Wes laughed, flashing his perfectly straight pearly whites down at me.
Although I was only in this masquerade of a relationship for sex, I found I enjoyed being in his company. Wes was charming and funny, even if he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Handsome in the traditional sense with his dark blond hair, light brown eyes, and clean-shaven jaw. He dressed like a Tommy Hilfiger ad—casual prep, I called it. With his button-down shirt and his khaki shorts, the white sneakers, and no-show socks, he looked as though he was ready for vacation or class, neither of which he was going to.
Most of all, I liked Wes because he was normal, and my only objective in life was to obtain a sense of normalcy that would drown out my veryabnormal existence. There wasn’t anything mysterious or daring about him, and I found that … nice. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was lacking nice in my life. Mainly had to do with my mother, who acted more like a rebellious teenager at forty than I ever had. Considering I’d just turned twenty-two, I probably should’ve been the one acting out, embracing my youth. Instead, she was the one who partied all night, drank too much, snorted even more, and lived like royalty.
Granted, Monica Quinn was royalty. Hollywood royalty. I blamed her millions of adoring fans for her inability to grow up. Everyone thought Monica Quinn didn’t give a shit about anything because she ensured that was the face she showed the world, but I knew better. Behind closed doors, she was insecure and needy, and she would do anything to ensure she was the center of everyone’s universe. Everyone but me, that was. If only they knew the woman I knew, they wouldn’t fawn all over her like she was some sort of princess.
Tell me, princess. What’s it like to be the daughter of a Hollywood queen?
I shivered as Diggy’s voice sounded in my head. I fought the urge to turn around to look for him. He wasn’t there. He was merely a figment of my overactive and quite traumatized imagination. Ever since I’d been rescued from that hell hole, I’d heard his voice often. Five years, five months, twenty-three days, and counting, and I was still looking over my shoulder for ghosts that didn’t exist. And the wordprincesswas a surefire way of triggering my paranoia.
“Where’d your thoughts go?” Wes’s adoration had morphed into concern, evidenced by the little wrinkle across his forehead.
I shook off thoughts of Diggy and the hole I could still see vividly in the middle of his forehead.
“Laikyn? You okay?”
I nodded, then came up with a lie. “Sorry. Just thinking about my mother.”
And just like that, it wasn’t a lie. Iwasthinking about my mother.
“She okay? Your mom?”
No.“Always.”
Although Monica was the one who introduced us, I had yet to bring Wes around her, figuring he was better off staying far, far away. I had learned my lesson the hard way when I opted to introduce my last boyfriend—Rory of the hot sex in the locker room—to my mother over dinner.
That particular encounter was shortly after I’d been delivered back home by the white knight who’d put another hole in Diggy’s face. Despite being hounded by reporters and kids at my school, I was determined to go back to normal. Granted, normal was relative, and since I’d never been, I wasn’t putting too much thought into what I was doing. Case in point: introducing my boyfriend to my mom. I learned the error of my ways after she jerked off my seventeen-year-old boyfriend at the dinner table.Herdinner table. In her house.
It didn’t matter that Rory had actually liked it—ick—because Rory-of-the-hot-sex-in-the-locker-room had been a minor. Needless to say, he’d received a ridiculous payout to keep his mouth shut and a promise that he would never come around again.
Too bad because Rory really had been a good fuck.
Until this year, when my mother started setting me up, I hadn’t dated anyone since him. Not by the traditional definition, anyway. I’d had sex with plenty, exploring my youth and using sex as a coping mechanism for all my issues. Whether that was true or not, I didn’t know, but it seemed to appease my therapist. She didn’t force me to dig deeper once I’d admitted it. Yes, I preferred to keep my interactions with men casual. One-and-done worked well for me since I seemed to have a short attention span and a diva mother who had no business around men my age.
Not to mention, I had an aversion to relationships. I had no desire for anyone to get close enough to figure out I was fucked up in the head. I preferred being the only one who knew about the nightmares or the ridiculous amount of time it took me to scope out an area—including my own driveway—before I could simply get in my car.
“Perhaps I could come by tomorrow. We could take your mom to lunch,” Wes suggested.
Perhaps not.“Mmm. Maybe.”
I accepted a shot glass from a passing waitress who was wearing baby doll lingerie and high heels, her nipples visible to all with eyes.
And Wes said this wasn’t a sex party. Uh-huh. Right. Then again, every party I’d ever been invited to had been a sex party. Like my mother, Beverly Hills wasn’t known for its discretion or calibrated moral compass.
“So, how’d you wrangle an invite to this place?” I asked as we stood together and looked around at the kinky chaos taking place.
“Chastity,” he said quickly, his eyes not meeting mine for the first time tonight.
I turned to face him, concerned. “Your ex-girlfriend?”
“It’s not like that, Laikyn. We’re friends.”
Yeah, friends. Sowhycouldn’t he look at me?
As though he heard my inner question, his gaze skimmed my face before scanning the room again. “I told her you wanted to get out and try new things, so she invited us.”
And byus,he really meanthim,but Wes was far too nice to admit it.
