“Jesus, can you un-creep yourself for a second? Listen, I’m the last person to lecture you about who to be with.”

“Because you fucked my lit teacher when I was eighteen.” I nodded on a laugh. “Married her, knocked her up, and almost gave your mom a heart attack in the process. Yeah, agreed. Neither you nor Vicious can tell me what to do.”

“But.” He raised his voice, and damn, Jaime Followhill had some authority in him, I’d almost forgotten. “I swear to God, Dean, if this is just another one-night stand, and you’re going to screw around with the dynamics of our group—with our families and friends—for a quick bang…”

“It’s not just a fuck,” I gritted out. I needed to remind myself that Jaime had a good reason for poking the subject. I’d been known as the one to shove his dick into anything that has two legs and a dress, so what the fuck was I expecting? But I wasn’t Vicious. I wasn’t blind to what had been in front of me for years. I owned up to what I wanted from this girl from day one.

I never pursued anyone this hard, and with Rosie, I didn’t even decide to do it. It was like Jimmy Fallon’s career. It just kind of happened before anyone could stop it.

“What are your intentions?” Jaime asked, holding my gaze, serious as a fucking funeral. What are my intentions? Living in London made him sound like a British lord or some shit. Making fun of him should have been first priority, but a part of me wanted him—and other people—to stop fucking talking to me like I was a male hooker who refused to slow down until his dick fell off.

“Jaime,” I snarled, nostrils flaring. I got in his face, feeling like a raging eighteen- year-old again. “I didn’t ask you what the fuck your intentions were when you bent Mel over her desk and fucked the shit out of her in the classroom, so you don’t get to ask me the same question. Rosie is a big girl. People need to stop acting like she’s an old pet no one wants. What we have between us is ours. Not yours. Not Vicious’s, and not Emilia’s. Anyone who thinks differently is welcome to settle this with me. And, true to our brotherhood’s fashion, I won’t be nice, polite, or apologetic about it. Am I clear?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned around and walked away. I had a date to go to.

She just didn’t know it yet.

What makes you feel alive?

Lusting after someone. So badly your center aches, your eyesight is blurry and your morals are thrown out the window.

MY SISTER WASN’T DRINKING.

That was the only thing that occupied my mind. Not the fact that we had a kick-ass time. Not the amazing Britney Spears show. Not the distorted, tall, radioactive-looking alcoholic drinks we carried with us all day. But the fact that Millie did not consume a drop of them, or any other type of alcohol.

We had French roots. For us, partying without wine or champagne was like dancing without limbs.

Glaring at her from the corner of a loud, crowded nightclub with neon lights and sweaty, half-naked bodies, I sucked on my straw, inhaling another cocktail.

“Your sister is sooo knocked up.” Elle popped her big, pink gum while checking herself in the reflection of a shimmering piece of hale-shaped mirrors draping from the ceiling. We were all wearing the same type of dress—pink, Emilia’s favorite color—with sweetheart neckline and ruffled layers of thin, soft-fabric. I found one at a thrift shop. It screamed Millie to the sky and back, so I purchased it, contacted the brand, and ordered four more for all of us.

“She’s not,” I insisted, but it was futile. Even I didn’t believe myself. “I’m the closest person to her. She’d never hide it from me.”

“She’s not drinking, looks like crap, and she ate a cupcake with fried pickles on top for lunch. I rest my case, but if you need me to make her pee on a stick, I know a guy who makes things happen.” Elle leaned on the wall beside me.

I glared at my sister. Millie shook her ass with Gladys and Sydney on the dance floor, flipping her sweaty hair back and forth and mouthing the words to “The Thong Song” by Sisqó. Maybe the DJ had lost a bet that night. No one knows. But I was in no mood to be a music snob.

Elle patted my shoulder. “There, there. You have a good buzz going on, and you don’t want to venture into plastered territory. Put down the drink. Let’s dance a little.”

She pulled my hand, and I didn’t protest, because what was the point?

Elle and I joined Millie, Gladys, and Sydney, and we danced for an hour or so. Millie said we needed to take a taco break, and since no one had ever said ‘no’ to taco, we all grabbed a table at the restaurant section of the club and stuffed our faces.

I excused myself to the bathroom, and when I came back, saw Gladys leaning down in the booth we were seated in, running her hand over Millie’s stomach. Sydney threw her head back, laughed, and motioned with her hands, making the illusion of huge tits.

My sister was pregnant.

Her friends knew it.

My parents knew it.

Everyone knew it.

Everyone…but me.

Dean

What’s your fascination with music, anyway?

My fingers shook with anger, but that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t answer him. My gaze wandered to Millie’s face, and I pursed my lips. The rest of the girls had gone back to the dance floor, and it was just my sister and me. I asked her if there was anything she wanted to share, once more. She said another taco and laughed. The pit of my stomach twisted, then sizzled with rage. She was a liar, like all of them. There was really no difference between her and Daddy. Well, there was. Daddy, at least, stopped the charade and told me exactly what he thought about me. Millie was still a coward who wanted to protect my precious feelings by lying to me.

Fuck it.

I needed Dean.

Dean made things go away. He was weed. He was alcohol. He was music. Only a thousand times more addictive than all of the above.

Rosie

Listening to good music is like a drug. It releases hormones that make you feel happy. What’s your fascination with astronomy?

Dean

There were times in my life, dark times when I had to spend my summers in a place I didn’t want to be. The nights were long and boring, so I went out and laid down on the hay. The stars were the only things to keep me company, and I guess I got a little attached to them. They reminded me that under the sky, there were better things waiting for me. The people I loved, the places I wanted to visit, all the girls I was going to fuck…

Rosie

A hopeless romantic. I’m getting chills. Stop it.

Dean

You’ll be getting more chills in a second. Turn around.

Rosie

?

Dean

Simple English, Baby LB. Turn around.

He was there.

My heart jumped to my throat, but at the same time, hot lava melted in my lower belly, washing over the hurt and pain, creating an urgent need I was desperate to take care of. It was completely possible that this man was becoming more and more attractive with every passing second. I watched him in a navy blue crisp shirt and gray dress pants, ambling toward me like a force that was about to rip roofs and panties in its wake.

I was so focused on Dean, I hadn’t even noticed the girls were back at the table and the guys were there, too. Sans Trent, obviously.

Vicious took his place by Emilia. Jaime sat sandwiched between Sydney and Gladys, offering them a curt nod, and Dean remained standing, staring at me without even hiding what was in his eyes. Shameless.

“I’ll get you all some drinks.” I shot up from my seat, but I wasn’t feeling it anymore. That goody-two-shoes act. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t good and I wasn’t nice, and tonight, I was going to fuck my sister’s ex-boyfriend. An angry fuck that would erase the last few days from my memory, even if for a moment or two.

As I passed Dean, he bumped his arm against my shoulder. Every hair on my body stood on end, goosebumps prickling my skin.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want?” he hissed into my face, licking his full bottom lip, making it shiny, a forbidden glossy apple.

“I don’t care what you want, Dean. You’re getting water. As I said, you can self-destruct all you want, but not under my shift.”

“Point made. Let it be known, though, that you can do whatever you want on my shaft.”

“No drinking or smoking,” I repeated solemnly, giving him the stink eye.

I could hear the smile in his words as he said, “You fucking care,” watching my back as I scurried along.

Yes, I do, I thought, bitterly. Wishing I hadn’t. I really do.

Things were about to get messy.

Ruckus was going to live up to his name.

Ten Years Ago

School was over. So were Millie and I.

Jaime moved to Texas for college, taking a souvenir from home along with him—our lit teacher, Melody Greene. Trent had surgery on his leg and was bedbound for the rest of the summer. And Vicious…Vicious went fucking nuts, as if he was the one she had abandoned.

After Millie ran away, Rosie seemed to have been pissed off with the world. I wanted to be her punching bag. She wouldn’t let me.

There were other things I wanted, but it wasn’t the appropriate time to go after them. So I settled for being there for her, one fucked-up soul for another.

I wasn’t particularly mad at my ex-girlfriend for ditching my ass. As far as I knew, she left me for someone else. That should’ve made me go ballistic, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find that fucking frenzy Vicious was simmering with.

Rosie said I should stop coming to check in on her, but that was like telling me I couldn’t touch my dick. Entirely fucking impossible.

I came for her every day.

We would sit outside by the pool in complete silence.

I wanted to talk to her about the stars, but I didn’t.

I wanted to talk to her about our futures, but I didn’t.

I wanted to talk to her about us, but there was no us, and her creep-o-meter was probably dinging like mad with me coming for her every afternoon.

One day, I saw Vicious walking past his manicured lawn while I made my way across the stone path to the servants’ house. He stopped and stared at me, blinking like he’d just seen a ghost.