It’ll be a miracle if we survive this dinner unscathed.
“Trust me, there is plenty.” Her derisory gaze rakes up and down Presley in a blatantly hostile manner.
Presley extends her hand. “I’m Presley. Kent has told me about you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
Whitney looks at Presley’s hand like it’s diseased. Planting her hands on her hips, she eyeballs my girlfriend with a devilish glint in her eye. “Well, he’s told me nothing about you, and I’ve zero desire to meet you or know you, so let’s quit with the pretense.”
“Oh boy.” Kalvin chuckles, and Lana swats him in the chest.
I lean into Whitney’s face, nostrils flaring. “Don’t fucking lie. I called you and told you I was dating Presley, and if you can’t be civil to her, you and I have a big fucking problem.”
“Oh, whatever.” Whitney throws her hair over her shoulders. “Like I give a fuck.”
“Dinner’s served!” Mom hollers, desperation laced through her tone. She knows, as well as the rest of us, that dinner is now effectively ruined.
“I’m sorry about this,” I whisper to Presley as I lead her into the dining room. “We can still leave.”
“She doesn’t scare me, and I’m not running off.”
I kiss her quick, squeezing her waist. When I turn my head around, Whitney is staring at me with hurt in her eyes. Thank fuck I smoked a joint before I came here and that I have some pills tucked into the back pocket of my pants. I have a feeling I’m going to need them before the day is out.
We take our seats for dinner, and Faye and Kyler sit at the opposite end of the table, meaning Whitney is forced to sit there beside her dad and her sister. However, she’s on the other side of the table, meaning she can still glare at us, and she hasn’t stopped with the poisonous looks from the second we sat down. I try to concentrate on the conversation around us, but it’s awkward because I’m conscious of Whitney slinging daggers at Presley in between guzzling wine. Having Austen and Keaton mooning at one another across the way has my nerves on edge too, and I just wish time would fast-forward so it’s over and we can leave.
“I don’t get it,” Whitney pipes up just as the dinner plates are being cleared away. She’s already slurring her words, which isn’t a good sign. I immediately tense, preparing myself for it. She stares at me, hurt and anger etched upon her face. “She’s not even that pretty, and what lame-ass parents name their kid after Elvis Presley.”
“For your information,” Presley says, eyeballing Whitney. “My parents died in a car crash when I was nine, and Mom called me Presley because she thought the name was pretty. It had nothing to do with Elvis.”
I’m embarrassed I never thought to ask her that, and now my Elvis notes seem corny as fuck, but Pres seems to appreciate them.
“You’re one to talk,” I snap, all out of patience. I take Presley’s hand on top of the table, ensuring Whitney sees me doing it. “Your mom named you after Whitney fucking Houston.”
“What the fuck does she have that I don’t?” Whitney shrieks, standing quickly, knocking her chair over. “I have loved you since I was fourteen, Kent! First, you fuck Keaton’s Melissa, and now you shack up with that gold-digging whore, and I have never done anything to deserve being treated like this!” She stalks toward us, and Adam rises, but Faye stalls him, shaking her head. Faye exchanges a look with Kyler before standing, trailing after her sister.
Tears stream down Whitney’s face as she stands behind Austen and Keaton, staring dejectedly at me. I can’t find it in me to feel compassion, not after she just blabbed about Melissa and insulted my girlfriend again. And I have always,always, been honest and up front with her. She knows it was only ever sex for me because I spelled that out clearly.
“Why are you doing this, Kent? Youcan’tdo this. I won’t let you.” Steely determination ghosts over her eyes.
“I’m fucking blue in the face telling you I don’t have those feelings for you.”
“And you do for her?” she screams, shucking Faye away when she tries to reach for her.
“Yeah, I do.” I’m not going to lie to her face. She’s the one who decided to do this in front of an audience. “It’s serious between Presley and me. Rant and rave all you fucking want, Whit, but we’re done.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because you’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.” Swiping at her tears, she fixes me with a smug look before curling her lips in Presley’s direction, slanting her with a gloating look that turns the blood in my veins to ice.
Panic presses down on my chest, and I’m almost afraid to ask the question, but if I don’t, someone else will. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She grins, tilting her head to the side. “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Presley
Initial silence greets Whitney’s declaration, and you could hear a pin drop in the room. Wide-eyed shell-shocked faces stare in our direction, and it appears everyone is dumbstruck.
Inside, I’m slowly disintegrating.
“You’re lying,” Kent hisses.
