“Yes. I want to date you.”

“Why? What’s wrong with you?” I laugh drunkenly at my own joke. But then I frown, because I think I just made fun of myself.

Her lips tighten. “This is our senior year and I want to have some of the benefits of dating a Royal. Like flying to DC to have dinner or being taken out on the yacht. I want those things. I want girls to look at me and envy me. I want to be on the cover of Southern Woman with a pictorial of you and me and your family gardens.”

“Greedy girl. You want lots and lots of things.” I drop the vodka bottle on the table. “Sorry. Not interested in helping you out.”

“Wait!” She rushes in front of me and grabs my arm before I can reach the door. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll give you in return?”

I shake her off. “I don’t want anything from you, baby.”

“No, but you want something from Hartley Wright, don’t you?”

That gets my attention. Kind of. My eyes are having trouble focusing on Felicity’s face. Or on anything, really. “What’s this got to do with Hartley?”

“It depends. Do you want to hook up with her, or do you want her to be your girlfriend?”

I snicker. “I don’t do girlfriends.”

No, wait, I’ve done girlfriends.

I had Claire, right?

But I didn’t like Claire after a while.

Hartley’s not Claire, though.

Maybe I do want a girlfriend?

Dammit, my head is spinning. I can’t hold on to one single thought. They all pass through my head like wisps of smoke.

Looking a bit relieved, Felicity nods. “That’s what I thought. All right, so you want to sleep with Hartley. But she doesn’t want you.”

“Hey,” I protest. “That’s a bitchy thing to say. You’re a bitch.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I told you, I’ve been watching you. That girl wants nothing to do with you. But…”

My ears perk up. But. I like buts.

“If you go out with me, you instantly become unavailable, and girls always want what they can’t have. Hartley will be so jealous to see you with someone else that she’ll start throwing herself at you. Trust me.”

I’m not sure I can associate the word trust with Felicity, but she’s not totally wrong. We all want the unattainable. The forbidden. Isn’t that why I screwed around with Ms. Mann?

“Plus,” Felicity continues, “there are other benefits. By dating me, you can go to prom and homecoming and events at the country club but without expectations. If you ask another girl, she’ll think you like her. But I don’t want to sleep with you, and you’re free to sleep with anyone you want as long as they don’t go to Astor.” She sees my frown and quickly adds, “Except for Hartley. You can sleep with her, once or whatever—I mean, you said it’ll just be a hookup. So you can do that, in secret, preferably. But if anyone finds out, I’ll admit you cheated on me with Hartley but that I forgave you and we’re stronger than ever.”

“You’re saying you want a fake relationship and I can make Hartley jealous and hook up with her but only if it’s in secret.” I think I’m too drunk for this conversation. But I like the idea of making Hartley jealous. Making her chase me.

“It’s a business relationship. I do something for you and you do something for me. No one gets hurt.”

No one gets hurt. I like that. It’s pretty much my motto. Live your best life without hurting someone. I squint at her, because her face looks hazy again. “’Kay.”

“Okay?” Her voice holds a note of surprise.

“Yeah, ’kay,” I slur. “Let’s make Hartley jealous.” I love this idea.

Felicity sounds a bit frustrated. “That’s not the only purpose of—”

“’Night,” I say as I open the door. Or, at least, as I try to open it. It takes three attempts before it swings forward. “Thanks for the vodka!” I call over my shoulder, and then I stumble out of the pool house.

Chapter 14

Despite a massive hangover that knocked me on my ass my entire Sunday, I’m not late for practice on Monday morning. Go me. Most of the time is spent getting Bran up to speed on our spread offense. He’s a quick learner and has good on-field instincts. I’m only able to tag him once during our end of practice full drill. Since I’m not allowed to tackle him without every coach on the sidelines drilling their foot up my ass, I give him a warning hug and then push him aside.

“Not bad, Mathis,” I tell him.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to face you this year,” he says, patting his red pinnie that designates him as off-limits. Defensive players aren’t allowed to touch the quarterback when he wears the red jersey.

“There’s still Carson Dunn over at North and TJ Price at Gibson High,” I warn.

“Nah, I know. But you’re the best D-end in the league this year. You give quarterbacks nightmares, you know.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “When I got hurt last year, the first thing my teammates said was that I did it on purpose so I wouldn’t have to run from the Royal brothers.”

The wistfulness in his voice when he speaks of his old school is obvious.

“Miss your boys, do you?” I say sympathetically.

“Yeah.” He tips his head back as guys do when they try to hide their emotions. “There were some good guys there. But you make sacrifices for your future, right?”

“I don’t,” I say bluntly.

His chin drops and a rueful grin tips up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ve heard that about you. I figure once I’m in college, I can try to stop worrying about what my parents think.”

He gives me another slap and then runs off to the locker room. I follow, but at a much slower pace. I’m in no hurry to get to class today. Mostly because I can’t decide whose schedule to follow—mine or Hartley’s. Maybe I’ll do mine today. I have study hall first period, while Hartley has Feminist Thought. Study hall means I can sleep.

And, no, it doesn’t escape me that I slept all day yesterday. I know if Ella hadn’t driven up to State to see Reed, she would’ve spouted off some long, long lecture about how my drinking is getting out of control.

She’d be right. I can’t remember a damn thing from Saturday night, other than pouring half a liquor store down my throat and then drunk-walking on the beach. I feel like I might’ve gotten laid, though? Maybe? It probably hadn’t been too good if I don’t remember it.

After showering, I head for study hall. Ahead of me, Bran is hurrying somewhere, drawing the hungry attention of more than one girl. The Astor chicks aren’t much better than the Astor boys. They’re eating up the newbie with their eyes. Bran might miss his old school, but there’ll be plenty of ways he can find comfort here at Astor Park Prep.

Because he’s hurrying, he ends up mowing down some poor bystander. She falls backward, her black hair flipping up.

Oh shit. It’s Hartley.

I rush forward, but it’s Bran who catches her before she hits the tiled floor. He helps her to her feet, and Hartley, the girl with the perpetual scowl on her face, actually smiles at him. Then they start talking.

Why’s she always so nice to him?

“Hey, East, where you going?” Pash calls out to me from the classroom door.

“I’m going to class.”

“This is your class,” he points out. “We’ve got study hall.”

“Nah.” Change of plans.

By the time I reach Hartley’s classroom, it’s all full. I walk up to the guy sitting next to her and say, “Move.”

He scrambles to his feet. Hartley pretends not to notice any of this. Her gaze is fixed on the front.

“What were you and Bran talking about?” I ask.

“How is that any of your business?” she replies without looking at me.

I clench my teeth. “What, you’re a jock chaser now?”

“Seriously?” She sounds dumbfounded. “You’ve got issues, Easton.”