“Now that we cleared that up, are you down for some porn sex?”
“Still no.”
“Is it because of that guy you’re dating?”
“Lachlan Duke,” she said, keeping her face forward, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “Are you stalking me?”
Was she smiling at the thought of me stalking her? She had no fucking idea how much stalking I’d already done and would continue to do. Was she smiling because she was thinking about him? I didn’t like that option.
“Would you like it if I was?”
She peered up at me and searched my eyes. “No.”
I groaned. “So, it’s because of the guy you’re dating?”
She said nothing as she turned around and started heading inside. I followed behind her like the lost puppy I was — no use in acting tough about it. This fucking girl was turning me inside out with her bullshit.
I opened the door for her. “I’m going to take your silence as a yes.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
I had never wanted to chase anyone my entire life, and the first person I genuinely wanted to chase didn’t care whether or not I tried. Maybe she was unaffected by me because she was used to guys falling at her feet. Before today, I would’ve had a harder time believing that, but no one in their right mind wouldn’t think she was hot. And she was funny. And Marissa said it was worth it when she opened up to you. I kept my eyes on her the entire time. She reached the lounge chairs first, kicked off her flip-flops, and carefully folded the shirt I’d given her. Once she was done, she peeled off her cover-up and gave me a full view of her toned ass in those tiny bikini bottoms. I had to take a breath and avert my eyes. I didn’t want the guys to see how much she affected me. I didn’t know how, but I would have Lyla James or die trying. For the first time in four years, I was going to put $100 into the dibs collection, and I didn’t even care.
CHAPTER4
LYLA
The only thingI hated more than a party was a stuffy party, especially ones I was required to attend. I’d already looked out the window of the guest house fifty times, trying to figure out when would be a good time for me to make an appearance and leave. I was aware that many college girls (and guys) would kill for the opportunity to be at my father’s famous Senior Sports Ball. Dad came up with that very original, cringy, on-the-nose name for the event. Only a few seniors from each team were invited. The four themes were recycled: Gatsby (of course), Egyptian, Masquerade, and 1920s (which honestly was Gatsby with another name). Dad loved that theme, which was why this year was the 1920s. I’d done this charade so many times that I had three outfits for each theme. Tonight, I wore a short but loose black and gold flapper dress. The fringe at the bottom hit me at my knees. I’d been waiting to put on my heels when I was ready to go out there. I’d almost gone out twice, but since the party took place in the backyard, it was steps away from the guest house, and I wanted to sneak into the tent without getting noticed.
I already didn’t want to be here, but tonight of all nights, I wished I could disappear. I hated my father and hated him even more for hosting it tonight. I hated Marie for agreeing with everything he said and did. When I begged them to move it to another night, she’d said, “We need to create good memories to replace the bad ones.” As if anything could ever let me forget this day. I didn’t like Marie much, to begin with. She’d always been kind to me, but my mother passed away a couple of years ago, and Marie was already moved into the house my parents shared just two months after the funeral. My mother never liked her, and the reason was obvious. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude that Marie, who’d been my father’s secretary for the last six years, was fucking him. Such a cliché. Before she moved in, I'd been living in the guest house, where I'd tried to stay afterward — not for my father's sake, but for my own. The guest house made me feel closer to my mom, and no one bothered me. I never set foot in the main house anyway, so her presence shouldn’t bother me as much as it did. I’d order take-out or drive to get food instead of walking over there. I’m not even sure my father noticed. He only liked playing the role of father, not actuallybeingone. That was before Mom died in the accident. Afterward, I guess he tried a little harder to be there for me — if you counted the therapist and the money he kept depositing into my bank account each month as helping. Dad didn’t put a Band-Aid on things; he threw piles of money at them until they were no longer something he had to deal with.
Tonight, my guilt and sadness weren’t because of Mom, though. Tonight was the anniversary of Luke’s death. Luke, who Dad had treated like a son. Who he’d encouraged me to date. When he’d found out I was going to prom with someone else, he’d called Luke and apologized to him personally, as if he had anything to do with our lives. I loved Luke so fucking much, but I was never going to marry him, no matter how often he boasted about that — and he’d boasted plenty. I wish he hadn’t. I wish he’d never announced that he’d bought me an engagement ring and that he’d never stood up during Friendsgiving with our parents’ friends to talk about things like that and joke that we might elope. I blinked quickly to evade tears. I hated crying, and if I started, I wouldn’t stop. I hadn’t cried in so long, I didn’t even think my tear ducts worked anymore, but tonight they would. Tonight, all the emotions I normally buried would be exposed.
No one would bring up Luke’s death tonight. They knew better, but even a squeeze of my arm telling me they were sorry would set me off. Usually, I found ways to distract myself from feeling anything at all. It was quite possibly the best and worst skill my mind had acquired throughout all of this. Best, because only a handful of brave souls tried to get me to open up again. Worst, because once you learned how to numb yourself from pain, you took the risk of it happening to all of your emotions. That was the case for me, for the most part. Until recently, I didn’t think I could feel anything besides guilt and sadness. My phone buzzed on the bed, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I saw a text from Banks.
Banks: I’m here. Table 10. Where are you?
Me: omw
I put on my heels, rechecked my makeup, and left the room, shutting and locking the door. I took deep, calming breaths on my way to the tent and hoped no one stopped me for small talk. Of course, they did anyway. Whenever I dressed up for these godforsaken events, people saw it as the perfect opportunity to get me to open up again. It was as if a little bit of makeup and doing something with my hair meant I was no longer this fucked up, broken version of myself. I was just starting to breathe a little easier as I walked away from the latest cordial conversation when I felt a hand on my elbow. The smells hit me first — they were always wearing the same colognes, one with a spicier scent than the other. Since they both always hit the spray one too many times to cover up the smell of cigarettes, it was overpowering when they were next to you. I froze as a million dark emotions instantly coursed through me. I settled on boredom.
“You weren’t planning on saying hello?” Jameson asked, his voice low behind my right ear. I held my breath, yanked my elbow away, turned around quickly, and caught sight of the two men before me.
“You look incredible, Lyles,” Officer Hughes said beside him, tossing his cigarette in the grass as his blue eyes roamed my body.
I was so grateful the dress was loose, and there wasn’t much to see. Not that it made me any less uncomfortable. I thanked him under my breath as I tried to stop tensing up, but it was useless. Both of them kept me on edge; they were cousins and always around, which made it worse. Officer Ned Hughes was the chief of police, the hero of Fairview, and a total fucking creep. He was always at Dad’s beck and call, though. He was always mixing drinks for everyone. Always the life of the party. Beside him was David Jameson, formerly Coach Jameson, who was also revered in Fairview. His family was important as hell in society. When he decided to coach hockey at the university, everyone looked at it like he was doing some kind of charity, as if they weren’t paying him a boatload of money. He didn’t need the money, though, so he was seen as “so kind” and “so gracious.” Women fell at his feet. A record number of guys he’d coached had made it to the NHL or CHL. These were achievements that could be linked to Coach Jameson directly. He was my father’s best friend and my godfather. Idespisedhim. I despised every single adult with ties to Fairview at this event, yet here I was, about to let them make me feel small and uncomfortable.
“I hadn’t seen you,” I said, my voice serious and expression blank, as I looked between them.
“I figured as much.” Jameson smiled, his blue eyes roaming my face. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I looked around for anyone to come and rescue me from these two.
Thankfully, I spotted Jameson’s long-term girlfriend walking over. Thank you, universe. Sydney was the only one I could stand in this crowd, probably because she was a transplant from Chicago. She always looked flawless and was kind — unlike Hughes, Jameson, my father, and that cunt Marie. I couldn’t fathom why Sydney was in their clique, but I was sure Jameson’s looks, stature, and charm had a lot to do with it. Hughes was actually married, which was even more mind-blowing. But again — looks, stature, and charm were enough for some people.
“Hey, Lyla. You look gorgeous,” Sydney said, smiling as she hugged me.
“So do you,” I said, holding her arm. “Well, I have to get going. It was great seeing you all. I’ll catch you later.”
