“Not that hot.” There are thousands of attractive women around, especially when your mother is a photographer and your father is a movie producer. But the more important thing is, Sadie isn’t worth the effort. I’ve never met a girl who was.
“Man, I’d do anything to have those lips wrapped around my dick.”
“Still not worth it,” I mutter.
“Wait. She gives bad head?” He sounds stunned.
“No comment.” I don’t rate girls. It’s crude, and they’re all the same. Mildly interesting at first, but they become progressively boring. The story never changes. When they look at me, they see my parents and what they represent. I could be a hunchbacked troll, and the girls would still act like I was somebody.
Actually, it isn’t just girls—it’s everyone. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I announced that my parents disowned me.
“Come on! Just a little hint?”
I ignore him and execute the trade. The position is as good as it’s going to get. “If you want to get your dick sucked by a hot chick, hire an escort.”
“Dude—”
The door slams closed, and I glance up. Heath marches in like a pissed-off rhino, drops his ass in an oversized armchair and heaves out a loud sigh. The left half of his face has a huge bandage over a large scrape that looks to be a few days old.
“You need a bigger bandage,” Will says.
“What happened?” I say, more out of reflex than curiosity. It’s a habit I acquired dealing with Mom. Athena Grant doesn’t handle being ignored well. “A fight?”
Even as I ask, I know the probability is low. Heath is a trust-fund baby, just like Will. His way of dealing with conflict is to throw money at it. Or a lawyer, whichever is easier.
“He tried to grab some girl a few nights ago. When she pushed him away, he fell.” Will snickers.
“I did not! The bitch pushed me for no reason,” Heath says.
“Then sue her,” Will says.
Here we go again.More girl convo, now devolving into toxic stupidity.
“She’ll probably countersue and win,” I tell them, then turn my focus to my phone. Twenty-five thousand and some change pops into my account. I smile with satisfaction. If things go as planned, I’m going to be at least five hundred K richer by the end of the semester, and clear a million after taxes before the year’s over.
A text flashes on my screen.
–Mom: You must transfer to Harvard.
I look at the text for a few moments, mildly curious and annoyed. She doesn’treallywant me to transfer to Harvard. There’s something else here.
–Me: Why? Nobody goes to Harvard after experiencing the beauty of Napa Valley.
–Mom: What beauty?
–Me: The weather, for one.
–Mom: Nobody picks weather over Harvard.
–Me: Like Odysseus with the Cyclops, just call me…
–Mom: Don’t try to change the subject!
–Me: Okay, what happened?
That will get her to her point much quicker than my telling her Harvard isn’t that desirable. Massachusetts is cold and disgusting. How am I going to ride my horses when the ground is muddy with slush?
–Mom: Jerry is an insufferable bitch!
