He bites into it, and the rich aroma of toasted grains and sweet chocolate fills my nostrils. Surely, this isn’t the man Shawn is determined to blame for every single one of our issues. Could he be any more obvious? What weirdo carries around a granola bar in his pocket?
“Did she do it?” Rip asks between chews.
Of course, Aralynn did it. Money laundering has been her forte since she was first taught, and dealing drugs is like a fun game to her. With her skill, she’s better at it than Odette and me, untraceable. Until we got a mole, that is.
But obviously Rip can’t know that.
“Of course not. She’s been framed.”
Rip pauses, his jaw working slowly on the bar as if doubting my words, but then he shakes his head, dismissing the thought. With a casual air, he nudges the granola bar my way, as if he hasn’t noticed what he’s doing. Knowing full well his intentions and that he knows I know, I choose to act as if I haven’t noticed.
Yet eventually, I take a bite of the granola bar from Rip’s hand, and in that moment, I distinctly watch him smirk. I finish it quietly right from his grasp, and it goes down easily.
The ease between us, how natural and unforced our comfort is, should unsettle me. Eating directly from his hand, I mean, if that’s not the ultimate sign of comfort, I don’t know what is. But it doesn’t unsettle me.
Rip eyes don’t watch me the way everyone else does. The Crowncrest is keeping tabs on me to see if I measure up to my dad; the public is watching to see who’ll be the next Mrs. Beaumont, and my family’s waiting for me to reshape into the man I once was. Everyone is always looking, and it’s exhausting.
But not Rip. He watches, but it doesn’t drain the life out of me.
Maybe that’s why everything is easier around him.
“I did come here to fuck around,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking about my cock down your throat for hours.”
My chest aches, but not in a physical sensation. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Does that bother you?”
I want to glare at him, all offended, but I stay put. “Why would it? That’s all this is, isn’t it? Fucking around.”
I can’t believe he’s asking me that. So what if it does bother me? It doesn’t—but if it did, would that change anything? I mean, he won’t evenkissme.
Besides, our lives don’t go together. I don’t know who I will marry in the future, but it could never be him. Me, with the social media marketer employee? Outlandish thought.
If he’s even that.
“Yeah,” he says, but his tone wavers in a way I’ve never heard before. “Well then, I guess there’s no reason for me to be here.”
“I guess not.”
Rip rises, his blue eyes meeting mine with a look of hesitation. Initially, it reads as him hoping I’d change my mind and suck him off. Too bad for him.
But then I look at him, and I get a whole different vibe.Give him a reason not to leave.
I want to reach out and tell him to stay. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but they never make it out. He leaves.
I wish he’d come back.
20
Kingsley
Iweave my way through the masses, my arms brushing against others, and “excuse me” is an easy reflex. It’s rehearsed and ready, like it is at every party we throw.
Sipping my wine as I walk, I search for my father. He messaged saying he’s with Buster Crenshaw and some other pals, and I need to be there. Knowing how boring listening to him and his buddies talk is, I’ll need a couple of drinks to cope.
Away from the crowd, Mom and Dad are in the corner with their confidantes. The Crenshaws, Moonclafs, and Kumars are among the wealthy crime families my family does business with. They often leverage these gatherings for casual business discussions while simultaneously maintaining a good public image.
See, the press love to find their way into private events and sneak pictures, but they don’t realize that is the very reason the parties are thrown. This way, they see the rich as boring business folks, doing boring business stuff even at private events, clearing up any thoughts about us doing illegal activities. With the buzz of Aralynn’s arrest running around, we need some boredom in our lives.
