Bex was frowning at him. “Why you didn’t tell me?” She whacked his arm. “You told me you were playing ball with friends.”
“I do play ball,” Jeremy said. “After I do other stuff.”
Bex rattled something off in Spanish, and Jeremy replied, more slowly and with a distinct American accent, but in otherwise passable Spanish.
Bex crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded like, “macho asshole got a heart too big for his stupid head.”
Titus glanced at his watch. “Well, I gotta go.”
Jeremy frowned. “Where? You don’t have anything on your schedule today.”
Titus winked at me and slid his sunglasses on, pushing away from the island. “I do now.” He pointed at me. “This lady needs brunch. Her stomach is growling like crazy over here.”
I stared at him. “It is not.” And cue my stomach gurgling so loud they probably heard it in Orange County. “I have to take this paperwork back to the office.”
“No problem.” He twirled his keys around a finger. “How about I meet you at your office and we go from there. There’s this great food truck down in Santa Monica that has the best fuckin’ spicy-ass tacos.”
Bex arched an eyebrow at him. “Not better than my spicy-ass tacos, I hope.”
Titus went around the island and wrapped her up in a brotherly hug, swaying side to side with her. “Of course not. Your spicy-ass tacos are the gold standard against which all others are measured.”
“What I thought,” Bex mumbled. “Thank you, Titus. You’re too good to us.”
“Nah, just good enough.” He let her go and did a man-hug with Jeremy, who mumbled something muffled against Titus’s shoulder. “I got you, Jer. No worries.” He ambled for the door, pausing to shoot a look at me. “You comin’ or what, Laurel? I’m hungry.”
I tucked the folder under my arm and smiled at the couple. “Congratulations on your new home. If you have any questions, call me—I know the builder personally.” I slid my card to them. “Enjoy. And congratulations on your baby, too.”
They thanked me, and insisted on hugging me, walking to the door with me.
Titus paused, standing halfway in his truck, pointing at Jeremy. “Oh, I almost forgot—the movers will be at your place Monday at nine. They’ll do everything, all you gotta do is move your personal valuables and yourselves. You’ll be settled in by Tuesday morning.” He grinned. “Also, another truck is coming here Monday afternoon—they’re gonna take away your shitty-ass thrift store bullshit furniture and replace it all with new. It’s a big house, gotta fill it with something, might as well be nice stuff. Anything you don’t like, they’ll bring you something you do.”
Jeremy sighed. “Any other surprises?”
“Um?” Titus pretended to think. “Not that I know of. I’ll let you know.”
They just shook their heads, still looking stunned at what had just happened. I got into my car and headed for the title company office to drop off the paperwork, Titus’s huge red truck behind me.
And I wondered what I was going to do now.
Rich, gorgeous, talented, hung like a horse, incredible at sex, easy to talk to and be around…and he did stuff like this?
Gah, how’s a girl supposed to retain her hard-won emotional frigidity?
Not liking this guy just got a lot fucking harder.
6
And I was tipsy.
Tacos at the Santa Monica food truck had led to chips and guac and Dos Equis at a pier-side cafe. Which had led to us being outside under a big red umbrella for the past two hours, our table now littered with empty bottles, our laughter raucous and wild. We were trading war stories, him of his crazy life as a rock star, me as…well, me. Spoiled rotten, the daughter of spoiled rotten parents who let me run amok and do whatever I wanted, funding my every whim without a word or blink…or a hug, or rules, or structure, or anything. It made for some fun stories, at least.
Finally, Titus paid the bill and we continued our wandering, rabbit-trail conversation while strolling the Santa Monica pier.
The funny stories faded, and I felt him revving up for a serious question.
“So, boarding school in Europe,” he said. “Was that, like, year-round?”
“Well, I came back for summers…usually. There was the year I turned sixteen, I spent that summer in Greece with my friend and her family—she was the daughter of the Greek president at the time, so I spent most of that summer at the presidential palace in Athens.” I thought back. “And, junior and senior year both I spent in Spain, as a guest of the princess.”
He made a face. “So that business about the princess was true?”
I laughed. “Oh sure. That was actually in reference to a different princess. The school I went to is where pretty much all the royal children from across Europe and most of the world went, along with the kids of anyone with the right wealth and connections.”
“Damn. That must have been interesting.”
I cackled. “Interesting, yeah. That’s one word for it. Also applicable: neglect, and abandonment. For me, at least.”
He seemed unsurprised by this. “The others too, I’m guessing.”
“Well, some yes, some no. I went home for the summers with my friends because even though they got shipped off to boarding school same as me, when they went home, there was at least a pretense of familial love and affection.”
His eyes were sad for me. “Not so much for you, huh?”
I snorted. “Yeah, no. I was a nuisance at best, mostly. They bought me whatever I wanted as a kind of apology for not giving a shit. And then once I was older, it more like, could you maybe just go live on your own? We’re busy. Here, have fifty thousand dollars a month. Not enough? Try a hundred thousand a month.”
He blinked. “Jesus shits.”
I laughed. “That was when I was twelve. My spending allowance by the time I was seventeen was roughly equivalent to that of a third-world country. It’s honestly embarrassing.” I sighed, waved a hand. “If I was home, I was in the way. They’d have swinger parties, these big crazy orgies where people would just be fucking in the hallways and in the pool and every bedroom, in the kitchen, just trading around, everyone fucking everyone else, with my parents presiding over it all like they were a god and goddess at a bacchanalia in their honor. It was gross. They have no dignity whatsofuckingever.”
“Then why did they even have you?” He winced. “Shit, I’m sorry, that sounded—”
“No, it’s true. I wondered it myself. I don’t think they meant to, if you want to know the truth.” I snorted a derisive laugh. “I asked Mom, once, and she just laughed at me and walked away. I’m not sure my dad is my father, if you know what I mean. I don’t look like him, and knowing what went on at those parties, it could have been literally anyone. There’s no way to know, and they’re not telling. I’ve stopped wondering. It doesn’t matter, honestly. He raised me, sort of. By which I mean, I raised myself and he funded my existence. So if the man who accidentally donated his sperm to my mother is the man who I call Dad, if it’s someone else, it just doesn’t matter.”