Pretty Boy (Perfect Boys #1) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,34
the food and then spin back to face my friends. “None of you know what you’re talking about. You haven’t even met Sterling yet, and you’re making judgments about him.”
“Can you blame us?” Kiernan asks. “You went away for a few days and came home with some random dude you picked up in a Podunk, backwoods town in Texas. It’s not exactly the first time…”
“The first time for what?” I snap, even though I know exactly what he means. If he’s going to be a sanctimonious ass, he can at least say the words rather than alluding to them.
“The first time a boy has been after your money,” Alden finishes for him.
I scoff. “As if the two of you don’t spoil your boys just as much as I do.”
“Yes, but we’re more careful,” Kiernan points out. “Remember, what was his name? Jackie? Jordan? The one who used your AmEx to buy himself a Porsche and three Rolexes?”
“I remember.” It’s not exactly the kind of thing a person can forget. “Sterling isn’t like that.”
“Of course, it sounds harsh, but you really can’t rule out the boy being a gold digger,” Alden adds. “You can hardly even blame him. A handsome man like you walks into his town, flashing your black card and I’m sure you looked like the perfect ticket out of there.”
“It’s not like that,” I insist again, becoming more than a little frustrated with my friends. Even if part of me understands their concern, I know Sterling isn’t like that. I know it in my gut.
“Bare, it’s okay, it happens to the best of us,” Lorna insists. “You remember my near marriage to that pretty little thing from Puerto Rico. Give him a thousand bucks and a bus ticket back to the boonies and move on with your life.”
My blood is rushing so loudly in my ears, I almost don’t hear the little sniffle from the hallway, followed by the shuffling of footsteps.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “All three of you, get the fuck out.”
I tune out their protests as I dart out of the kitchen to catch Sterling. I find him in the bedroom, stuffing his things back into the tattered paper bags he clearly pulled out of the trash in the bathroom, where I put them after he unpacked.
“I was so stupid to think for a second I could belong here,” he says around another sniffle. “I don’t need any money, but a bus ticket would be greatly appreciated. Or I can call Miss Maggie and see if she can wire me the money for it.”
“Sterling, stop,” I say in my most commanding tone, but he doesn’t so much as pause.
“I’m used to folks disliking me once we’ve met, but this was a new one for me. They didn’t even need to see me to know I could never be good enough for you.” He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob and then hiccups. My heart crumbles, my anger at my friends being pushed to the back of my mind so I can focus on the problem right in front of me. I stride across the room and scoop my boy up into my arms to stop him from packing.
He struggles and makes another sad little sound that tears me apart.
“Sterling,” I say his name again.
“Stop it,” he insists, trying to break my grasp on him. “Stop.” He pushes on my arms as I carry him over to the chair in the corner of the room so I can sit down with him and talk. “Longhorn,” he gasps, and I stop dead in my tracks, that damn helpless feeling crashing into me all over again.
Loosening my hold, I set him on his feet. He stumbles a little, almost as if he’s surprised I actually let him go.
“I know you’re not here because of my money,” I say when he doesn’t immediately run back to continue packing.
“I’m not,” he insists, pulling himself up and meeting my eyes. “Your friends are right; this was crazy. You picked up some random trash and brought it home with you.”
“You’re not trash,” I growl.
“I am,” he says. “And I don’t belong here.”
I make another frustrated noise, clenching and unclenching my hands to keep from reaching for him again. As much as I want to drag him back into my arms and keep him there until I’m sure he knows that he’s the furthest thing from trash, he safeworded, and I’ll always respect that.