He can only stare at me with that beautiful face, temporarily battered. The black eye is obvious, and he wears it like a badge of honor. No shame in Whit Lancaster’s game. If anyone is talking about the obvious fight he must’ve engaged in, no one is saying a word to him about it.
I tilt my head. He does the same, away from Caitlyn, as if he’s trying to avoid her and her nonstop moving mouth. I blink.
So does he.
All right. I can play this game.
My mouth falls open the slightest bit, and I curl my tongue at the corner, just the tip peeking out. I bite my lower lip, dropping my eyes from his for the quickest moment, just before I glance back up at him.
He licks his upper lip, his eyes gleaming. Reminding me of a wolf, ready to launch his attack.
At me.
This all happens in a matter of seconds, but it feels like minutes. An agonizing tease.
I hate him.
Seriously, I do.
Not caring that I’m giving in first, I tear my gaze away from his and march over to Sylvie, settling into my seat. I smile at her, noting her frown. “Sorry about that,” I say. “I really had to go.”
“It’s the strawberry lemonades. They make me pee almost immediately.” She easily accepts my lame explanation, tapping her mostly empty glass. Mine looks the same way. “I ordered us another round.”
“Thank you.”
“Too bad they don’t have vodka in them.” She laughs.
“I don’t drink much anymore,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control,” I answer.
“My brother says the same thing. Drinking, drugs. They are of little interest to him lately. He wants to remain in control, at all times. But that’s so typical of Whit. He’s the ultimate control freak.”
Truer words were never spoken.
She rests her chin on her hand, contemplating me. “Do you like my brother?”
“No,” I say immediately, glancing to my right. He can see me perfectly. I wonder if he realized that. If he’s been aware of my presence in this restaurant from the moment he walked in, while I’ve been over here, completely oblivious.
Probably. I’m sure he’s been watching me, and I’m also sure I’ve looked absolutely hideous. Laughing and carrying on. Sucking down strawberry lemonade. Dressed like a hobo, minus the designer sneaks on my feet. I’m sure he prefers his girls pretty and perfect, who drink water and nibble on a leaf. Who wear dresses and no panties so he can have easy access.
The perv.
Sylvie laughs. “I love your honesty. It’s so refreshing.”
“Are you surrounded by liars?” I ask.
“Mostly. People who’ll say anything to please me—I’ve dealt with them my entire life. It’s quite annoying. I’ve always wanted a friend who will be honest with me. Who’ll have an opinion instead of agreeing with me all the time.” Sylvie rolls her eyes. “Girls like that drive me crazy.”
“Same here,” I say truthfully, the two of us going silent when the server appears with our dinners.
We dig in once she’s gone, and my appetite comes roaring back. I’m famished, craving carbs, and I devour the pasta dish embarrassingly fast, consuming plenty of bread as well, not caring if Whit can see me stuffing my face.
Fuck the lettuce leaf. Give me all the pasta.
Sylvie matches me bite for bite, exceeding me with her appetite, since she also downed all of that fried cheese. We keep eating until we’re both stuffed, resting our hands over our distended bellies and moaning and groaning.
“I feel terrible,” I say.
“Same, but it was totally worth it,” she whimpers.
“You’re right.” I do my best to not look in Whit’s direction, and it’s driving me crazy. I hope my not looking at him drives him crazy too. He deserves to think I don’t care that he’s in this restaurant. I’d love to go talk to him. Demand that he tell me where my journal is and return it to me right away. But that’s not how I have to play this with Whit. Confrontation won’t work. I need to be sly. Cunning.
As sly and cunning as him.
The server drops off the check and Sylvie flashes a heavy black credit card, giving it to her. “Let me pay for mine,” I tell her.
“No, my treat. You can get it next time,” Sylvie says with a faint smile.
I like that. That she mentions there will be a next time. I finally feel like I have a friend. Someone who won’t be intimidated by Whit or fall under his influence so easily.
As his sister, she can defy him.
And so can I.
We’re waiting for the server to return with Sylvie’s credit card when I feel him approach—the air electrifies, and my head buzzes. Shadows fall over our table and I glance up to find Whit standing there, Spencer by his side. Chad is standing on the other side of Spence. The girls are behind them, giggling and tittering nervously, most likely excited by the possibility of a confrontation.
Wouldn’t they just die to know I had Whit’s dick in my mouth last night?
“Whit. Chad.” Sylvie smiles. “Spence.” She scowls at him, the look on her face reminding me of her brother. “What brings you boys to this lovely establishment?”
I love that she didn’t acknowledge the girls whatsoever.
“Hunger,” Chad says with smile. Spencer scowls at her in return, shoving his hands in his jeans’ pockets.
Whit doesn’t say a word. His expression is cool. Stoic. He won’t even glance in my direction, the prick.
“Have you met my friend?” Sylvie says jokingly, indicating me. They all know who I am and she knows it. Maybe she’s trying to be nice. At the very least, get them to be polite and acknowledge me. I hear a few murmured yeahs, though none of them will actually look at me.
“Can’t say that we’ve ever met before,” Whit says, turning so he’s staring right at me, his expression indifferent. Downright blank. As if he never had his mouth on me last night. As if I wasn’t the one who let him come all over my chest, like an animal marking his territory.
“Whit,” Sylvie snaps, but he ignores her.
“What was your name again?” he says to me with a flick of his chin, his gaze roving over me. Last night’s hunger is completely gone, replaced by that familiar cold stare. “Nice braids,” he says snidely. “You look like a child.”
I don’t even think. I just grab my leftover lemonade and stand, throwing it in his face, making direct contact. He closes his eyes at the last second, the drink splashing him, and even the girls behind him. They gasp.
Right before they start squealing.
“Fuck you,” I tell him between clenched teeth, glancing over at Sylvie to find she’s watching us with open glee on her face. The girl loves drama. “I’m leaving. Thank you for dinner, Sylvie.”
And with that, I turn and walk away.
Fourteen
Summer
I’m outside in an instant, the cool late fall air wrapping around me, making me tremble. We drove here in Sylvie’s Mercedes and I could easily call an Uber, but not out in front of the restaurant. I don’t want to chance running into Whit again so quickly after I threw a drink in his face.