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I shouldn't care. I should just let her run to Cade so they can have their happily ever after or whatever. But for some reason, I can't. Something isn't right. I just wish I could put my finger on what.
"No, no I'm not."
"Oh, come on, it's not like I don't know it was Mia that you were with."
"Says who?"
"Says me. You've never spoken to her before, and suddenly you can't drag your puppy dog eyes off her."
"It's…"
"That you got all up in her business and have now discovered that she's Kingsley’s?" he quips.
"I'm going to retract your invite to dinner in a minute,” I grumble.
"Feel free. I'll get my ass to your uncle's myself. His housekeeper makes the best Thai; I am not fucking missing that for shit."
"Remind me again how I ended up stuck with you?"
"Because I'm just that fucking cool."
"Oh… that's right. You had no other friends." I pull the door of my BMW open and drop into the driver’s seat.
"Nah, we both know that's not true. I just took pity on the new boy."
"Are you still fucking talking?" I ask, starting the engine and flooring it out of the parking lot.
It's a thirty-minute drive to my uncle’s house on the outskirts of town, in an insanely exclusive neighborhood.
His house is ridiculous. It’s set behind a huge pair of gates and invisible from the road. It makes the houses I was used to in Sterling Bay look like shanty huts. I have no idea who owns the other houses, or if anyone even lives in them, because I have never seen anyone on this street.
It's creepy as fuck. Actually, everything about my uncle is creepy as fuck.
I must have watched too much trash on the TV as a kid, because I thought uncles were meant to be fun, feed you all the food your parents wouldn't allow you to have, and generally help you cause mayhem. But Uncle Marcus, he's… well, he’s not any of that.
He’s stern, serious, and downright weird.
He lives alone in this big old house that could easily be turned into a hotel; it's so huge. Yet he doesn’t seem to work, and I haven’t seen or heard any evidence of him ever working.
As we pull up to the gates that lead to my uncle’s colossal house, they begin to open.
"It doesn't matter how many times I come here, I still can't get used to it,” Alex says.
"You and me both," I mutter as we make our way down the long driveway until the gothic style building emerges before us. It looks like something out of a horror film, making a shudder run down my spine. If my uncle suddenly announced that he used the basement to imprison and torture people, I would not be surprised.
When he called before classes this morning to demand I attend dinner this evening, the last thing I wanted to do was agree. But my uncle isn't the kind of man you say no to. He might be fast approaching sixty, but his presence is still as scary as fuck.
"Let's get this over with, then," I say, shouldering the door open and climbing out.
The front door is always open, so we let ourselves in and make our way down the long entrance hall. "Uncle Marcus?" I call, not knowing which of the seemingly endless number of rooms he'll be in.
"Coming," his voice booms from somewhere upstairs.
We make our way toward the kitchen, and I pull the refrigerator open and grab us both a can of soda. "Here," I say, throwing it to Alex and watching him miss by a mile and it explodes on the tiled floor.
It's easy to forget that he's not one of the football players I spent my time with before my move here.
"Shit, sorry," he says, jumping away from the spray that's still shooting from the side of the can.
