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“You know that after you pack your suitcase up and go back home, that I’m going to be the one still here, right?” he asked. “That I’m one of Archie’s best friends, and I’m honestly rather fond of Owen already, as well.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“When you’re gone, we’ll be who he has left.”
He meant Owen.
My fucking best friend.
The idea that a man like him could ever replace me was so absurd, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at him. I shoved my hair back out of my face and narrowed my eyes.
“I’ll never be gone, Flynn.”
“Hey, hey!” The man in question appeared out of nowhere with an air fryer under his arm. “Archie was saying we should go grab a drink. You in?”
I didn’t look away from Flynn, content to leave the ball in his court and see what he said.
“I’m always in to hang out with you.” He gave Owen a smile that I wanted to tear off his face.
If I’d blinked for too long, I would have fallen asleep, but there was no way I was about to give him the victory of stepping in when I fell short. I forced a grin onto my face and turned to my best friend.
“I’m happy to see a little of the city.”
“Where did you have in mind?” Flynn looked away, toward Archie, who came in behind Owen.
“Nothing fancy. Grayson says there’s a bar in Manhattan Beach that has turtle races.”
“What now?” Flynn asked
“We used to do that for free at the pond back home,” I said, smacking Owen in the chest and hoping Flynn was painfully aware that Owen had a whole life that he’d never be a part of. “You remember that?”
Archie looked around at the group of us that had helped Owen with the moving. There were five of us total: me, Owen, Archie, Flynn, and another one of their friends, Grayson.
“We can all fit in my car,” he said.
“Tight squeeze in the back seat,” Flynn said, and I glared at him again on principle. His attitude was infuriating, but there was still something about him that made me want to shut him up with my cock down his throat instead of duct tape over his mouth.
Their other friend, Grayson, appeared in the hallway, wiping his hands on the front of his chinos. His fucking chinos.
God, they were all such rich bastards.
“For someone who looks like he’s never met a washcloth he likes,” Grayson said, gesturing toward Owen’s bleached hair, ratty clothes, and patchwork tattoos “you have a surprising amount of toiletries.”
“Are you sure you want to live here?” I asked, ready to pack him back up if he said no. “They’re all kind of horrible.”
“You haven’t even met Barclay yet,” Grayson said with a small shrug.
“They’re not horrible,” Owen interjected. “They’re just…who they are.”
“That doesn’t sound much better,” Flynn teased.
“Trust me, it is.”
“But wherever we go,” Grayson said, waving all of us off, “I’m taking my own car because I’m supposed to meet Rob at Rapture later tonight, and that sounds a lot more fun than hanging out with you guys. No offense.”
“I want to go to Rapture,” Flynn pouted, morphing from rich and arrogant asshole to adorable jock in a flash. “Why didn’t anyone invite me?”
He pulled out his phone and started to tap away at his screen, the device immediately vibrating in his palm as what sounded like a flurry of replies came in. It must have been a group chat or one attention-starved, overeager prick, but I wasn’t sure how he could text himself and I prayed there weren’t more like him. After the exchange had quieted, he gave his phone a self-satisfied smile and returned it to his pocket before looking at me like he’d won the lottery.
