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This weird thing between us ends now.
Bad decisions are for my parents and my sisters. Allowing myself to think of Dempsey as a man rather than the troublemaker kid I’ve known all his life is dangerous. It’s reckless and something my family would do.
I am not like them.
I. Am. Not. Like. Them.
Dempsey
“Are you ready, honey?” Mom asks from the doorway of my bedroom. “You know your father doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Ever since last night, I’ve been trying to sketch the expression on Sloane’s face. It was something different—unlike anything I’ve ever seen on her pretty face.
Surprise? Anger? Embarrassment?
“Do I have to go?” I grumble, snapping my iPad shut. “He already knows how I feel about this.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. When it comes to Dad, she always, always chooses his side. It’s so fucking annoying.
“You’re going. Put on something presentable and preferably without holes in it.”
Drawing Sloane will have to wait. Apparently, I’ve been summoned to go with my parents and sister for a private tour of Park Mountain University. It’s like they still don’t get the fact I’m not going. No matter how much they try, it’s not happening.
As soon as Mom leaves me alone, I slide off the bed, grumbling about having to do this stupid shit. My holey Metallica shirt looks cool and was pretty expensive. But heaven forbid Dad’s bougie friends at the college see what a delinquent his son is.
I snatch my standard black Polo for events such as these and yank it on over my T-shirt. The combat boots will have to do because I’m not wearing any lame-ass shoes. That’s where I draw the line.
Stalking out of my room, I nearly plow over my sister. She, of course, looks like your typical college student, already wearing a PMU T-shirt and an eager-as-fuck smile.
Gemma sees college as an escape.
To me, it’s a prison.
“You know,” Gemma says, looping her arm through mine and grinning at me, “they have art classes there. Why don’t you just take those?”
Everything I’ve learned is through observation and real-time research via the internet. Some antiquated professor isn’t going to be able to teach me about any art I’ll be interested in. Screw that. Sounds boring as hell.
When we make it downstairs, Mom smiles at seeing us. Sometimes I feel like I’m five and we’re being paraded around town as the adorable Park twins. I don’t feel adorable, goddammit.
“Your dad’s already outside,” Mom says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We have something exciting for you both. Come on.”
Gemma shoots me a wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed look. Did they really get us cars? Finally? I find my mood lifting. Maybe this tour won’t be so bad if we have the freedom to leave whenever we want.
My sister practically drags me out of the house behind Mom. It reminds me of Christmas morning when we were kids, so damn eager to see what Santa had brought us.
As soon as we’re outside, I see a brand-freaking-new Chevy Tahoe with a custom glittery black-colored paint job. All the doors and hatch are open, inviting us to come take a look.
It’s nice as hell, but where’s the other one?
I detach from my twin and stride to the back of the vehicle to see if Dad’s hiding an Audi or something for my sister. Nothing.
Oh fuck.
He’s not going to let her drive.
Her squeals of excitement make my ears ring. I’ll let Dad rain on her parade. I’m sure as hell not telling her she’s going to be stuck hitching rides from our parents forever.
Dad climbs out of the driver’s seat to hug Gemma. She’s talking a hundred miles per second, telling him how beautiful the car is and how excited she is. Mom simply grins so wide she’s showing off every one of her shiny veneered teeth.
