briefly glance toward each other. “No, Jameson, we didn’t go to a private school. We went to Lincoln.”
Right. “Were you in the same class?”
“Nope!” Beretta hops to his feet, gleefully interrupting.
Arsen stands too, following Beretta out to the balcony.
“Arsen, here, was getting his ass beat by a couple eighth-grade assholes,” he shares, his hand on Arsen’s shoulder. “Being the brave dude I am, I jumped in.” He smiles. “Started getting my ass beat, too.”
A low laugh leaves me, and I cut a quick look to Ransom, who grins at his friend.
“And there came Ransom, the motherfucking savior. He whooped all their asses, and then he turned and punched us both for getting ourselves into the situation.”
The four of us laugh.
“We walked home from detention together that day, and every day after that.”
“Friends at first punch. Nice.”
“How about you?” Beretta pulls a cigarette from his pocket, closing the balcony doors so the smoke doesn’t float inside. “How’d you end up with the trust fund kids? Is there like some sort of secret club you all automatically know how to join, submit your bank statements and all that?”
“Maybe.” My eyes widen mockingly. “But if so, I couldn’t tell you, could I?” I joke, and he grins, the stem of his Marlboro stuck between his full lips.
“No, I’ve known Cali and Jules, Scott and some of the others, since I was little.” I look over the house, at the remodel I didn’t even know my mom had done while we were gone and the complete layout change that had to cost a small fortune. “I was born here. My dad bought this house for my mom, and when she remarried, she kept us in it. We left at the end of sixth grade, but they kept the property, just in case, and, well...” I look away, remembering my mom telling me why we were leaving all of our furniture behind, not that any of it’s here anymore. “Here I am.”
The ‘just in case’ in full effect.
“And here they’re not,” Ransom guesses.
“My sister is.” I cut a look toward Ransom, thinking of his reaction to his brother and his comment about his family issues the other day.
Seems we have some similarities after all.
He frowns, but shifts his gaze to the ocean, so I continue.
“We’re both busy with our own shit, so we can go a few days without being home at the same time or we’re both home, but one of us is gone before the other wakes in the morning.”
Beretta nods. “She here now?”
“No clue.” I shrug. “Maybe?”
He and Arsen walk to the far end of the balcony, looking down at the pool, lined perfectly with the edge of the cliff on the first story. Beretta starts talking about what he would do if it were his property and Arsen grins, nodding along.
“They’re very protective of each other, aren’t they?” I ask quietly.
“We are protective of all the things we care about, and of all the things we want.”
I keep my head facing forward, moving only my eyes to his, and clear, steady blues stare back.
Something unfamiliar burns in my throat, but I swallow past it.
I’m not sure what he sees in my expression, but before I’ve even got my mouth open, he’s shaking his head, and like before, I ignore him.
“Why were you on Scott’s street the night I crashed?”
He doesn’t confirm or deny he followed me, but he also doesn’t look away.
“You read the note he left, so I think you wanted to see if I would go.”
Again, nothing from him.
“I did, and you stayed. Why?”
“To see how long you would.” This time, his answer is quick and honest.
I nod, figuring that as well. “To know if I was fucking him.”
“I already knew you weren’t,” he fires back.
My brows lift the slightest bit.
“That so?” I wrap my fingers around the railing, and I shift to face him better.
“Yeah, that’s so.” He matches my move, facing me full-on, pushing closer until we’re near chest to chest, his knuckles brushing mine on the cool metal.
I wait for an explanation, but what I get is a warning, the purpose buried beneath it.
His free hand comes up, and he presses two fingers against my neck, just beneath my jawbone and directly over my pulse point. My skin heats from his touch, under his darkened gaze, and I try to pull away, but his free hand wraps around my waist, forcing me still.
Forcing me to feel him.
To acknowledge the way my pulse climbs beneath his rough