I shake my head, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth and talking around my food. “It’ll cost too much to rent a place. And everything will be booked out anyway.”
It’s not like I have a lot of spare cash lying around. My scholarship covers everything, but I still need money for entertainment. I don’t want to use up what I’ve set aside for the year ahead on this weekend experiment.
“I got it.” Darian snaps his fingers.
“What?” I turn to him, loving the hopeful expression on his face.
“I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.”
“Mind telling me who?”
“Mac.”
“Who?” Dad asks.
“Finn MacAlister.” Darian grins. “He’s one of my teammates.”
“The guy who looks like a vampire?” My face bunches.
“He’s not a vampire. He’s just got pale skin.”
And scary blue eyes that can peel the flesh off your bones.
My spine twitches. “He lives in New York, doesn’t he?”
“Mac’s family is loaded. They’ve got houses all over the place, including a lake house in Aspen. I’ve never been there, but Enzo told me it’s super lush. We could see if he’ll let us borrow it for the weekend.”
“Yeah, okay.” I pop another piece of chicken into my mouth and nod.
We’ll have to invite the guy to join us, which could be interesting. I don’t know him very well, but I’ve heard he’s a wild beast. Not exactly the type of man I want to be sharing a house with for the year. But just because we’re using Mac’s lake house to run summer tryouts doesn’t mean we have to invite him, right?
“Maybe just don’t tell him what we’re up to,” I suggest. “You know, keep it casual. Say we’re just wanting to have a good time with the team or something.”
Darian nods, and I’m relieved he agrees with me.
We’re facing important decisions here.
You can’t just ask any ol’ person to share a house with you. A year is a really long time if you don’t like your housemates.
We have to be thoughtful about this.
And I can already tell you that I won’t be selecting Mac as one of my roommates. He probably wouldn’t even want to live with us anyway.
2
MAC
Good Charlotte is blastingfrom the old stereo I hooked up in the garage last year. It’s a piece of shit, and I have to keep tinkering with the wires connecting the speakers, but it’s kind of perfect when I’m playing old-school music so loud that my eardrums are vibrating.
Hopefully it’ll be pissing off Chanel. Yep, that’s right. Wife #4 is named after a perfume. Too bad she doesn’t smell as sweet. Okay, so physically, she smells sweet. Metaphorically, she’s a steaming cow turd.
Out of all of Dad’s wives, I like her the least. It doesn’t help that she’s only ten years older than me, which means she’s young enough to be Dad’s daughter.
Sick fuck.
I shake my head as I bend over the engine I’m working on. The socket wrench clicks as it twists back and forth. I found this old car parked in someone’s front yard. It’s a 1969 Dodge Charger. A fucking legendary piece of machinery, and this idiot had it parked out front, growing grass around the tires.
After seeing it each time I had to come home for a visit, I couldn’t take it anymore and knocked on the guy’s door.
