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She lets out a devilish laugh. “He screwed up by falling in love with you. He’s like a teenage girl moping around behind you,” Astrid scoffs. “The meanest guy in Monarch has been taken down by the prettiest blonde in Rockingham.”
I don’t laugh. “He’s not a pushover. I think he feels guilty.”
“And he should. Charlotte, don’t forget how he treated you. It wasn’t that long ago.” Astrid pauses, fixing a skull-crushing gaze on me. “Are you in love with him?” She looks away. “It’s okay if you are, I guess, but he’s still a prick.”
“I don’t know if it’s love.” My voice takes on a snotty tone. “I don’t know how I feel about any of them. They tricked me into sex, but deep down, I was curious to feel their hard bodies. You know what I mean. They only took what I gave. The attraction is too strong despite their shitty behavior. How did you do it? I know the Stonehaven men treated you badly, especially Pierce. How did you know they weren’t just being assholes?”
Sighing deeply, Astrid takes a moment to look out the car window as she ponders her answer. New Hampshire morphs into Massachusetts as the limo travels the congested Mass Pike. “I guess I felt the way you do,” she says. “I remember how much I hated Pierce until we connected. I could’ve taken him out, but I didn’t. He confessed that other people would’ve done it gladly, including his so-called friends. He knew my character was strong because of what I didn’t do. Respect opened up our relationship. But it required patience in the beginning.”
“I thought the guys were only lusting after me,” I confess. “And now that they have a reason to use me, they’ve disappeared. Asher is definitely pulling away now that I have money.”
Astrid’s tone softens. “He might only be giving you space. You have other options now.”
I shake my head. “He’s acting as if he led the stalker to me. The creep wears a leather jacket with eagle patches. Asher suspects the stalker might be in a club.”
“The Reckoning Hunt has a stag, not an eagle,” replies Astrid. “So it’s not them.”
“I know,” I reply. “Ironic. Asher stuck by me through the worst time of my life and then wants out when it starts to improve.”
“A generous bank account helps, but it has its own problems,” replies Astrid. “What about the other two?”
“Do you mean if I lose Asher, will I still have two to fall back on?” I ask, arching my brow.
“I didn’t mean that, but it’s true. I think Hudson is on your level. He definitely knows which fork to use.”
“I still feel a little resentment toward him. He treated me as if I were kept. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I feel a tingle between my thighs when he wants me. But he still took advantage. You know, Howland killed his father.”
“What?” Astrid coughs, placing both her feet on the floor and then waiting for an explanation.
“He blames him for his death on the operating table,” I reply in a monotone. “His mother remarried, but he hates his stepfather for no other reason than he’s not his father. Hudson came after me because he thought I was a Howland. It was a way to get even by shaming me. He fucked that up.”
“Does he know you’re not?” she asked.
I give Astrid side-eye. “That was the blackmail. But he found another excuse to stick around. Like Rawlins says, Howland women are always surrounded by men. And once I suck cock, they want an encore.”
Astrid throws back her head and laughs. “I was starting to worry about you, Charlotte. Is that what happened with the tattoo man? Is that why he risked his ass for you?”
I shrug like a princess, pulling my coat off my shoulders in the warm car. “I’ve been refusing to touch Jaxon after he accidentally exposed my secret account, but I’ve changed my mind. Our relationship is fragile despite him risking his life. The man has a wall of issues. He hates the women he craves.”
Astrid leans back and places her hand over mine. I like our moments together and miss them all the time. “Seriously, Charlotte, you worry about you first,” she says. “Men aren’t worth the angst.”
“Says the woman with four men,” I quip.
She rests her feet on the seat again. Her long black boots make her long legs look sexy and lethal. “I know it sounds lame coming out of my mouth. But somehow it works. I’ve managed not to lose myself in my relationships. Only a strong woman can handle polyamory, and only strong men can share one fantastic woman.”
***
By the time I return to Ivymore, I’m behind three weeks’ worth of classes. In my dorm room, I log into the shared doc and start to catch up on class notes when a knock on my door makes me jump. If I were a cat, I would be clinging to the ceiling. But a stalker would never knock on a door. Still, my gaze sweeps the floor, searching for a piece of green paper before I stand to answer it.
Wren stands in the hallway, and a look of relief washes over her face when she sees me. “Good, you’re back.” She steps inside when I open the door wider. “I was so worried you weren’t coming back too.” She holds out her hand and waits until I take the card in a white envelope out of her grasp.
I don’t understand what she means by too, but the question slips out of my mind before I can ask it. It’s shoved out by all the other things we need to settle. Wren and I have barely spoken since the Valentine’s formal.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says. “I debated going home for the service, but I really couldn’t miss another class. Did you get our basket?”
I nod. “Yeah, thanks. Your parents came to the memorial and sent a gift basket to the house.” It was weird. The huge basket was held in place by yards of plastic and a big bow. It was filled with fresh fruit, fancy cheeses, and imported wine. It sat in the middle of the dining room table like a tribute for winning the biggest lottery in my life. Mrs. Donohue took it home with her. I didn’t want to touch it.
“How are you doing?” Wren looks concerned, or maybe it’s interested. Is she waiting for a sloppy confession as I melt down into tears with snot running down my face? Does this bitch really expect me to confide in her after what she did to me? People knew my dirty secret, but she proclaimed it to the congregation, including the few who didn’t already know. She made my shame a topic of discussion.
