“Oh my god, shut up!” I finally reached my door. “We’re never speaking of this again.”
“Too late! Already texting the group chat!”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Just saw Alfie’s?—”
I slammed my door, Ethan’s laughter echoing down the hallway. My phone buzzed almost immediately:
UMS LADS
Ethan
i just saw the craziest thing
Troy
what???
Freddie
???
Ethan
let’s just say our boy’s been working out
Alfie
I will murder you in your sleep
Troy
WTF are you talking about
Some things really should stay out of the goddamn group chat.
“Well, if it isn’t my little bro!” Drake’s voice drips with the kind of manufactured tone that comes from too many corporate leadership seminars. “You know, normal people actually call their family sometimes.”
I grunt noncommittally, picturing him in his corner office, adjusting his Rolex with one hand while he signs acquisition papers with the other. If people think I’m an asshole, it’s only because they’ve never met Drake. He’s the kind of guy who peaked in his MBA program and never shut up about it.
“Fascinating critique of my communication skills,” I mutter. “Was there a point to this call?”
“Oh, there absolutely is.” His tone shifts, and I can hear the smirk. Classic Drake, always thinking he’s got the upper hand. “Remember last summer? That delightful evening at the vineyard?”
My stomach drops.Fuck. He’s talking about the night I got spectacularly drunk on overpriced wine and made possibly the stupidest bet of my life.
I really need to stop getting drunk and fucking things up.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I lie, eventhough the memory’s already surfacing like a bad hangover.
“Really? Because I distinctly remember you saying—what was it? Oh yes. ‘If I’m still single next summer, I’ll come to Portugal and give Marcie a real chance.’ Ring any bells?”
“I was drunk,” I protest. “That doesn’t count.”
Double fuck.
The Spencer family summer tour of Europe. A tradition as pretentious as it sounds, where my parents drag us to various villas to network and day-drink with other obscenely wealthy families. This year’s destination? Portugal. With the Bollingdons.
