For a split second, I imagine the two of us cozied up on a sofa at the nearest coffee shop, sipping coffee and trading barbs. It actually does sound kind of fun. Too bad I’m not allowed any of that. Even if I let my guard down for a minute, Dad certainly wouldn’t allow it.
“I can’t,” I admit. “My driver will be here right after class, and I’ll need to get back home to my little sister.”
“You can’t, but you’d like to?”
Truth isn’t going to hurt anything.
“It wouldn’t be a date.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Not that it matters. But, if I could, it would just be coffee with a friend. Nothing more.”
His syrupy eyes draw me in and hypnotize me. “So you do admit you’re mine.”
My jaw unhinges. “What? No.”
“My friend,” he clarifies. “And it’s too late to take it back.”
Thankfully, the professor walks in, ending our conversation. Something tells me, though, that he won’t let up after class. Maybe I just need to accept that I’ve made a school friend. A stupidly hot, super annoying school friend, but a friend nonetheless. Della will be interested in hearing about this guy. I chew on my lip to keep from letting a smile escape.
It sneaks out anyway.
* * *
“You know,” Ford says, smirking as he sidles up beside me in the hallway after our second class of the day, “I could give you a ride.”
“You’re a perv.”
He laughs, the sound warming parts of me I’d never known existed. “Technically, you’re the perv. I meant an actual ride. In my car. Not on my cock.”
The mention of Ford’s cock has a flood of heat coursing through me. I elbow him hard in his side and storm ahead of him. Based on his stupid laughter, I’d say he’s enjoying tormenting me.
You enjoy it too…
I don’t let myself dwell on that thought for too long.
A heavy, muscled arm wraps around my shoulders as Ford catches up. He’s so touchy-feely. I hate that I barely know the guy and my body responds as though he’s familiar to me.
I roll my eyes but don’t shake him off. For a second, I can pretend I’m a normal college-aged woman with a good-looking guy who’s interested in her. There aren’t controlling, abusive fathers or little sisters who need looking after. There isn’t pressure or stress or drama.
Several people glance at us as we walk by. I’m not sure what’s drawing their attention. My money’s on the sexy beast of a man who seems to be staking a claim on me. A flutter in my chest indicates just how much I like that idea.
Which is completely dumb.
I can allow myself a friend, but nothing more. Not when there’s so much at stake. Blatantly going against Dad’s expressed wishes at having me date someone in his power circle would be the worst possible thing I could do. Not only could he backtrack and keep me from attending college, he might somehow punish Della with his anger.
I’m feeling quite somber and dismayed that it takes me a second to realize we’ve stopped and Ford is speaking to me.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to be impressed,” he grumbles, waving his hand toward a sleek vehicle. “Seriously. We can’t be friends if you won’t even acknowledge my baby.”
He’s pouting.
Over a dumb car.
For some reason, this amuses me. It is, in fact, a gorgeous car, but the fact I haven’t gushed over its beauty and he’s pouting about it, has a bubble of laughter escaping. One attempt at smothering my giggling leads to an unladylike snort, which has me erupting with more laughter.
Ford releases me, muttering under his breath, and hits the fob. I bite on my bottom lip to contain my cackling. He flings open the door and gestures in overemphasis as if to prove the inside is just as pretty. It’s the look of pure exasperation on his face that has me losing it again.
“You’re a real bitch, Laundry,” he grits out, though there’s no real venom in his tone. “No one’s ever laughed at my car before.”
“You said I was different and you were right. I bet you’re rethinking making me your friend.” I arch a brow at him now that the giggling has faded. “See you around, Chevy.”
His maple syrup eyes slowly peruse down my body, lazily drinking up every detail of me. I try not to squirm but when someone like Ford Mann is practically devouring you, it’s hard not to.
“Let me take you home,” he urges, his voice dropping several octaves and managing to reverberate through me. “I’ll go slow.”
The fire in his eyes says he’s talking about more than just a ride in his car. He’s talking about the ride of my life. All I’d have to do is give in.
Gravel crunches behind me and a sleek, black Mercedes SUV pulls up. I recognize Trey, one of Dad’s drivers, sitting behind the wheel. Time to go.
“My ride’s here.” I motion toward the Mercedes. “Maybe some other time.”
Like never.
Unfortunately.
Ford peels his stare from me to give Trey a once-over. When his eyes find their way back to mine, they’re harder than before and glint with something almost calculating. The warmth between us is snuffed out and a chill works its way down my spine.
“Goodbye, Ford.”
“See you soon.” He winks at me but the action is almost taunting. “That’s a promise.”
Chapter Six
Sully
I could leave New York.
Take my mustard-yellow Ford Bronco—a car I purchased with my own damn money I’ve earned here and there—and leave this stupid fucking city.
Leave Mom and my brothers.
The motherfucking Morellis.
Constantines and their superiority bullshit.
I’d pack up and head out west. Drive the scenic route the whole damn way, stopping to smell the roses at every chance. I always wanted to go to Cali. Maybe I could learn to surf. I’d be good at that shit, I bet. I’m not a suit like Sparrow, so I could be content working above a souvenir shop, spending all my hard-earned cash on surfer gear or whatever it is California dudes spend their money on. It’d still be a thousand times cooler than what my life consists of now. I’d be a helluva lot happier, that’s for sure.
There’s no California dreamin’ for this big city boy, though.
Truth is, my dream of living my own life is just that. A dream. I know, deep down, I’ll never leave my brothers. We’re not just regular brothers. We’re triplets. One third of something whole. Leaving would mean severing two of my limbs. I just can’t do it.
So, I’ll live in constant mental turmoil.
Or at least until I can convince Scout and Sparrow there’s more to our lives than being Bryant’s bitch trio.
Which is why I’m taking my badass Bronco toward the Hudson Yards. My yellow beast stands out like a sore thumb next to all the Maseratis, Bentleys, Bugattis, and other shiny sports cars Sparrow would nut over.
My surfer dreams will have to wait.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the stunning eighty-eight floor building where I’m to take over my “shift” with the Crofts. This place is much nicer than anything I’m used to, and that’s saying a lot considering my upbringing. I’m a little eager to check out the inside to see if it’s even half as nice as the outside.