But whatever.
She won’t look at Thane.
It’s like she couldn’t care less that he’s there, which is truly bizarre. I’d been thinking about this moment all day, practically reveling in how good it was going to feel to shove Thane in her face. Maybe she is over him?
Kerouac and Uncle Vic do most of the talking, Aunt Tab nodding and “mm, hm-ing” every so often between running back and forth to the kitchen to bring out the next course.
By the time we finish dessert, my aunt’s famous crème brulee, the buttons on my jeans are threatening to pop, and I’m wondering if anyone would notice if I disappeared for a little while and changed into something else.
“This was amazing, Mrs. Abbott. Thank you.” Thane pats his washboard abs. “Mr. Abbott, thank you for having me.”
“You’re so welcome, sweetheart,” she says, smiling with every feature on her face. “Ford, was everything okay?”
“Absolutely. Can’t remember the last time I ate like this,” he says, gaze resting on mine. My mind goes to a dark and dirty gutter for a half of a second, picturing his tongue between my thighs as he devours me.
Thane threads his hand through mine, standing and pulling me up. “Our movie starts in a half hour. We should probably head out.”
I follow Thane to the foyer, leaning against the stair rail as he slips his shoes on, and when he’s finished, he rises, strutting toward me and resting his hands on my hips.
“I’m so glad you decided to give me another chance,” he whispers before his mouth grazes mine. He cups my cheek, pressing his lips harder onto mine before slipping me the tongue. I close my eyes, pretending it’s not Thane I’m kissing in this moment.
The clearing of a throat pulls us out of the moment, and thank god for that. Turning, I spot Kerouac standing in the doorway, keys in his hand.
“Don’t mind me.” His tone is displeased, and he directs his attention to me, his stare hard and unforgiving with a hint of something else entirely in his gaze. Jealousy? Resentment?
Passing us, he reaches for the door handle and shows himself out.
“You ready?” Oblivious, Thane checks his phone, firing off a quick text to God knows who. He’s always texting. I don’t tend to care.
“Yeah,” I say. From inside, I see Kerouac trekking across the driveway, heading home.
I’d much rather be with him tonight.
I just hope he knows that.
Absinthe: Hey, you there?
Kerouac: Aren’t you supposed to be at the movies?
Absinthe: I am. Hiding in the bathroom. He took me to some CGI hot mess that has absolutely no plot and terrible dialogue. I’m dying. SOS.
Kerouac: You made your bed.
Absinthe: So you don’t feel sorry for me?
Kerouac: No.
Absinthe: :(
Kerouac: You should get back to your movie.
Absinthe: I know. But I’d rather chat with you. Side note: I’ve decided my type are really attractive, literature-obsessed intellectuals.
Kerouac: Like me?
Absinthe: No! Like me.
Absinthe: I’m basically looking for a guy version of myself. The one I found doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, so …
Kerouac: I know what you’re doing. Stop.
Absinthe: Saw right through that one, huh?
Kerouac: Just because I’m chatting with you doesn’t mean I’m going to make you an exception to my rule.
Absinthe: I saw the way you looked at us earlier … when you saw him kiss me in the foyer. You were bothered by it.
Kerouac: Your point?
Absinthe: The whole time he was kissing me, I was wishing it was you. Just thought you should know.
Kerouac: Get back to your movie.
Kerouac has signed off.
Chapter 29
Ford
“Whoa. I’m surprised you answered. I was just going to leave you a message. Why are you up so late?” Nicolette’s voice chuckles through the receiver just past eleven o’clock Friday night.
“What am I doing up late? You’re the one with a five-year-old who wakes up before the sun.”
“You know I have insomnia. Anyway, check your email.”
“Why?” I ask.
“I sent you an article.”
Retrieving my laptop from the coffee table, I prop the lid open and pull up my email. A moment later it loads, and I sort through dozens of junk messages to find the one with her name on it.
“Is this going to piss me off?” I ask before clicking the link.
“Yes.”
Groaning, I tap the trackpad and pore over an article detailing the recent success of our stepbrother, Mason Foster. According to the write up, his tech company was started when his mother gifted him ten million dollars (of my father’s money), and over the past five years, he’s started a software firm, a wildly popular gaming app universe, and an up-and-coming social network; the latest of which he sold to Facebook for over two billion dollars.
“You done reading yet?” she asks.
I see red. It’s not about the money—I do just fine without it. It’s about the entitled, undeserving bastard and his conniving wench of a mother.
There’s a photo of Mason, perched on the edge of a desk in jeans and a blazer, the views of his office overlooking Silicon Valley as he wears a smug grin. But he’s sitting on a throne built by my parents’ time, money, and dedication. He didn’t earn any of this.
“I fucking hate him,” Nicolette says.
“Not as much as I do.” I press my phone against my chest when I hear a faint knock at the door. “Let me call you back.”
Ending the call, I peer out the window next to the front door and see the outline of a young woman standing in the dark.
Yanking the door open, I exhale. “Why?”
Her full lips curl. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”
Hooking my hand into her arm, I pull her inside before anyone sees her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your date?”
Halston’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she makes a gagging sound. “I was about to die, it was so fucking boring. I made him drop me off early. Told him my curfew was eleven but it’s really midnight. Now I have an hour to kill.”
“You’ve got to stop doing this.” I rest my hands on my hips, shaking my head before releasing a deep breath. All I keep seeing is that picture of Mason, perched on his desk like some self-made man who started from the bottom. And when I glance up at her, all I see is my future going down in flames because I want nothing more than to feel her naked body on mine, her hips grinding on my cock, her full breasts bouncing with each thrust as her mouth finds mine in the dark. “You can’t keep coming over like this.”
“Okay, this is the second time. Ever. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. Tab and Vic are asleep. Bree’s babysitting overnight for some doctor’s family, and when I leave, I’ll sneak out the back door.”
She smirks, stepping toward me and clearly not taking this seriously.
“You really need to lighten up,” she says, eyeing my liquor cart in the corner. “Let me make you a drink.”
Before I have a chance to stop her, she’s pouring two fingers of Scotch into a crystal tumbler. I take a seat in the middle of my sofa, rubbing my eyes and sinking my head back.
“Here you go.” She taps my knee.
When I open my eyes, I find Halston on her knees between my legs, holding up a glass of liquor with a smile on her fuckable mouth. My cock throbs, swelling against my jeans.
“You need to leave,” I say. “Before I do something I’m going to regret the rest of my life.”
Halston’s expression fades. “What did I do? All I did was make you a drink. Now you’re kicking me out?”
“It’s not you,” I say.
“Of course it is.” She rises. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought we had a real connection.” She grabs her bag from the floor by the front door, flinging it over her shoulder. “And I thought maybe you were different, that we had something genuine. But now that you know you can’t fuck me, you just want to be done. So, fine. I get it. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”