Wilder launches into a sob story about broken hearts and the necessity of hooking up with a wide cross-section of the female populace to heal. Having a girlfriend never stopped him dipping his wick anywhere else, so I’m not sure of the difference.
Like father, like son.
But I barely pay attention as we walk out the end doors. My eyes are attracted to the rear end of the frumpy girl Wilder insulted earlier, loitering against the building wall with her bubbly blonde friend. The school uniform kilts can make the most sculpted arse look like possums in a bag, but hers is a particularly thick example.
I wish she’d turn around so my eyes could feast on that expressive face instead.
“Earth to Zane?”
My gaze snaps back to him. Any breach of conditions will land me in trouble, and anger flares at his lack of concern. “Because you’re fine organising parties at my house without input, but now you suddenly need my full attention?”
“If you’re that bent out of shape, I can cancel.”
A party sounds like exactly the sort of trouble my sentencing judge told me to avoid, but I doubt a belated cancellation will stop anyone showing at my door. Invitations are far easier to issue than withdraw.
“Whatever, but you’re funding the cleaning bill tomorrow and no drinking.”
His eyes widen with shock.
“I’m not allowed to while I’m on conditions, so neither’s anyone else.”
I watch him squirm for a good twenty seconds before I relent. “Just kidding. But no one underage.”
“No problem.”
“Underage fordrinking,not fucking,” I clarify. The last thing I need is a load of nubile sixteen-year-olds flooding the place. “Check their 18+ cards at the door because if I get caught hosting that shit, they really will recall me.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” The tight set of his jaw backs up the statement.
“Is your dad still out of town?” Maddox asks after Evie kisses him goodbye and heads for the side gate, probably meeting Dahlia to give her a high five. I turn to him in relief, grinning as he rubs his hand backwards through the sunny blond tangle of his hair, making it point in all directions.
“Yeah. In Thailand. Probably investigating the assets of half a dozen ladyboys as we speak.”
He gets into the car, taking the front passenger side while Wilder throws himself in the back seat.
I should appreciate they’re willing to come over to my house, trying to make it seem normal that I’m stuck there for each minute I’m not in school, but today it grates on my nerves.
A feeling that apparently transmits to my friends because on arrival they decamp to the games room to compete in a head-to-head, leaving me and my bad temper alone.
I can’t blame them. I’m the one so racked with guilt that I confessed, then pled guilty to charges a halfway decent lawyer could have overturned.
Home detention isn’t the cushy option I thought it would be, either. I practically had to beg to be allowed to attend Tiaki Academy in person. Some bright spark at the probation office discovered their distance learning program, and for two days they let me think I’d be stuck at home apart from the god-awful counselling.
They made megratefulto attend high school.
Low key anger pulses through my system like caffeinated blood cells, speeding and colliding, doing more damage with every heartbeat. It alternates with the fear I’ll break my terms and wind up with the punishment I know the judge really wanted to give me.
If I break the rules, I get locked up. And not some juvie facility where I can cruise under the radar until release.
I’m eighteen. They’ll put me in prison.
In high school, I’m tall, I’m fit, I’m relatively tough.
In a men’s prison? They’d eat me alive.
Fear and resentment still clog my throat when my phone buzzes with an incoming call. One glance at the display and it vanishes in a wave of excitement. “Yeah?”
The caller is Stevenson, a contact who arranges girls for the men of the area who can’t be seen frequenting brothels, no matter how discreet. Not my exact problem, but the results are the same.
