ARROGANT BASTARD (13 page)

I’ve never snuck out in my life, but here I am, ten o’clock on a school night, walking toward a twenty-one-and-over bar in downtown Whispering Hills. Music travels down the street with a steady thumping that beats in time with our footsteps.

The beating in my chest coincides with the music, giving me an adrenaline rush. My body’s been tingling with raw dynamism since the moment we snuck out of the house and dropped my acceptance response in a nearby mailbox before cruising across town.

“Welcome to the dark side.” My cousin, Liberty, opens up the alley entrance in the back of the place a moment later. She’s always been my rebellious older cousin—the one my father would keep at an arm’s length because he said she would be a bad influence on us. “Jensen, how goes it?”

She slaps his shoulder and gives it a squeeze before leading us down a long, dark hallway. The music grows louder as we pass door after door. My shoes stick to the floor when I walk, making a Velcro noise with each step. It smells like alcohol and cigarettes.

“Come on.” Jensen slows down, slipping his hand across my lower back. He leans into my ear so I can hear him above the noise. “Tonight’s all about you.”

His words warm my soul more than he’ll ever know. I rarely feel special, especially growing up in such a large family.

Liberty takes us to a VIP area with a bunch of low-to-the-ground seating and a blue velvet rope separating us from the rest of the bar scene. A fancy looking bottle of clear alcohol sits on a bucket of ice surrounded by several bottles of beer.

“Kian’s headlining tonight,” she yells. “So we get the VIP treatment.”

Everywhere I look, people are dancing, laughing, drinking, touching, feeling, kissing, partying. I’m surrounded by everything I’ve been led to believe is evil. But it can’t be evil. Everyone’s having so much fun.

“I’ll be right back.” Jensen taps my leg and exits the VIP area, coming back a few minutes later with a cup for me.

“What is this?”

“Sprite.”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He hands me my cup.

“If you’re going to be bad, Jensen Mackey, at least invite me.”

I feel it—that rebellion in my marrow that creeps up from time to time. I’m feeling good, my freedom just two months away. Jensen says no one can take it from me, and I’m finally beginning to believe he’s onto something.

And that calls for a celebration.

“You feeling all right?” Jensen grabs a beer from the ice bucket and twists the cap off. He promised to take me under his wing tonight, swearing on his life we won’t get caught.

I swipe the bottle from his hands and take a swig. It’s disgusting. It tastes like watered wheat. My face puckers instantly as I was not expecting the bitterness. Jensen studies me, watching as I take a second drink and a third. It tastes better with each swig, the distinct bite subsiding.

“Okay, then.” Jensen grabs himself another beer, uncaps it, and then clinks it with mine. “To Waverly and her bright future, whatever it may entail.”

“To the University of Utah.” I take another drink.

Liberty stands up, whistling through her fingers as a new band takes the stage. It must be her boyfriend. He takes a seat on a bar stool, his guitar slung around his chest. She is glued to him, a smile claiming her red lips. A tattoo vining up her forearm reads “wild thing” in ornate, cursive letters. I admire her ability to not care what anyone else thinks, to be her true self and to live a life that’s all her own.

He strums and then tunes his guitar and the crowd cheers. The rest of his band takes the stage. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses and a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos much like Liberty’s. His hair is long and mangy, and yet he’s somehow still a striking man. Anyone with half a brain can see he and Liberty are cut from the same cloth.

I finish my beer just as they finish their first song, so I help myself to another. A few songs later, I’m working on my third beer. My face is numb, my body relaxed. I’m sitting here, but I may as well have melted into a puddle of tranquility.

“Hey, slow down,” Jensen says, counting the empty beer bottles that line the table before us. “I’m not here to babysit you tonight.”

I wave my hand in his face, though my depth perception is way off. I end up sliding my fingers across his mouth. His lips are warm against the pads of my fingers, and my belly zings as I think about how they might taste.

But he doesn’t want me. He made that abundantly clear. And things have been good between us ever since we decided to be friends.

“You’re not as fun as I thought you’d be in this setting.” I’m slurring my words, though they’re clear as a bell in my head. “You just sit there like a… like a bump on a log.”

I giggle like I’ve just said the funniest thing in the whole entire world. Buzzing Waverly is much more carefree than her sober counterpart.

“Waverly.” He cocks his head at me, grabbing my wrist with his hand.

“Oh, no,” I laugh. “You better let go of me. I’m not in control.”

He cracks a sarcastic half-smile and releases my wrist. “Just cool it, okay? We’re underage. Last thing we want is to attract any attention. Liberty’s doing us a solid here.”

“I have to use the ladies’ room.” I stand up way too fast, toppling over into his lap, my behind in the air.

My father would be so proud right now.

“Let me walk you.” He helps me up and rises beside me.

I shake my head, my hair falling into my face and sticking to my forehead. The bar feels like a sauna now or maybe it’s just me. “No. I’ll be right back.”

I push through a sea of mostly college-aged people and find the line for the bathroom. The one bathroom door has a man symbol next to a woman symbol, and there are both guys and girls waiting in line.

I sigh, counting ahead to figure out where I fall in line. I’m sixth. It might be a while. Glancing around the room, I watch a rail-thin woman make out with a big, bearded guy. I listen to the girl in front of me yell into her phone, telling her babysitter she’ll be late tonight. The guy behind me has bloodshot eyes and a droopy face. I think he’s on something. I’m in a strange, new land, and I’m still learning the culture, but I kind of like it.

Autonomy is the greatest feeling on earth. Mix that together with a little rebellion and a taste of inhibition, and I’m scaling heights I never knew existed.

I bob my head to the music. It’s deep but catchy, like the voice of a sad man singing happy songs. Liberty’s boyfriend is ridiculously talented.

“Excuse me, miss.” I spin around, finding myself faced with a broad-shouldered man donning a black t-shirt with SECURITY written across it. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”

“You’re lucky your friends are covering for your punk asses,” the owner of the bar scolds us outside in the alley. His finger is pointed at my chest, inches away from poking me. He’s lucky he doesn’t. “You’re eighteen-goddamned-years old. You should be at home, in bed. You’re lucky I don’t call your parents.”

We stand there and take it, waiting for him to calm down so we can leave. I’ve only had one beer, and it’s been well over an hour, so I should be okay to drive us home.

“Get out of here.” The owner waves us away. “And take care of her. She’s drunk off her ass.”

He would be correct. Waverly is sloppy drunk from the three beers she chugged on an empty stomach. That, and it’s her first time drinking. She has zero tolerance. I should’ve kept a closer eye on her.

I slip her arm around my shoulder and wrap my arm around her back, leading her to my truck.

“Sorry I ruined our night,” she sighs.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You just happen to look young and they happened to notice you.”

“I had fun celebrating,” she says when we reach the truck. I fish for my keys as she leans against it, staring at me like she’s lost in thought. “Thanks for celebrating with me. It means a lot.”

I slip my key into the passenger door and yank it open for her like her own personal coachman. “Hop on in. Let’s get you home.”

She doesn’t move. “I mean it, Jensen. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who actually gives a darn about me.”

I smile. Even when she’s drunk, she can’t bring herself to swear. Her hand lifts to my face, her fingertips tracing my jaw as her eyes narrow and attempt to focus on my mouth.

“That’s not true.”

“The way you look at me.” She exhales her words. “It’s different. No one else looks at me the way you do.”

I shrug. Sure, I think the world of her. She’s pretty much the only person I’ve ever known that I don’t completely dislike. But we don’t talk about how we feel about each other anymore, not since that first week when we both made it clear we shared a mutual attraction. Shit got weird, and it’s been smooth sailing ever since we got past that.

“You’re imagining things. Get in.”

“Am I?” She still won’t move. “Am I imagin-in-ing-ing it, Jensen?”

She’s had too much to drink. Her filter is loose, if not missing altogether. She’s speaking whatever’s on her mind, and she’s going to regret it tomorrow. I opt not to engage in this drunken conversation in lieu of getting her home safely.

The second we pull up to the main house, I make sure the lights are out and Mark Miller’s not lurking in the shadows somewhere. She’s passed out beside me, her head pressed against the condensation-covered glass of the passenger window. The coast is clear, so I climb out, grab Waverly, hoist her over my shoulder like a rag doll. Inside, I quietly carry her upstairs, where I deposit her gently into her bed.

She stirs slightly, then makes a faint humming sound as she breathes. “Jensen?”

She’s awake.

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“Now will you kiss me?”

She’s drunk. She’s just saying that. She doesn’t mean it.

Fuck, do I want to kiss her.

But that ship has sailed.

Not that I haven’t thought about it every single day since I’ve lived here.

Besides, she won’t remember it in the morning, and I won’t forget, and that’ll be a problem for me.

***

“We’re having company over for dinner tonight.” I overhear Jane talking to Bellamy and Waverly in the kitchen as they prepare breakfast the next morning. Fridays usually mean cinnamon French toast and scrambled eggs. This place is a tightly run ship with intricate routines and a careful balance of customs and schedules.

Company?

I’m surprised they’re having someone over given the fact that they live their lives in secrecy. Must be another poly person.

Summer labors over a hot skillet, minding her own business. It’s like she’s not even there.

“Please wear your Sunday best,” Jane says. I glance over to see her pointing to both her daughters.

Why would they need to dress up for a Friday night dinner?

“Should I dress up too?” I interject facetiously from across the room where I’m finishing up some homework before breakfast. Three sets of eyes dart toward me.

“I can’t make it tonight,” Bellamy says casually. “Work thing.”

“You didn’t mention that before. And it’s not on the family calendar. You’ll have to reschedule it.” Jane says it in such a way that Bellamy doesn’t bother arguing. “Our guest is coming from out of town. Your attendance is mandatory, and Waverly, why on Earth do you look so tired this morning? You feeling okay?”

“Are you going to tell us who’s coming?” Waverly asks, blinking bloodshot eyes. She massages her temples as soon as her mother looks away.

“Your father will talk to you this evening.” Jane leaves it at that, walking off to set the table.

Tonight must be when they drop the bomb on Waverly about her college plans, but why would they do that with company coming over?

This family is so fucking weird.