She starts to walk away and I grab her arm, stopping her. “Help a friend out.”
“You help a friend out,” she tosses back at me, yanking her arm out of my grip. “Come on. For old time’s sake.”
“Like I said, Leighton. I have someone,” I remind her, my gaze scanning the area yet again.
But Summer is nowhere to be found.
“When has that ever stopped you before, hmm?” She presses herself against me again, her hands landing on my shirt front, her fingers stroking my chest. “Let’s go to my room. I remember you being exquisitely talented with your tongue.”
“I’m not eating your pussy,” I tell her flatly, which only makes her laugh harder.
“God, Whit. Have a little class.” She stands straighter, reaching up and brushing her fingers along my jaw. “Fine. Maybe I don’t want you to eat my pussy. Maybe I want you to fuck me against a wall. I also remember you always did like it a little rough.”
Nothing is happening down below, despite her offers. I could take this girl into the nearest empty room with a lock and fuck the shit out of her. A year ago, I would’ve, no questions asked. Hell, six months ago, I would’ve done it.
I can’t now though. I won’t cheat on Summer.
Jesus, listen to me. We’re not together, but I can’t stand the thought of being with someone else. Worse?
I absolutely cannot bear the thought of Summer being with someone else. Just imagining her with another guy makes me want to tear something apart.
Namely the faceless guy she might be with.
Clearly I’ve got problems. All of them having to do with the beautiful, irresistible Summer.
“What do you say, Whit?” Leighton purrs, cozying herself up against me. “You in? It’ll be our little secret.”
I rest my hand on her waist, about to shift her away from me when something catches my eye. More like someone.
Summer. Standing only a few feet away. Watching me with sad eyes.
Just before she turns and runs.
Thirty-Seven
Summer
I don’t even know where I’m going in this gigantic, gaudy house, but I know I need to get far, far away from Whit, after what I just witnessed.
Whit wrapped up in a girl. Leighton Michaels, who just so happens to be the owner of said gaudy house. She’s stunning. Goes to Harvard. Has a huge social media following and is seen at all the top fashion shows. She dresses impeccably and has a carefully cultivated image. She is better than me by leaps and bounds.
Like…I can’t even compete.
I hurry up a back staircase, my heels clacking loudly against the marble steps, but I don’t care. I’m sure he gave up chasing after me real quick. Why does it matter?
Why do I matter? I don’t. I’m sure I don’t.
I find a closed door and I test the handle, pushing my way inside with ease. I slide my hand on the wall until I find a light switch and turn it on to find I’m in a nondescript bedroom. There is literally a bed, a dresser and a single bedside table with a lamp. That’s it. It looks like a freaking jail cell compared to the opulence I’ve seen in this house.
Probably a room for someone on staff. Rude of me to think, but most likely true. People as rich as Leighton Michaels’ family have plenty of staff, and don’t offer them much luxury.
I collapse on the edge of the bed and wipe the back of my hand against my eyes, sopping up my tears. Why am I even crying? I knew this would happen eventually. He always implied he couldn’t be loyal. Oh, he expected me to not even look in another guy’s direction but he could fuck whoever he wanted.
Looks like he finally found someone else.
Fresh tears start and I cover my face. After what happened last night. Earlier. I guess I expected more, which is foolish of me considering nothing really happened. There have been no declarations of love or even caring. Nothing like that because I don’t matter to him. Not like that.
I’m an idiot. A fool to think I could fit in with these people.
Sniffing loudly, I drop my hands. Wipe at my tears before I rub my damp hands on the comforter I’m sitting on. I glance around the room, wishing I had my phone so I could text Sylvie or even better? Call an Uber and get myself out of here.
But where would I go? I don’t want to go back to the Lancaster estate, but it’s not like I have a choice.
I wish I could find Sylvie. Earlier when Spencer approached and I saw the look on her face when she saw him, I decided to give them a little privacy. I set off in search of Whit and boy, did I find him.
With a beautiful woman wrapped all around him, looking ready to devour him whole. He wasn’t pushing her away either. He was looking at her with an almost pleading expression, and at the last second, he glanced up, his gaze meeting mine. I saw the shock there. And the guilt.
Busted.
He’s the worst. Seriously, why did I think he could be faithful? He has no reason to be. I’m nothing to him. While he’s become everything to me.
I hate myself for caring so much. I really, really do.
Sighing, I rise to my feet and make my way to the door, opening it slowly and peeking outside to see if anyone is in the hall. With the coast clear, I step out of the room and carefully shut the door, glancing to my right to find someone emerging from the room next to mine. I come to a complete stop, my heart racing at getting caught.
By a boy who looks about my age or a little older, with a curious expression on his face when he spots me. Dark, longish hair. Pouty lips. Fashionable black glasses. He’s clad in dark rinse, stiff looking jeans and a tweed jacket slung over a black polo shirt. Terrible fashion. Only someone who doesn’t give a damn and is ultra-rich would wear something that awful.
“Aw, aren’t you sad, little beauty?” he croons when he spots me. “What’s your name?”
I take a step back, pressing myself against the door. Wishing I could disappear. “Who are you?”
“I asked first,” he says pleasantly as he approaches.
I watch him warily, completely untrusting. I only had one shot earlier, so I’m definitely not drunk. And I refuse to put myself in a situation like the one I experienced at Halloween. My defenses are completely up and sirens are going off in my head at being alone with a complete stranger.
“I’m lost,” is what I say with a faint smile. “I think I got turned around. This house is so big.”
“Easy to do if you’re not familiar with it.” He leans against the wall directly in front of me, his gaze raking over me from head to toe. “I don’t recognize you, and I know everyone at these shitty parties my sister hosts.”
Oh crap. I do know who this guy is. It’s Montgomery Michaels the fourth. Monty Michaels is brilliant and goes to MIT. I think he’s a senior in college now? A bit eccentric, from what I’ve heard.
Not that I personally know him.
“This is your house?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.
“Correction. This is my parents’ house. I just happen to live here on occasion.” He smiles, and it’s friendly. Not menacing at all. “Tell me your name.”
“Summer,” I admit.
“Like the season?”
I nod and sniff, a wave of emotion cresting over me, weakening my defenses.