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“I wonder what’s got his panties in a twist?” I say.
“I don’t know, but I’d like to get into his pants to find out,” Delaney says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Gross.” I laugh, smacking her arm.
“Once we pick Riley up, we’ll be on the road. You guys sure you got everything?” Mitch asks.
Clark climbs into the truck as Delaney looks around confused.
“Riley?” Delaney asks.
“Clark’s girlfriend,” I say, my eyes colliding with his in the rearview mirror.
“As long as it isn’t Riley Ashford, then we’re good. That bitch needs her ass whopped.”
I nudge Delaney, my eyes wide.
“Oh, fuck.”
“It’s fine. She is a bitch. There’s no denying that,” Clark says, putting the truck in reverse.
“Why do you date her then?” Delaney asks, because clearly, she doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.
He shrugs, draping his arm over the seat to see out the back window. I try not to stare at the way his arms flex, but goddamn it’s hard.
“Wow. It must be so rewarding to be your girlfriend,” Delaney says sarcastically.
I try to stifle my laugh, but Mitch has no shame and he laughs loud.
“Fuck you, Mitchell,” Clark grumbles.
The car ride to Riley’s is surprisingly quiet after that. I’m hoping that the trip isn’t awkward once she gets in the truck.
When Clark pulls into a gated community, much like ours, I’m not surprised when he pulls into the driveway of the biggest house in the neighborhood. He climbs out of the truck, slamming the door behind him, practically stomping up to the door.
“What’s his deal?” I ask Mitch.
“He and Riley are fighting. Again. I tried to talk him out of bringing her, but she’s got some kind of chokehold on him. He hates her but won’t ditch her.”
I frown, leaning back in my seat.
A few minutes later, Clark walks outside with three huge bags, walking towards the back of the truck.
“Jesus. Why does she need all those fucking bags for the beach?” Delaney whispers.
Clark gets into the truck, obviously extremely pissed off, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel immediately. I have this weird urge to want to comfort him, like he did that night when he found me at Mallory’s funeral.
“Why can’t she be ugly?” Delaney huffs under her breath, so only I can hear.
I look up just in time to see Riley walk outside.
Of course she looks like a supermodel.
She’s got this bleach blonde hair that is cut just above her shoulders. Not many people could pull that cut off, but it looks like it was made for her. She’s got legs that look like they’re longer than my entire torso. She’s wearing a completely see through coverup, and her tiny black bikini underneath leaves very little to the imagination.
She’s glaring at the truck.
“Who are they?” she asks, opening the door, turning her nose up at me and Delaney, as if she didn’t go to school with Delaney for years.
