He lets out an overdramatic sigh but finally relents. “Fine. But if anyone asks, forgetIwas here. Kane won’t be back until after six. His seminar is in the city this week.”
I mentally calculate how far with traffic and know even if he was on his way, I still have time.
I’m tempted to ask how it’s going, but I shake off the thought and return to my task.
I’m giggling to myself as I undo the first string to free it from the guitar with the pliers Kane keeps in his bedside drawer—Marcus could see how badly I could not face that today and took pity on me by going to grab them for me. I untie it from the tuning peg and wiggle it free. Kane taught me how to do this years ago, so he only has himself to blame.
I stuff the string into the bag and phase one of my plan slides into place.
“I also need you to intercept any packages he gets,” I say, looking back at Marcus.
“Why?” he replies hesitantly, my behavior clearly scaring him.
“If he gets any packages, I need you to take them and call me.”
“You’re going to stop him from getting a new string?” he muses.
“Of course I am,” I scoff. “He can get all the new girlfriends he wants, but they’re not gettingmymusic, that’s for sure.”
It no longer ismymusic, but I ignore that.
“Oh okay, so you just want me to casually commit a felony,” Marcus gripes, leaning over the counter. His elbows rest on the granite countertops, messy locks falling over his forehead, his headphones perched on his head.
“It’s not a felony,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.
“Uh, yes it is. Tampering with someone’s mail is punishable by a fine and even prison time. Prison! Do you know what they do to pretty boys like me in prison? I’ll be someone’s bitch, Avery.” Marcus throws his hands up in the air to emphasize his point.
“You already are, Marcus. Would you rather be mine or some bald guy named Big Jim’s?”
I chuckle, showing myself the door, knowing Marcus won’t say no to me. Growing up as neighbors from the ripe age of five has made Marcus my oldest and closest friend—though I’ll never say that in front of Morgan, because she wouldn’t speak to me until I took it back. The competition between these two is never-ending.
As I walk out, I faintly hear Marcus say, “I’m jumping back on now, some random girl scout at my door wouldn’t go away,” into the headphone mouthpiece as he walks away.
I snort as I get into my car, the high of pulling off phase one already starting to fade. I wrap my handsaround the steering wheel and drop my head against them for one breath. Then another. After a few seconds, I start the car, pull up Taylor Swift on my phone, and let the queen of heartbreak fill the cab as the streets blur in front of me.
CHAPTER THREE
kane
FOUR YEARS AGO, HIGH SCHOOL
Out of My League – Aiden Bissett
Another new town, another new fucking school because dear old Dad can’t keep his dick in his pants. Another affair caused us to flee yet once again in an attempt to save a marriage that should’ve ended before my fifth birthday, yet here we are thirteen years later, still dealing with the same old bullshit. Why my mother hasn’t left is beyond me. I tried reasoning with her for years, but she’s always made excuses for him, so now I just block her out. She made her own bed, and now she gets to lie in it.
I’m pissed off at the world, hating every part of this place I’ve been dropped in, listening to this kid in front of me drone on and on—a student council member who was assigned as a tour guide to show me to my first class, as if I can’t read the map they gave me.
Usually, I would be grateful for the help, maybe even strike up a conversation, but after a run-in with Dad and another lecture about taking school seriously in order to getinto his alma mater—as if he couldn’t buy the whole school to have me accepted—I’m not in the mood.
New places, new people, trying to make friends only to have to pack up and move again—I’m sick of it.
My all-black clothing coupled with my new hairstyle—shorter on the sides, longer on top—complete the whole fuck-the-world look I’m going for. Though, the lingering looks from girls in the hall tell me they don’t seem to mind it.
Maybe this year won’t beallbad. I can play ball, fuck some girls. One more year and I’ll be gone. Off to college, preparing to join the family business I want absolutely nothing to do with. The D’Antonios started building their fortune when my great-granddad hit it big in oil and started his own investment firm. He started a legacy of D’Antonio men who know how to make money but have no fucking clue how to show up for their families.
I scoff to myself, and the kid showing me around looks in my direction. I send a small smile and thumbs up his way, and he turns back around.
I put my foot down when my father suggested a private school. I’m so sick of our inner circle, the fake as fuck smiles and even faker attitudes when they find out what your net worth is. As if money has bought any of them a clue.
