Page 19 of Mister Dick


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“How many times did you walk into the bathroom when I was in the shower? Wearing nothing but your bra and a thong? How many times did you sit across from me at dinner with your tits nearly falling out a bikini top?” I leaned forward. “Who made the first move? It wasn’t me. You came to my room that first night. You stood by my bed as I watched and took off your clothes. Do you remember? We didn’t say one word to each other. You crawled on top of me, kissed me until I didn’t know up from down, and then you rode me like a fucking pro. I didn’t know you were a virgin until the next morning when you told me.

“By then, it was too late. You were like a fever I couldn’t break. Those weeks…it was different from anything I’d felt up until then. I backed off because it was so goddamn intense. And because I was a stupid kid. I broke things off cold turkey and moved on.”

“Do you know how that made me feel?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

I glared at her as fresh memories washed over me. “Whatever I did to you…I was a dumb-ass seventeen-year-old kid. But my mom didn’t deserve the way you behaved. You made things unbearable for her and things went for shit for all of us.”

She stared at me for a good long while without saying anything, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of this. Seriously. What the hell were we doing? I was just about to let her off the hook when she spoke quietly. “Guess I better rest my vocal cords.”

And just like that, the game changed.

She turned and headed for the bedroom, leaving me alone to think about a bunch of things I’d rather forget. Mainly, Echo, and the best and worst summer of my life.

9

Echo

I slept like shit. No surprise there. Not after what happened last night. Not after the song and the singing and the brutal honesty on both sides. Boyd Appleton had broken my heart, but I wasn’t blameless. He was right. I had chased after him. I’d teased and flirted, and I’d gone to his room that first night because I wanted to. I was used to getting what I wanted, and that summer, it had been him. I didn’t ask if he had a girlfriend, and truthfully, I don’t know that it would have mattered if he’d told me straight up about this Brit girl he’d apparently been dating.

I was a spoiled teenager with guilty parents who indulged every single desire I had. I never learned about boundaries and I did whatever the hell I wanted to. The word NO was foreign.

I wanted Boyd. End of story. Even now, I remembered how it felt to get that first rush of not only sexual awakening, but sexual power.

My cheeks grew hot just thinking about it, and a dull throb began to ache between my legs. Sex with Boyd had been hot. Even the first time hadn’t been awful like some of my girlfriends said it would be. There’d been discomfort and a bit of pain, but it was overshadowed by a connection that was beyond the norm. A connection I hadn’t felt with anyone since. I’d been drunk on all those feelings, the physical and the mental. High with the knowledge that he was inside me.

I loved every single minute of it.

And now? Now I was confused by everything.

And ashamed.

I was to blame for our parents splitting up, and a part of me felt that my dad had never forgiven me for the part I’d played. And the thing was? No one but my youngest sister Lyric knew how far I’d gone. What I’d done.

If Boyd found out…

“Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?” I stared at the reflection in the mirror and, for the first time in a long time, really looked at myself. I didn’t have a crap ton of makeup to hide behind. No concealer to cover the imperfections, or contour to reshape my face into something other than what it was. No false lashes or plumped-up lips.

The image I saw was no reality show. It was real and raw. Regret and shame clouded my eyes, and after a few moments, I turned away. I couldn’t do this right now. Maybe I wouldn’t ever be able to look too close inside, because the inside didn’t measure up to the image millions of followers clicked on every single day. Images that weren’t real.

I wondered about them. My followers. Those faceless people who lavished their time and love on Echo Mansfield. Did they miss me? Was I more to them than a bunch of photos and videos that traveled the invisible lines of social media? Or were they already on to the next famous-for-no-reason girl? Another girl who looked good in Gucci with a famous father to make things legit? One who posted like clockwork, living for the number of likes her pictures generated. The comments that fed a ravenous ego.

I’d carefully cultivated my image, or brand, as my business manager liked to call it, into a million-dollar industry. Gucci wants me to wear their clothes? No problem, send them along and I’d wear in return for the stupid money my agent and business manager negotiated. I’d post a pic or two, and their sales would spike. Win/win as far as those in my circle were concerned.

I made a face. Was it something to be proud of? Promoting ex

pensive shit I got for free to millions of kids who worked at the golden arches for minimum wage or less? Kids who thought all those things I wore and promoted made me happy? Kids who thought if they spent their hard-earned dollars on the same stuff, they’d be happy too?

A knock at the door startled me, and I froze, wrapped in a towel, with damp hair trailing down my back. I was five minutes out of the shower, and it was still dark outside.

“Breakfast is ready.” Boyd’s muffled voice slid into the bedroom, and I clutched at the soft terrycloth, which was ridiculous. The guy wasn’t Superman. He didn’t have X-ray vision.

“Okay. I just have to get dressed.”

Which I did in record time—easy to do because all I had were the clothes I’d borrowed from Boyd the day before. I had no glam squad to deal with, no stylist with an overly critical eye, or assistants hovering over my shoulder asking questions with answers I didn’t give a crap about.

It felt nice. Almost…normal.

Breakfast was simple. Eggs and cheese and that’s about it. It had finally stopped snowing outside, but neither one of us mentioned the storm or the reason we’d been tossed together. There was just silence. Boyd looked over some notes while I studied him from beneath lowered lashes when I thought he wouldn’t notice.

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