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“Okay, well good luck with proving that, given the number of people who can attest to the fact that we’re most definitely a thing. Including your dad and your best friend.”
“They wouldn’t attest to shit, and you know it. If Dad knew who you really were, he’d kick your ass six ways from Sunday, oxygen tank, or not.”
“Maybe. Or you could just drop the case, and you’d never have to see me again. How about that?”
“How about you eat a bag of dicks, and I also never have to see you again ?”
“You say that, and then you refuse to back down, ensuring I’m a constant feature in your life. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking it’s because despite your endless protests to the contrary, you actually like having me around. I can’t say I blame you, what with the way I make you come so epically, and all.”
The smug look on his face made me want to pummel him to death.
“Listen, don’t test me right now. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired, hungry, and in a shitty mood. I cannot be held accountable for what I might do as a result.” Wasn’t that the truth?
“Is that a threat?”
“Nope. Threats are for weak people who have no intention of doing what they say they will.” I took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in throwing his words back in his face.
“Touché. You take that round, but as much I’d love to stay and spar with you, we have to go, or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what?” I truly did not have time for his riddles or theatrics.
“Our date, remember? It’s a charity gala dinner, by the way.”
“I remember saying no. I have to work, remember?”
“And I remember saying I’d pay like one of your regular clients.” He nodded toward my nightstand, and at a wad of cash I hadn’t noticed before.
The only thing stopping me from doing him serious bodily harm was the fact that if I got arrested, I’d be leaving Dad to fend for himself. What little patience I’d had at the beginning of the exchange had dwindled fast.
“Not that I know why I’m dignifying your assholery with a response, but for the record, I’m working at Rollergirl tonight.”
“Except you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“So they didn’t call and cancel you this afternoon, but promise to pay you regardless?”
Damn.
“You did that.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny, but like I said, we need to leave, so let’s go.”
“And I told you, I’m tired. I don’t want to go anywhere. Besides, I don’t have anything suitable for a gala, or whatever the fuck. Unless you want me to go in my spandex tux.” I shuddered internally at the thought of an entire evening spent in the crotch-burning hell suit.
“I wouldn’t mind. You look hot as fuck in that thing. Even hotter out of it. But I’m guessing you wouldn’t be comfortable in it, for more reasons than one...” He looked pointedly at my not-burning crotch, and pulled his lips into a smug smile. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands to keep them by my sides. “...so, that side of things is all taken care of.” What the fuck did he mean by that?
“Now are you going to walk out, or do I need to carry you?”
“Touch me, and your balls won’t know what hit them. I mean kicked them.”
He raised his hands in mock-surrender, his smile rising to a full grin.
I wondered idly what it was like to navigate the world with the arrogance that he and all his friends—Rocky’s fuck-boy, Xavier, especially—seemed to innately possess. Their privilege oozed out of every pore, as did the stench of money, and the confidence of a thousand princes. It occurred to me that no matter how high up the food chain guys in the hood climbed, they never had quite that kind of swag. It really was next level with the rich kids.
“I’m gross from a day of classes. I need to shower.”
He rolled his eyes. “For the love of God, can we just go already?”
