We spent the morning in bed, which bled into the afternoon, and by the time Bevan found us while wondering if I was going to the house party down the street, it was nearly nine p.m. Needless to say, the girls are thrilled. When they found out, they texted me every other minute about the sex, what he’s like, and everything in between.
I’m not one to kiss and tell, but I couldn’t not fill my best friends in on the fact that Austin Van Hewitt is, in fact, a sex god. Holy smokes, the guy is … I don’t know. Legendary? That seems a ridiculous word to use, but it’s the only one that comes to mind.
The sex. My god, the sex. I have to press the backs of my hands to my reddening cheeks in the middle of this retirement party just thinking about it. Austin is intense. Demanding. Dirty. I was not expecting that from the guy who washes his dishes immediately after eating off of them. I knew he was a good kisser, but Jesus Christ, I’ve never had better, more mind-blowing, more orgasmic sex. Obviously, my experience is limited, and he’s two years older. But he’s the type of guy I will compare everyone else to going forward.
Not that I hope I have to. I’m aware we’ve only been good and solid for four days, but those four days have felt better than any in my life. Which is why it’s not too strange that he asked me to come with him today, especially since I’m from his hometown.
I shrug, flipping my hair. “I guess I really am.”
“If only we could just drive back to school and forget all of these bastards.” Austin rests his forehead on mine.
“Can’t we?” I suggest, very much wanting to be in his bed right now.
“Not if I don’t want to hear about it for the next twenty years.” He rolls his eyes. “We should get back in there. I have to make appropriate appearance time or my dad will bring the thunder.”
He straightens, rolls his shoulders, and I see the Van Hewitt mask slide into place. I can’t believe I haven’t realized it all these years. He’s not the Austin I truly know and want to be with when he’s in this mode of carrying his family’s last name.
We make our way around the room, fielding questions from his relatives ranging from snarky to downright rude. The whole lot of Van Hewitts is just competing against each other at what should be a laid-back family party. I know my brood has issues, but Christmas isn’t a volleyball match of conversation to see who dropped the most money on a car this year or who opened more businesses.
Austin hasn’t let go of my hand, and I’m not sure if he’s holding it because he wants to feel my fingers laced with his or because he needs an anchor in the middle of all these assholes.
“Son, nice to see you showed up, though you’ve avoided me all night.” I turn as Austin does and see Mr. Van Hewitt, his father, standing before us.
Of course, I’ve seen the guy around town, I’ve seen most of these people around town. Especially Austin’s two cousins who were in my grade, Miley and Cassandra. Their jaws nearly hit the floor today when they saw me walking around with him. Those two were so snooty and popular growing up, simply because they had money. It wasn’t like I, or Bevan, or Amelie, were lacking for attention in school. But we were second-tier popular, under the shiny stars of the kids who would peak after we all grew up and left our hometown.
But Austin’s father, well, you’d have to live under a rock in Webton not to know him. He owns one of the biggest real estate firms in the area, is the top donor to the high school basketball teams, and is generally involved in any big construction project you hear about in town.
“Dad.” Austin sticks out his hand and his father shakes it.
Then he leans into the woman standing next to his father, kisses her Botoxed and filled cheeks, then straightens. “Mom.”
His parents look like they’re attending a comedy show put on by the grim reaper. Either that or his mother is a walking poster child for how smiling gives you laugh lines.
“This is Taya North. She grew up here in Webton, and I’m currently subletting the room in her and her friends’ house,” he explains.
His father gives me a once-over, then dismisses me without a single word. The mother barely even lets her gaze wander over me.
“I want you to talk to Uncle Gene tonight about possibly coming in on the strip mall deal. They could use you on the project after graduation, but right now they’re ramping up and—”
“Dad, we talked about me helping Aunt Miriam at the TV network. I want to put my degree to good use.” Clearly, by the tone of both their voices, this is a fight they’ve had many times.
As best as I can, I watch Austin in my peripheral. His face is stone, the frustrated clip to his voice betraying how he feels about his father’s request. I know he’s a radio major, obviously, but it never occurred to me that his family would try to stop him from going into that field. I guess this is what he means when he says the last name comes with strings.
Now that I think about it, I don’t know a single Van Hewitt in Webton who works outside of the family businesses.
“And I told you, you had four years to play around with your little passion and then it was time to get to work.” His father sneers at him.
“Dad.” The word is a barely hidden growl of a warning.
“Let’s not do this here.” His mother lays a hand on his father’s arm. “We don’t want the family getting any sense of tension, do we now?”
I want to roll my eyes at how Stepford Wives they’re being but try to remain neutral. It’s clear that I’m not the only person in this pairing with mommy/daddy issues.
“Your uncle is expecting your call. You need to respect that.” His father’s parting shot is a command.
Austin lets out an audible sigh, then turns to me. The Van Hewitt mask has fallen, and in those captivating eyes I see only the guy whose bed I’ve spent four days barely getting out of.
“Come on, let’s sneak out.”
“Won’t you get in trouble? They haven’t even cut that massive cake, which I’m sure none of your girl cousins will even eat.” Such a shame, since the frosting looks three layers deep.
“Nah, no one will notice. I showed my face, they got their punches in, so we’re golden.” The way his sarcasm doesn’t reach his eyes makes my heart hurt.
“Let’s go then. You can blame it on me, one of Webton’s flooziest.”
Austin leans in close as we exit the catering hall, his lips tracing the outer shell of my ear. “Only for me.”
There are a few main shopping areas or streets to be seen on in Webton, but none more than the Eastwick Mall. With its giant food court, floors and floors of stores, and warm place to adventure from the cold in the harsh Upstate New York winters, it’s always been a hot spot in town. Starting from the age of twelve, many a weekend nights were spent here. The girls and I would roam around in search of other Webton pre-teens or teens to hang out with or boys to flirt with. Or we’d catch a movie in the theater attached to the mall, or see who could fit the most pretzel bites in their mouth, or challenge each other to walk up the down escalator.
My youth had been spent here, but we would definitely see people we knew. What would they say when they saw me with Austin? I am relatively unknown in this town, other than being the sister of that girl who was going to the Olympics.