Savannah turns to Alec. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
My friend gives her his widest smile and slowly looks her over. “I wouldn’t dare. Want another drink if the server comes around?”
She beams as she climbs out of the booth. “Of course! Get my girl and me each another lemon drop martini.”
Brinley opens her mouth, and I think she’s going to object, but instead she says, “If you don’t mind.”
Savannah gives Alec an air kiss then slides her arm through Brinley’s as they walk toward the bathroom.
“So that’s Brinley Knox,” Alec says. He scans my face, and I know he’s looking for shock or panic or some shit. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m a fucking liar.
“You think she’s intentionally evading the question about her marital status, or . . .?”
Right. That. “I’m not sure.” But I intend to find out.
“Assuming she’s single . . . you two just gonna pick up where you left off?”
Since we “left off” with Brinley pushing me away, I hope not, but I shrug.
Alec grunts. “Tone it down, Mars. You’re way too vocal about your emotions.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I take a sip of my bourbon. Alec Hayes knows more about my life pre-college than anyone besides Aunt Lori, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my guts right now. “I’m still trying to figure out if this is really happening.”
“It’s happening.” He pauses a beat, his gaze glued to the hall where the girls disappeared. “If you need me to keep the friend busy tonight, I can do that.”
“Real fucking selfless of you.”
Alec grins. “I’m giving like that.” That grin falls away as he studies me. “I see that brain of yours working overtime. Dial back the introspection and enjoy yourself.”
“That could be a recipe for disaster,” I mutter, but it doesn’t matter. Even if spending the night with Brinley is a terrible idea, I know I’ll take every second she’ll give me.
He takes a pull of his vodka tonic and sighs. “Consider it a gift—one night in Vegas with the love of your life.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions there, Hayes.”
“I’m not assuming shit. You’d have to be blind to miss the way she looks at you. And you’ve told me more than once how you feel about her.”
“No, you’re assuming I’ll only get one night.”
Alec snorts. “I have complete confidence that you’ll get your night and turn it into whatever you want.” He pauses a beat. “Have you thought about this, though? She kind of fucked you up, dude. Do you really want to ask for seconds?”
My emotions are a mess of regret and longing and hope. I can barely remember the anger I felt those first few years after she pushed me away. I want Brinley. If there was any doubt about it in my mind before, it vanished the moment I laid eyes on her. “I want it all.”
I drain my drink. Bourbon isn’t meant to be guzzled like a cheap beer, but I’m wound so tight and I just want to enjoy this night—this chance. One more chance with Brinley. Alec is right. It’s a gift—one I never dared ask for.
Chapter Two
Marston
September 21st, before
“When you’re done scrubbing those pans, come find me in the dining room,” Aunt Lori says. “I’ll need your help to set up for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
I nod, not bothering to look at her. I’m half afraid she’s going to renege on her promise to pay me for tonight. Ten dollars an hour to help cook and wash dishes for some spoiled teenager’s fancy birthday party? It seems too good to be true. But even if she breaks her promise, it’s not like I had anything better to do with myself.
I moved to Orchid Valley a week ago. I’d been living on my own in Atlanta. It was fine at first—better than being stuck with my mom and her carousel of bad boyfriends. But then I didn’t make rent one month and was short again the next and found myself sleeping in the park. It was temporary. I just needed to save up enough for a room. Maybe I could have done it, but I didn’t have a place to wash my clothes, and I couldn’t use my car because I couldn’t afford gas, so I lost my job. Then a reckless, desperate idea turned into flashing red and blue lights and a breaking and entering charge.
It wasn’t Mom but Aunt Lori who got the lawyer to make the judge go easy on me. She turned Mom’s addiction issues into a massive sob story. I hate pity, but it worked. A couple of days later, per court orders, I moved sixty minutes north to Lori’s little place in Orchid Valley. And on Monday, per court orders, I’ll attend my senior year of high school here with a bunch of rich kids. Not that I’m complaining about that—I know Lori saved my ass—but if the party happening down the hall is any indication, Orchid Valley is crawling with entitled, preppy-ass teenagers.
“Leave me alone!” someone shrieks from the hall, and I look up just in time to see a ball of fluffy pink tulle barreling through the double doors and into the kitchen. She turns around and gives me a shaky smile. “Do you mind if I hide in here for a minute?” Tears stream down her face, leaving sooty trails of mascara in their wake.
Shrugging, I drag my gaze off the girl in the ridiculous dress and focus on scrubbing the pan in front of me. “Don’t care,” I mutter. Scrub, scrub, scrub.
I’m aware of her walking toward me, but I don’t look up. I’m good at being invisible, and that’s all I want to be right now.
“I’m Brinley Knox. What’s your name?”
Brinley Knox, the guest of honor. Funny that she asked if she could stay. This is her house, after all.
I feel her gaze on me and realize she’s waiting for an answer. “Marston.” I tense, waiting for her next remark. I get all sorts of shit about my name.
Brinley sniffles, and despite myself, I’m aware of her eyes on me, of every move she makes to close the distance between us. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you on staff before.”
Staff. Her family has staff. Of course they do. They live in a freaking mansion and are throwing their daughter a sixteenth birthday party fancier than most people’s weddings.
“I’m new.” I rinse the pan and set it in the rack to dry before pulling the drain on the soapy water. I grab a towel and dry my hands. “Why are you crying?” I can’t imagine ever crying if I lived in a house like this. But what do I know? Maybe her dad hits her. My mom always said dysfunctional doesn’t have an income bracket.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, smudging her bubblegum-pink lipstick. “It’s my birthday,” she says, as if that’s any sort of explanation.
“Shouldn’t that make you happy? It’s your birthday, and your parents threw you this big party.” The sneer I intended to wrap around my words is nowhere in sight. Whatever her problems are, they’re real to her. I can’t believe I feel sorry for the spoiled little rich girl.
“My boyfriend broke up with me. At my party.” Her bottom lip trembles. When she meets my eyes, something hits me. She’s pretty underneath that makeup and ridiculous dress. Really fucking pretty. Her dark hair is pinned in curls on top of her head tonight, but I bet it’s long and soft when it’s down, and her blue eyes . . . Well, even full of tears, those eyes are like a sucker punch to the gut. “He said I’m uptight, and he doesn’t want to be with a girl who makes him wait for a kiss when we should already be doing . . . other things.”