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Turning back around, I glare at my father’s cold features as I stalk toward the door. “Until next time, fuckers.” I give them the finger and walk out to the sounds of my little sister screaming my name.
Chapter Two
Nate
My 1970 black-on-black Dodge Challenger idles in front of the whitewashed fairy tale Woodsburgh mansion. It has taken me three days of driving to get here and three days of wondering why the fuck I’ve decided to see her now after all these years. My mom, the carefree hippie, left my dad and me for a life of gypsy living. Well, this fucking Woodsburgh mansion doesn’t really fit with my memories of her and her carefree nature.
I eye the man in his penguin suit as he makes his way toward me and my out-of-place muscle car with its rumbling exhaust. He's probably going to tell me to move along as my vehicle is polluting the pristine air and doesn't match the aesthetic of the pretty fountain in the circular drive. Neither I nor my car fit in here, and it’s so fucking obvious. This place is too clean and pure for a delinquent like me. I wind my window down and peer up at him, surprised to see the admiration in his eyes as he looks at my car.
“She’s a beauty. They don’t make them like this anymore,” he whistles.
I like this guy. “No, they don’t.” I smile appreciatively.
“Young man, let me park this for you with the rest of the guest’s cars. I promise I will take good care of her.” He opens my door, and I sit there dumbfounded. Usually, I get asked to leave and not in a nice way.
“Aren’t you going to ask who I am and why I’m here?” I look up at him in confusion.
“No, I know who you are, and I’m pleased to finally meet you, Nate.” He nods as I climb out of the car.
His short stature only comes up to my shoulders even with his top hat on. He holds his hand out for me to shake and I take it hesitantly. His grip is firm but not in a threatening way and his genuine grin is reassuring that he’s not going to call the police on me. Watching him climb into my car and admire the aged leather, a sense of familiarity burns through me, a feeling I haven’t had the pleasure of feeling since I was a kid.
“I’ll take care of her.” He interrupts my thoughts, nodding once, before he eases the car down the long driveway and heads around the back of the house leaving me standing at the bottom of the stairs questioning why I’m here.
Climbing the stairs up to the grand front porch, I hesitate at the double doors, staring down at my boots and the vast contrast between them and the loafers by the mat. Swanky jazz music seeps through every crack it can find, and it grates on my ears. The assault of the moody music almost has me turn around and leave when the door opens, and a small child rushes straight into my legs.
“Careful, buddy.” I bend down and catch him before he lands on his ass. His mother, I presume, appears in the doorway and looks down at me over her perfectly shaped, enhanced nose.
“Who are you?” Her voice rises above the music as she grips her kid by the arm and drags him away from me as though I’m going to give him some sort of fucking disease.
“My mom owns this motherfucker, sweetheart.” I wink at her, stepping through the door, making sure my tattooed arm brushes hers as I enter.
Her gasp of shock is quickly drowned out by the noise from the chatter inside. There are people everywhere, all dressed in their finest, drinking and dancing. It looks like a scene straight out of a fucking Hallmark movie. Is this what my mom ran away for? Is this what she really wanted instead of me?
I feel the eyes of the strangers size me up as I make my way through the grand living area. My jaw aches from the clenching of my teeth as I glare back at them. I stalk straight through the middle of the crowded room to look for her, and the guests move willingly out of my way, scared that I’ll accidently touch them. Typical stuck-up assholes, always afraid of anything different.
I make my way into the next room and then through some closed double doors into an empty library. The dark furniture and drapes here don't match the rest of the house from what I’ve seen so far. I sit on the cold leather sofa for a minute to collect my emotions and thoughts. I shouldn’t have come here. What the fuck was I thinking when I drove out of my hometown? The sad fucking part is I have no other place to go. My friend’s parents won’t let me crash at their place anymore because I’m the troublemaker they wished their kids weren’t friends with.
“Fuck,” I shout into the cold dark room. Cupping my face in my battered hands as rage pools in my gut when the reality of my fucking life crashes into me. My knuckles are still raw and hurt like a bitch from pummelling that fuckers face in the other night. He deserved it and everything else that’s coming to him.
The need to flee overwhelms me, but I have to see her, even just one glance. I need to see with my own two eyes thatshe is happy without me in her life. I climb off the sofa once my rage has simmered and head back through the closed doors to glances of disapproval. As I stalk through the guests, the urge to flip them off is strong, but I ignore them all and their judgemental glares and head up a set of stairs, through a set of open doors that leads to a room with a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner. A fucking Christmas tree set up in August when Christmas isn’t for another four months.
I have no fucking idea what I’m even doing at this point, mindlessly searching for a person I haven’t seen in years. A person who left me behind and will probably tell me to leave once she takes one look at me.
Spotting all the wrapped presents underneath the tree, a pang of jealousy splinters through my soul. All the Christmas’s I have missed out on with her all because she wanted something different. All because she didn’t want me. Closing the distance to the tree, and without thinking, I viciously kick the pile of carefully placed presents and smile as they go flying in all directions. It’s immature and won’t make anything better but it fucking feels good right now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A deep voice echoes in my ears.
Spinning around I come face to face with a preppy-looking dick. His menacing gaze and puffed out, muscled chest makes my dick stir in my pants. He looks every part of the spoiled rich boy aesthetic with his perfect golden hair, designer polo shirt, and loafers to match. He is the total opposite of my type and yet here I am getting turned on by him.
“What the fuck is it to you?” I mimic his tone, place my hands in my pockets and stare back at him.
“Are you lost, trailer trash?” His words cut through the air between us as he slams the doors shut behind him and charges forward like a bull to get all up in my business. He’s as tall as mebut looks as though he’s never missed a session at the gym. His muscles bulge against the sleeves of his shirt and his dark gaze rakes over me as he steps even closer. I noticed the deep blue of his eyes and the hatred his gaze emanates as his mouth forms into a hard line.
Pricks like this douche don’t phase me, they’re all muscles and zero brains. I take the last step left between us and crowd his space; my chest brushing his, sending a shiver down my spine. Our eyes are level as we size each other up and I watch his nostrils flare as desire flashes behind his darkened glare. I know that look, even if he only let it slip for a split second. I deliberately lick my lip ring and follow his gaze as it zeroes in on my tongue. I can’t help but smirk at his attempt to hide his true feelings.
His hand flies up, fisting my vintage t-shirt. “Get the fuck out of my house.” His voice rumbles through him, his lips inches from mine, and I control the urge to lick them to really piss him off. Something about him calls to me. I want to watch him come undone. I want to be the one to push him over the edge.
“Boys!” A deep voice breaks the tension between us.
