I hear the rustling of someone on the other side, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. Here we go, better to just get this shit started so it can be over. I want to hide away in my room and get lost in my paints for the rest of the night. The light turns green, casting a neon glow through the small space. I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak, but the person on the other side beats me to it.
“I’ll go first. Kinda just want to get this shit over with.” My head falls backward as I subtly shake it in shock. I know thatvoice.Fucking Corvus. “I’m adopted. No one really knows that, not that it’s a secret. My parents did an incredible job of raising me and gave me a good life, and the one condition of my adoption was that I attend Corvus. Turns out my bloodline is directly related to one of the founding families. I came here and pretended like it was because I had to, but there’s a huge part of me that wants to know more about why I’m here, more about my lineage, and I feel like fucking shit for wanting that, because it feels disloyal to these two humans that love me so unconditionally and gave up everything to raise me. So, I pretend like I don’t give a shit, pretend like I don’t care, but really, I can’t help but feel like I belong here, like I’ve found a piece of myself that was missing. I don’t know if that’s Corvus, or hell,Crimson Veil, or this incredible woman that I love more than anything. All I know is that while my heart is with my family back home, my soul feels at home here, and my head is all sorts of fucked up about that.”
Damn. I guess Parker Kingsford is fucking human, after all. I clear my throat, dropping my voice a few octaves lower, doing my best to hide my identity from him. But when I go to give my rehearsed speech, that’s not what comes out.
“My parents, my dad specifically, only care about status. I’m forced to be here, too, except I don’t want to be. It’s required. I’m supposed to play the part, by any means necessary, to get ahead, to get in, to be at the top. Hell, even this confession right now has been drilled into my brain ten million times. Except that isn’t the one I’m giving, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to be my dad or my parents. I just want to be me, and I’m tired of hiding who I am to be this version of myself they’ve curated to best represent our family and our name. I fucking hate it, and it’s killing me slowly.” I run my clammy hands across my thighs, shifting from foot to foot. I stare at thegreen light, willing it to turn red so I can get the fuck out of here before I puke when his voice breaks the silence.
“We’ve only got one life, there’s no point in hiding from it.”
The light turns red, and I open the door, stepping out into the dimly lit room. There’s no one around me, so I walk down the row of makeshift booths until I come out in the front. I can’t explain why I linger at the entryway to the stairs, but I lean my shoulder against the cool tile and cross my arms. A few short minutes later, I spot Parker’s head of blond hair, illuminated by the light. He walks over to me, his shoulders pulled back in his typical confident posture, all semblance of the vulnerable man who just confessed to me gone.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you lingering. Thought you’d be racing to Mia. Fuck knows that’s what I’d be doing right now.”
I don’t give his quip a response, even if he’s obviously fishing to find out if she broke things off with me, too. I so badly want to tell him that I’ll have her naked with her legs wrapped around my head in less than ten minutes, but for some reason, tonight, I don’t feel like rubbing it in his face. Or lying.
“Tomorrow, we’re studying. I promised Mia I’d get you through this, so that’s what I’m doing.” Even if it kills me.
Chapter 11
Mia
The next two weeks go by painfully slowly. Which is how I end up sitting at the café with Sloane, Felicity, and Abigail, drinking my heartbreak away.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell them to share you openly. It’s not that taboo if you really think about it,” Felicity states, taking a sip of her cocktail.
“Because it’s not right, that’s why.”
“So, breaking it off with them both is so much better?”
“Yes. No. Ugh. I don’t know. My heart hurts. My head hurts. My body feels tight and achy.”
“And you’re extra whiny, holy shit,” Sloane adds, and I shoot her a lethal look. “I’m just saying, you were much more evenly tempered when you were getting dicked down every day.” She makes a fair point. Orgasms are healthy and make for happy people, case in point.
The next round of shots is delivered, and I find myself holding up the clear glass and admiring the pretty coffee-colored liquid with whipped cream swirled on top.
“Put that one down. Blow jobs are taken with no hands,” Sloane says, making me laugh. We’ve each taken turns tonight ordering the filthiest-named shots we can.
“About the only time I’ll participate in a blow job,” Felicity quips, making me laugh harder. “Ready?”
The four of us hover over our shots and talk in unison. “Three. Two. One. Shoot!” I cover my mouth over the rim of the shot glass and pick it up, tipping my head back quickly and letting the liquid rush down my throat, leaving behind a mouthful of coffee-flavored whipped cream. The liquor only burns slightly as it goes down, and I quickly swallow the cream to slide behind it.
“Not nearly sweet enough for me! Whew,” I announce as I wipe my lips on a napkin.
“Well, lucky for you, it’s your turn to order!” I clap my hands, excitedly, quickly writing down the shot name on a piece of napkin like we’ve been doing all night, and handing it over to the waitress as she walks by. She’s back in no time, setting down frothy, baby-pink liquid in double shot glasses.
“Ready to lap up your creamy pussy?” I barely get the words out of my mouth before I drop my head backward in a deep laugh that makes all the alcohol slosh around. Warmth spread through my veins four shots ago, and I’m feeling flushed and more than buzzed. This will no doubt put me over the edge, but it’ll be worth it.
“I cannot seriously believe that is the name of a drink,” Sloane says with a proud look on her face. “I deem you the winner. Well done.”
“Agreed,” Felicity and Abigail say together.
“Alright then, drink up, my girls!”
We hold our creamy pussies out in front of us, calling it out together like always.
“Three. Two. One. Shoot.” We tap our glasses against the tabletop and then take the shots. I know right away that tequila was a very bad idea, and my head starts to swim immediately, the effects of way too much alcohol, not nearly enough water, and doing it all fairly back-to-back.
“Turns out I love a creamy pussy,” Sloane announces after she sets her empty shot glass down, licking her lips. I sway in my seat as I laugh at her. At least, I think I’m swaying. Or she’s swaying. One of us is most definitely swaying. Did I eat dinner?
