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He advances toward me again, and I push his chest again. “No, Porter. I don’t want to kiss you.”
He frowns, then sits up straight in his seat. “Your choice,” his voice is cold, and I sigh with relief when he starts the car.
ChapterSix
RYDER
“Man, there is literally nothing in it for me? She’s a fucking prude,” Porter says after giving me a rundown of his night with Ash.
“Well, maybe you should’ve paid more attention to her last night instead of focusing on Lucia. You could have fucked up this whole plan if she’d caught you two making out.”
“At least Lucia has something to offer. Not sure the internship with your dad’s company is even worth it.”
I cock a brow. Anybody would sell their soul for a shot at working for the all-powerful Rothwells.
“Okay, one more date, but if she doesn’t at least blow me, I’m done.”
I don’t know why the fact that he’s talking trash about her makes my jaw tick. This is what I want, to humiliate her, cut her down to size. But the way she was looking at my painting last night. Fuck, no one’s looked at my work like that, like they understand, like they feel it. No one even knows I’m the artist that has sold the most pieces in that gallery.
“What the fuck were you doing there anyway?” he asks, slamming his locker shut.
I shrug. “Wanted to monitor my investment.”
My art is private, and I like to keep it that way. I’m a star basketball player and business major. When I graduate, I’ll join the Rothwell empire like my father planned, working at his side, building the empire the way he did. Anything else would be frowned upon.
“Is that what she is? An investment? You gonna bang her or what?”
“Not my type,” I say before turning and walking away.
Rounding the corner, I halt outside a classroom at the sound of soft music playing. Glancing through the window on the door, I spot Ash strumming away on her guitar again. And just like before, I’m mesmerized and don’t even know why. I open the door against my better judgment, and she lifts her head, spotting me. Her fingers continue strumming. But those eyes, expressive and fucking sad, never leave mine. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing in here. Fuck this! I storm out of the classroom, ready to bail on this whole fucking day.
* * *
My mom is in the den with a glass of bourbon. Her head rests against the backrest of the armchair in front of the fireplace. Before our world came crashing down around us, she was a great mom. The kind that arranged bake sales and after-game parties. Long before that, I would sit at her feet in front of the fireplace, and she’d tell me stories. All that changed when the incident my family has avoided talking about for the last six years happened.
She doesn’t notice me entering. She’s in her own world, poison swimming through her veins, making it impossible for her to notice anything going on around her. Her glassy gaze meets mine when I sit beside her, recognition flitting across her features. She smiles that sad, faraway smile that tugs at my heart.
“You’re home, baby. When did you get here?”
“Not long ago. Where’s dad?” I ask, knowing that him leaving is the only reason for how she looks, unhinged and unkempt in baggy sweatpants and his oversized t-shirt.
“He had some out-of-town business.” She waves it off like it’s unimportant. But we both know it isn’t. “You know what? Let me fix you something to eat. I bet Maria’s made cottage pie. You still enjoy that, don't you, Ryder?”
“No, I’m good, Mom. I can grab some on my way upstairs.”
“Nonsense. The least I can do is fix you a plate.” She stands unsteadily, sending the glass in her hand crashing to the ground. The strong scent of liquor burns my nostrils.
“Oops,” she giggles and falls palm first onto the floor in her hands and knees.
I tug her up by the waist in seconds and settle her back in the chair.
“You alright?” I turn her palm over in my hands, pick out the small piece of glass that lodged in her skin, and grab a napkin from the tray beside her. My heart squeezes in my chest because she may be a drunk, but she’s still my mom.
“Yeah, honey. I’m just a little clumsy.”
Maria appears at the doorway, her shoulders sinking. “Come on now, Evie, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Our housekeeper steps forward, and my mom tries to shoo her off, but Maria is a force, and Mom soon caves. Maria wraps a strong arm around my mom’s waist and shoulder and casts me an apologetic glance. “I’ll see to that when I’ve settled your mama.”
