The Hating Season (Seasons #2) - K.A.Linde Page 0,9
in my face. And look, it had happened with Jane, too.
“So, you haven’t had any other pussy in what…two years?”
Camden missed the next ball, and I sighed. Thank fuck.
“Two-ish years. Sure,” I said.
Even though I could give him the exact date Jane and I’d first fucked and everything else went out the window. I might be known as a Manhattan playboy, a giant train wreck, and the Kensington fuckup. In fact, I was all of those things. Or at least, I had been for most of my life.
But I’d thought Jane was endgame. You treated endgame differently than the other girls.
Turned out, I had been wrong. And her endgame was just prison.
“It’s time.”
I dropped the first ball into the pocket with ease. “Maybe.”
“You’re letting your publicist get to you. Weed and good whiskey aren’t even calming your bitching,” Camden said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re Court Kensington. How hard is it to find a willing supplicant?”
Too easy.
Always had been.
The Kensington charm that won my mother elections and had made my dipshit father so good at business got me whatever woman I wanted. All it took was a deep look into their eyes and a pointed smile.
It was how everything had ever been in my life. My name opened doors. I got everything I ever wanted, including the economics degree from Harvard. Who cared if I only went there for lacrosse when the Kensington name was on the building and I charmed my way through the classes?
I was that asshole. The rich, entitled fuck. And I’d never cared a day in my life.
Until the day I’d been arrested.
The day I found out that Jane had just been using me. That her smiles and charm had used and hurt me the way I’d used and hurt so many others.
“Ah, I know that look. You don’t want just anyone,” Camden said.
I whiffed the next ball. “Fuck.”
Camden chuckled as I slammed the stick back into place and waited for him to clean the table. I dragged my phone out of my pocket to check my messages. Maybe Camden had a point. Maybe it was time to move on. I knew a few people who might take the edge off. None that I wanted long-term, but…still…
A text waited for me from my buddy, Gavin King, our friend from college who ran the New York division of an oil empire, Dorset & King.
Holy fuck! Bro, did you see the pictures posted on TMZ? Isn’t that English’s guy?
I furrowed my brow and clicked on the link he’d provided. “Oh fuck!”
Camden glanced up from the pool table. “What?”
I slid the phone across the table to him. “Look at what Gavin just sent me.”
He picked up the phone and scrolled through the photos. “She’s hot. Why are we looking at porn?”
“That’s not porn. That’s Josh Hutch and Celeste Gammon on the set of the latest Bourne movie.”
“So?”
“That’s English’s husband.”
“Oh,” Camden said. His gaze swept the photos another time. “Not for long, I’d guess.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” I clenched my hands into fists. “Fuck! I was such a dick to her. And she was dealing with this shit.”
Camden handed me back the phone. “So? Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
Camden smirked. “Okay.”
Fuck, why did I care?
4
English
“No. No. Put that over there,” I said, directing the movers.
“English, where do you want this box labeled Miscellaneous Closet?” my best friend, Lark, asked from the other room.
“Uh, I have no idea. Just my bedroom is fine. I’ll go through it.”
Lark wiped her hands on her pants and came back into the living room. “You know, this really isn’t that much stuff.”
“I know. I didn’t take everything. I figured I would buy all-new furniture and decorations. I didn’t want to take anything that reminded me of him.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “Glad we could get the moving done early so that I could be here for you before work.”
“Me too.”
Lark and I had met in law school at Columbia. She worked on the reelection campaign for Court’s mom, Mayor Leslie Kensington. She was the one to recommend me to be Court’s publicist after his arrest this summer. It had been great, living with her, but it was time to get my own place.
“Thank fuck the movers finally showed up,” I told her. “I thought I would be living in your apartment forever.”
“Hey! You love my apartment.”
I laughed. “I do. But I felt like a third wheel since Sam moved in.”