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Lifting my focus off his too-cute face, I studied the seam of the elevator doors atop the rich jerk’s head in front of us.
The first day of my sophomore year was going to kick ass. I would fit in. Make friends. And keep a close eyes on my stepbrother as best I could. Fuck knew the kid had anxiety issues enough for the entire school’s population.
Nothing about this middle-class Bostonian with a heavy accent fit in with the elites at Dupont Prep.
D.P.
Whenever I thought about the prestigious school’s initials, I snorted. Sean had gotten a kick out of it too. While he was vers, he’d never taken two dicks at once. I’d yet to have one up my ass and wasn’t sure how I really felt about being penetrated, but I was open to maybe try it someday. I’d topped twice to Sean’s…twelve? Twenty times having sex? The guy was a total horndog.
I’d lost my virginity the summer before, but he’d been thirteen when he’d first been blown by another guy.
I missed the fucker, his constant upbeat attitude and laughter.
New York could do with a dozen Sean Foxes. D.P. especially. Every student walked around like they had two dicks shoved up their ass. Noses in the air, they sniffed at me as though I was beneath the soles of their designer shoes.
Three years.
Those words were still my mantra, my focus beyond passing high school so I could return to Boston for college. Sean and I would both get our MBAs then go work for some company or start our own and make a million so we could donate to politicians who believed guys like us deserved equal rights.
That last bit was a stretch, but why not shoot for the stars?
At least Preston had made a new friend. He told me about a Manhattan-born boy who’d recently switched schools, and like Preston, he was small and timid.
Benjamin Byron Baldwin-Barclay.
Who the fuck named their kid that? Pretentious assholes, and New York was fucking full of them.
“Drake!”
I recognized the high-pitched voice calling to me. Quad-B I’d nicknamed Ben. Turning, I scanned over the teenagers in the hallway as we all headed for our next class.
A dark mop of hair bobbed up and down, skinny arms waving frantically.
Frowning, I started toward him, not bothering to excuse myself as I jostled other students out of my way. I’d found no one else had a lick of decency in how they treated non-friends, so why should I?
“Drake!” Ben’s face was white as a sheet. “Preston needs you!” He spun and sprinted back from where he’d come, and I hoofed it hot on his heels, my pulse picking up pace.
“The fuck is going on, Quad-B?”
“The Shipley bully and his minions,” he gasped, out of breath.
Shit.
Teeth clenched, I readied to break a nose or three. Hell, maybe a couple of arms. Smash in some teeth, at the very least.
Jackson Shipley was one of the richest brats in New York and the fucker who had picked on Preston throughout middle school. He’d ignored my stepbrother so far this year, but it sounded like things had gone back to the way they used to be.
It was time to stop that shit from continuing once and for all.
Dad—Jacqueline especially—had warned me to be on my best behavior and would skin me alive if I caused unnecessary drama that would soil the Casswell name. Made me want to misbehave just so she’d send me away, but with my only option being Mom and those two annoying daughters of her husband’s…yeah, no.
I would have to play nice.
Somewhat.
We rounded a corner, and sure enough, Preston was on his hands and knees, attempting to gather up a mess of papers strewn over the floor. Two guys stood with Shipley, who loomed over Preston, both laughing at whatever the fucker had said. A smaller group of kids lingered around, the girls snickering behind their hands and manicured fingernails.
Shipley play-slapped Preston’s pale cheek. “Look at the pimple-faced faggot on his knees like he’s desperate to blow me.”
