She worries her plump lower lip between her teeth, studying me.
I take the opportunity to do the same to her. I notice a small piercing in her nostril and another one on the right side of her upper lip.
My teeth clash as I continue my appraisal. I know I shouldn't make any judgments, but if this girl doesn't like dick, too—the male population took a serious hit.
Mascara streaks or not, she's gorgeous. A straight up twenty on a ten scale—and I'm not even into the whole tattooed and pierced look.
When I see nothing but that mixture of despair and rage still swirling in those hazel orbs as she finishes sizing me up and down, instead of a flicker of attraction or appreciation, I realize my earlier suspicion is right because she's clearly immune to my appearance.
Not that I'm expecting a heartbroken girl to fall at my feet, but as far as looks go—I'm on the extremely fortunate side.
Turns out Holden genes are good for something.
After what feels like hours, she finally speaks. “Is it true?”
When I give her a look she says, “The baby. Is she pregnant?”
Dread fills my stomach as three positive pregnancy tests flash before my eyes. “Looks that way. She has a doctor's appointment in a few days to confirm.”
She nods slowly as if taking in my sentence bit by bit because she can't bear the entire structure of it.
“Are you happy?” she asks, and I'd be lying if I said her question didn't throw me.
When I don't answer, she walks over to her car and sits down on the hood Indian style, awaiting my response.
The irony that our vehicles look like they're facing off isn't lost on me.
Figuring I don't have much to lose in this weird conversation, I hit her with the truth. “Not particularly. No.”
Then again, that's never what our relationship was about.
My mind flits back to a few months ago when I made a bet—actually a string of them—with the Dragonis—who happen to be Becca's family—and ended up losing a shit-ton of money.
My older brother Asher has no idea, and considering it's something I'll take to my grave; he'll never know. But I lost a major bet with the Dragonis on purpose.
Vincent Dragoni is the brother of Dominic Dragoni—who happens to be the head of the mob. But Vincent's also the assistant football coach at Woodside University and is a well-known underground bookie.
Confused yet? Well, hang on—things are going to get a lot more complicated.
My brother Asher—thanks to a nutcase, his bitch of a high school girlfriend Breslin, and her no-good father—was set up with a sex tape featuring another guy blowing him.
He was headed for the NFL, but after that tape went viral, he was promptly kicked out of Duke's Heart University for bullshit reasons and lost his scholarship. And my father being the asshole he is, one who's all about public image—disowned him and cut him off financially.
Asher's dreams were tarnished, all because some trailer park junkie and some mentally unhinged psycho teammate of his wanted to make a quick buck by setting him up.
Well that, and Duke, along with society; couldn't handle the thought of one of the greatest up-and-coming quarterbacks of all time being gay.
My brother might be out of the closet as bisexual now, but back when that video was taken, he was still dating his high school girlfriend Breslin and presumed to be straight as an arrow. But everything changed one night when his teammate turned stalker, Kyle Sinclair, blackmailed him with a video of a blowjob he gave him while he was sleeping.
In exchange for Kyle not releasing the video, Asher had to do all sorts of things for him, like securing Kyle a spot on Duke's football team. Although now we know that was all just a ruse to be closer to Asher because he was obsessed with him.
The last three years have been hell for my brother and he thinks it was all Kyle's doing. However, I found out a few months ago that Breslin and her dad were the co-conspirators behind the whole operation when I ran into her father at a bar and he spilled the beans about releasing the video; otherwise, I never would have believed it.
The one positive thing about the video getting out was that it provided Asher freedom from Kyle and freedom to be himself. Things are finally looking up for my brother again—thanks in part to me.
After I made an agreement with Vincent Dragoni that Asher would take the Wolverines to the championship—something the football team at Woodside hasn't seen since the seventies—in exchange for forgiving my massive gambling debt, Asher's playing football again.
It's just a matter of time before he wins the championship and the NFL realizes that into dudes or not, he's a damn good athlete and deserves to be out on that field.
People might not agree with what I did if they ever found out, but I have no regrets. I'm glad Asher now has the chance to prove he can make it on his own merits.
Annoyance crawls along my skin as my thoughts come back to my cheating girlfriend.
Bottom line, I started dating Becca Dragoni, who was sent to spy on me as a lackey for her family, because it was beneficial for me to do so. It was a benefit that became a convenience over the last few months though, because we were a good fit together.
She didn't bitch about my gambling because she grew up around it, and she never asked me where I went or why I came home late. Not to mention, she was nice to look at and the sex between us was decent.
As a thank you for her contributions to the relationship, I never strayed or treated her bad. And as long as I gave her some cash and took her out to a few fancy places...she was content.
In fact, things were going so well; I ended up renting an apartment for us.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love with her or anything, but who needs love when we have a mutual understanding?
At least we did...before she cheated on me and trapped me.
Christ, I'm only nineteen and in my sophomore year at Yale, I'm not ready for marriage and a baby. Truth be told, I don't think I'll ever be. Putting another person before myself has never been my strong suit.
The girl's features screw up, bringing me back to the present. I don't know if she looks more surprised or offended at my previous response to her question. “How long have you been...you know...with her?”
I look up at the night sky as I think. “Four months or so.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe more, maybe less. Never really kept track. You?”
“Since the last day of our junior year,” she answers with no hesitation. “May 25th to be exact. Met her at an end of the year party some fraternity was throwing. The rest, as they say, is history. We've been together ever since.” She closes her eyes in pain. “Or rather, we were.”
“And Europe—” I start to say, recalling the summer vacation with friends Becca told me she was going on.
“Is where I proposed to her. Right in front of the fucking Eiffel Tower.” The tears start falling down her face again and she turns her head toward the water. “With my mom's engagement ring.”
“Well, at least you can give it back to her now.”
She flinches, and I realize I've somehow managed to offend her.
Usually, I'm on top of my game. Being a gambler, I analyze every detail and subtle expression on a person's face—all the things their body gives away without words—which in turn allows me to read them like a book. Thus, enabling me to see the proverbial cards they're holding.