She ignored me and looked back at the cup she was washing, now mouthing the lyrics to the next song.
How many fucking songs were on this album? The music was distracting my distraction, and I wasn’t sure I could take it any longer.
“Do you want to join us?” I asked.
She pulled a face. “You just said you’re going to a party.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
I stifled a groan. This fucking girl. Why couldn’t she just indulge me in a simple conversation? I was going to have to start fucking singing. If I knew any of the lyrics, I probably would have. That was how desperate I was for her to talk to me. Between her nonchalant attitude and Prescott telling me she used to be completely different, I became morbidly intrigued. Anyone else would have just been curious, maybe tried to learn a few things, and let it go. I became fixated on it. On hockey, cars, grades, and right now, Lyla James Marichal. The only other person who could intrigue me this much was my father, who only came around when it was convenient. In his absence, I would fixate on his life.Where was his office? Who was his secretary? Why was he fucking Nancy from accounting instead of staying with my mother, whom he supposedly loved more than anything (including his children)?The music suddenly stopped and snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Why don’t you want to go?”
“Because I don’t like people.” She said it so matter-of-factly that despite my annoyance with her, I huffed out a laugh, and then she added, “Butif the issue is that you’re planning on having sex and can’t perform while I’m here, I can leave and come back in. . .” she sized me up. “Five minutes.”
I looked the other way so she wouldn’t see me laugh. How was it that her insults amused me and turned me on?
“Why don’t you want to stay? You think you’ll get turned on and want to join us?”
At that, she laughed wholeheartedly, and damn it, I tried not to react, but her laughter was a thing of beauty. Her eyes twinkled, and she threw her head back a little. It was infectious. I wondered if she’d walked around with that twinkle in her eyes before whatever happened broke her. She switched off the water, dried her hands, and grabbed her bag. She was leaving.Where? With who?I gripped the book tighter, wishing it was her hand. Her waist. Her throat.
“Why is that funny? It’s not a far-fetched scenario. You must have seen it in one of the porn videos you watch.”
She rolled her eyes, but I saw a ghost of a smile. She was wearing baggy jeans and an oversized shirt. Biggie Smalls, this time. Even with it, I could see the sway of her hips as she sauntered over. She kept her eyes on mine the entire time. My heart sped up. People were predictable. I could typically gauge what they would do before they did it. It was one of the things that set me apart from most people on the ice. If you looked for certain things, you could probably predict at least half of what someone would do next. Not Lyla James, though. With how she was walking, she looked like she would either straddle my lap or slap me. Maybe both. Those were the options. She stood between my legs, so close to me that I could pull her onto my lap. Fuck, I wanted to. She was so close that if she looked, she’d see the outline of my dick with how hard she was making me. Baggy clothes, hair in a messy bun, random taste in music and all — I’d never seen anything sexier than this woman.
“For starters,” she said, leaning down, so we were eye to eye. This was the first time I saw something other than a void in her eyes. There was fire and amusement, and the mixture made it hard to breathe. “I don’t need a storyline in my porn.” She snatched the book from my hand and moved her face even closer. I could smell her minty breath and the gardenia scent that floated everywhere with her. Our noses were almost touching. Was this a test? For a split second, she looked at my lips and back to my eyes, and I thought she’d surely kiss me. I didn’t know how I felt about that. I didn’t let anyone kiss me. “Secondly, I like sex as much as I like people.”
I blinked hard, my heart pounding.
She turned and walked away, looking over her shoulder with the most sinful smile I’d ever seen. “Have fun at the party.”
I wasn’t easily surprised, but color me fucking surprised. She didn’t like anything, fine. But who the fuck didn’t like sex? Damn it. I hated her for getting me worked up and playing me like that. I hated her even more for dropping that piece of information and leaving. I’d obsess over it until she gave me an explanation.
CHAPTER3
LACHLAN
When Prescott mentionedthat Marissa and Lyla were going to the country club, I offered to pick them up. Thankfully, he didn’t question my motives. He should have since I’d never offered to pick anyone up, but he probably thought it had something to do with Marissa. Little did he know, I wished I could leave her ass at home and just take Lyla with me. Being stuck in a car with her for twenty minutes meant she’d have to speak to me. Of course, when I got to their apartment, Marissa told me that Lyla had already left. I sat in the living room, waiting for Marissa to finish getting ready, and Googled Lyla for the second time. Her socials were set to private, and I’d already requested her on every single one, even the ones I didn’t use. She hadn’t accepted any of them. Thanks to her father’s notoriety, I found that her birthday was January 28th. She’d played soccer and apparently was pretty good at it. She went to prom with some douchebag named Skylar Wyatt Parker, whose socials were set to public, and I was able to stalk the shit out of her. I went as far back as his first post, which was a feat since the guy had made over four thousand posts. He played lacrosse in high school and was currently playing for Yale. Pre-med.
There were two pictures of them together, one at prom and one with his hand over her shoulder. She was wearing a Yale hoodie that was so big on her that it obviously belonged to him. The caption was an emotional face emoji. I felt my face twist in disgust. On the fifth page of the search, I found a message board discussing a car accident she’d been involved in. They didn’t give details, and most of the comments were redacted. It must have been her father’s doing. Maybe she’d been under the influence and got into a car accident? One comment on page three of the discussion said:pls stop talking about this. People’s lives were shattered!It was left a little over a year ago by the screenname PiKaChOo9. I clicked the screen name and scanned what else they’d commented on, but it was primarily Pokemon-related.
“Ready.” Marissa walked out of her room. I clicked the side button on my phone as I stood.
She was wearing a sundress that I was sure her asscheeks would be hanging out of later. It was a pool party, though. Truthfully, I was almost at my limit with Marissa. At last night’s party, she’d finally gotten the hint that I wasn’t interested and stopped trying to rope me into hooking up with her. I’d resorted to extreme measures and let some girl in my ECON class sit on my lap right in front of her. It was a dick move, but I’d known people like Marissa my entire life, and I knew she wouldn’t stop unless I gave her solid proof that I wasn’t interested.
“I can’t believe Prescott invited all of us to the country club, of all places. I haven’t been in years,” she said in the car, taking breaks between words as she applied mascara – clear mascara, she’d said, because of the water. “He rented out the pool space, which is a big deal. And Lyla going? Even bigger deal.”
I couldn’t be sure, but my heart pounded a little harder at the mention of Lyla. I played it off. “Why is that a big deal?”
“She’s been through a lot,” Marissa said, flipping the sun visor. “The first year and a half of college, she lived with a group of girls, and even though we’re best friends, we didn’t really go to the same parties. Then. . .” She shook her head. “Then she moved into her dad’s guest house, and last semester, she finally caved and moved in with me like she was supposed to four years ago.”
“I’ve never seen her around,” I said.
“She only takes online classes so she’s never on campus unless she has to do labs or whatever. Nothing interests her, so the fact that she's coming out twice in one weekend is a big deal. This will be good for her.”
“Everyone is different. Maybe people need to let her grieve in peace.”
