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I lean against the kitchen island and type out a response, instantly relieved to have someone to talk to.

How'd you get my number? I was just looking for a place to wash Christian’s clothes.

Logan gave it to me. And ick. Wanna go to a party with me?

Where?

New club downtown.

A club—with alcohol, dancing hotties, and drugs aplenty, no doubt. Surprisingly enough, my stomach churns at the prospect of being surrounded by inebriated strangers.

If I'm being honest with myself, I kind of wish Christian was here to… well, I don't know. Hang out feels too casual, even if he did suck my balls and stroke my cock last night with his bare ass. Which I absolutely jerked off to in the shower earlier.

Nah, not feeling very social today.

Ah, well. Have fun with Christian’s dirty underwear.

The thought of being left alone again to my own devices spikes a burst of panic in my chest, so I send him another quick text.

Can I do them at your place, actually? Kinda short on change. We can hang out or whatever.

Not a total lie. There's an old mini keg in Christian’s room full of loose coins that I was planning to use, but I'd rather not. And maybe a club full of people sounds awful, but kicking it with someone doesn't sound so bad.

Owen responds right away.

Sure. Parents are out of town for business anyway, so we get the place to ourselves. I'll send you an Uber.

Something uncoils in my chest and I blow out a deep breath. The apartment still feels heavily silent, but it's… manageable now. Temporary. I know distraction isn't a permanent fix for what's fucked up in my head, but at least doing laundry at Owen's is a less destructive path than going to a bar.

One step at a time.

Maybe Kingston Blake was right. I can get through this if I really do take it seriously.

Thirty minutes later, my Uber pulls up to one of the nicest houses I've ever seen. It’s not a mansion by any means, but definitely one of those new builds you always see in magazines—three stories, painted shudders, a wrap-around porch. Even a freshly mowed lawn to match, and each house on the block looks more or less the same. Some have Halloween decorations, some don't.

Owen opens a wood-paneled front door when I start up the beautifully landscaped walkway. “Cool, Uber found the place. Sometimes they get lost because this area's a new development.”

“Did you just move in?” I mumble, hauling a bag of dirty clothes through the entryway as I take in his appearance. Even dressed down in joggers and a sweater, he oozes money.

“Nah, but my folks built this place before the rest of the neighborhood existed. Used to be all dirt fields around here.” He leads me farther into the house, past a plush-looking living room and kitchen big enough to host Top Chef. “My room's in the basement, along with the laundry. We can order pizza and watch horror movies if you want.”

The thought of a basement makes my stomach dip for half a second—old reflex. But I follow him anyway, because there's no way a house this nice could have anything other than a luxury apartment downstairs.

And I'm absolutely right.

It's not dark or dirty at all. This one's finished, with bright overhead lights, soft carpet, and a white sectional sofa.

One wall is lined with leather-bound books, while the other holds a massive flatscreen. The laundry room sits off to the side, neat and quiet, with cabinets and a full-sized bathroom—nothing like the basements I'm used to.

“Your parents must make bank,” I marvel as I step up to the washing machine. I don’t even need to add detergent; the thing does it automatically as I empty clothes into the drum. Jesus.

Owen leans against the wall with a shrug. “They do okay, I guess. They've both been lawyers since forever”

I fiddle with the buttons until it turns on. “That's cool. Do they know a Kingston Blake?”

His eyes widen a fraction. “Uh, yeah. That's my stepdad. How'd you know?”

His… oh, shit.