor—” I start, but I don’t get much further than that before he’s spinning me around with his hands on my shoulders, and shoving me back against the counter. He gets close, too close really, with his arms on either side of me, fingers squeezing the edge of the countertop. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s having trouble physically controlling himself.
“You are too fucking much,” he growls out, and the sound of it seems to tug at some primal part of me in my lower belly. My heart is racing, and I’m having trouble finding my breath. Ranger lifts his head up, blue eyes blazing, and leans into me. “I’d screw you on this counter right now if you weren’t with them, I swear to fuck.”
“I’d let you,” I whisper back, trembling so hard my teeth are chattering. But I’m not cold. Oh, I’m most definitely not cold. Instead, I feel like I’m burning up on the inside, the ruffles of my white and pink heart apron just barely touching the blue and white gingham of his. “Please move away from me before I do something I regret.”
Ranger stares at me, his arms pinning me in, his body so close … And we’re just wearing aprons, so it wouldn’t take much.
But I’m not a cheater.
And neither is he.
With a vicious snarl, he whips away from me and storms off toward the weird floating staircase in the corner. It has metal steps, no handrails, and is, like, hovering from the ceiling by a set of metal cords.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he roars, and I take off after him.
In this ridiculous glass house, it’s not hard to see where he goes, heading down a hallway and disappearing into one of the opaque, black boxes that must be bedrooms. I don’t think he expects me to follow because when I open the door, I see that he’s shed his apron, and that the full length of his hardened cock is pointing right at me.
The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) Page 25
