The punk-ass rich kids on our team always forget some of us need to win. Some of us don’t have dads who have already secured our futures.
We walk up to an apartment building on the West End of Boston that looks like it’s been completely overhauled. This is happening more and more in the cities.
A doorman opens the door for us. For them it seems completely normal, but for me it’s insane a man is paid to open a door for people. My phone vibrates in my pocket, making me cringe inwardly. Shit! I forgot about my date tonight. When Jackson saw me get the card, he asked me to come to this with these morons to make certain there are no incidents. I will have to see if I can hit my date up later or tomorrow.
I can’t wait until I don’t have to date anymore. I’m so tired of women, it’s ridiculous. No twenty-one-year-old should feel as old as I do.
The elevator smells new. It’s shiny and modern in a way that mocks the old building, sort of like the old-money trust-fund brats I’m always surrounded by. When we arrive at the penthouse, I realize I am in over my head.
The party is filled with modern couples and modern music, and even a couple girls making out while dancing on top of coffee tables. A guy snorts a line from a mound in the dining room. He rubs his nose and nods at us.
It’s like Scarface—the spring-break edition.
Faces turn, all but the one who invited us.
Where the hell is she?
I want nothing like I do to chew her ass for this. I am done with this bullshit act of hers.
I don’t know a single person here. I can tell by the straight backs of the guys I’m with, they don’t either.
Son of a bitch.
I could lose my bursaries for next year just by being here.
Even worse, I could get kicked out of school for being here.
But most likely I’ll just hate myself later for even coming.
Hovering in the door, I contemplate leaving them here with whatever poor choices they intend on making, but the girl who invited us catches my eye. I see her back through the French doors in the living room and fury starts to build in me.
I push past the guys, walking by everything and everyone else, heading for the deck where she is looking out at the city as the sun sets and leaves us for another night.
When I open the door she doesn’t even turn. She doesn’t register me there at all, even when I close the door roughly.
“If you’re here to scold me and lecture, I’m not in the mood. Just go. I’ll text when I want a ride.”
I scowl. “What? I’m not giving you a ride. Jeeze. You’re rich enough to pay for your own cab. Shoot, you probably have a limo downstairs waiting on your every beck and call.”
She turns, smiling from ear to ear. “Shoot and jeeze in one sentence? Did you have to work at that or does hillbilly naturally roll off your tongue?”
My face flushes. “Do you have to work at being a bitch or does it just naturally roll off your tongue?”
She shrugs. “I used to work at it, but I think I have it now.”
She is infuriating. I can feel my blood coming quite close to boiling just being near her. She thinks she’s so smart. She doesn't know that I’m not fooled by the act. I give her my best smug grin and challenge, “Your dad is one of the most successful music moguls in the world. He’s a classy man. I saw him once in Nashville, and I was impressed by the generosity and drive that he has in him. It’s a sin you didn’t inherit one single trait from him.”
She gives me a cold dead stare and holds up her dark-blonde locks. “Hair color—it’s his.”
I fold my arms across my chest and stare down at her as unimpressed as I can. “Just stay away from the soccer guys from now on. Not all of us have daddies with amazing careers all lined up for us, even if we are just barely passing college.”
Her eyes water. “You know what?”
“What!”
“Fuck you!”
I point through the window at a guy. “Not even with that guy’s dick.” I might feel bad, but it doesn’t stop me from shooting my mouth off—she makes me so mad. She has, all three years I’ve been here, from a distance. Her