Hooked on the Game (The Sterling Shore Series #1) (5 page)

"I had a boyfriend, but we broke up."

Simple, explanatory, but not graphically detailed.  See?  Mature.

I don't have to tell him that all three times we had sex were terrible.  Personally, I learned sex is highly overrated.  I see no point in reliving the worst six minutes of my life... total.  I don't get the appeal.  Maybe I'm broken, but I think people are weird for loving it.  It's more exciting to do everything leading up to sex.  The actual finale is less than climatic.  It's a letdown.

"Why'd you break up?"

I really don't like this conversation.  Too many memories are attached to the questions he's asking.

"Because things didn't work out. That's why most people break up."  I'm hoping my clipped tone is enough to halt his inquiry.  No such luck.  The gleam in his eyes lets me know it's not over.

"So you left him after he took your virginity?"

"No, I left him after he took my best friend's virginity."

That snarky comment flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.  I almost want to look around for the filter that had to have fallen off my usually tight lips.

"Oh," he mouths, letting his amusement fall from his eyes.  "Sorry."

I shrug, trying not to act as though I care.  "It happens.  It's not like you knew, so don't apologize for that.  If you feel a need to be remorseful, then apologize for keeping me up so many nights when I had a test the next day."

His eyebrows shoot up and he strangles on his coffee for no real apparent reason.  What'd I miss?

A rumbling laughter falls through his lips when he finally manages to free his lungs of the intrusive liquid, and he brings his arm out from behind me while shaking his head.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Just how exactly did I keep you up, Raya?" he asks, seeming teasing, but I don't know why.

Yep.  I'm stupid.  I get books, but I'm slow when it comes to jokes.  My cheeks flare up with heat, and I shake my head when I finally find the meaning behind his mockery.

"Not what I meant.  I meant your parties kept me up."

"You've never been to a party," he says, shifting from humorous to serious.  "Why?"

"Well, I wasn't invited for one, but also because I'm on scholarship.  I'm not here to play.  I'm here to change my life."

"You lived next door.  An invite wasn't necessary, and I like to believe you can do both.  Partying in moderation is good for the clogged mind.  I drink, I play, and then I work just as hard.  I think tomorrow will be damn good for you."

I dread it with everything in me.

"What're your plans for tonight?" he asks while tilting his coffee to his lips, drawing my attention to the silver again.  Is that a... tongue ring?  Mr. Ritzy has a tongue ring?  No.  Surely not.

Look away, Raya.  Look.  Away.

"Um... study?" I ask, rather than state.  Now I'm nervous.  How did he turn me into a pitiful nervous fool?  I hate him.  Hate.  Him.

Telling myself I hate him isn't helping.

"Change your mind and go with me to Silk tonight.  It's a club that's only open to the public once a month.  Tonight's the 'once a month.'  It'll be packed, and it'll be fun.  No offense, but you need fun."

No offense?  I'm very offended... I think.

"I need a scholarship to stay in school, so if I go to the club and the party tomorrow, I won't have very much study time this weekend.  I need to maintain my GPA.  Maybe some other time."

He frowns, which is just as confusing as he's been all day.

"Fine.  Rain-check.  You ready?" he asks, standing up with his coffee in tow.

Cynthia runs over to take his card as I fish out my money from my pocket.

"I've got it," he says.  "I invited you."

I want to object, but even though I ordered the cheapest coffee they have - plain with a touch of cream - I still don't have five dollars to spend on that single cup.  If he's offering to pay, I really need to let him.  Gah, I feel like a mooch now.  I need a new job.

I notice a few eyes on us.  There's a group of people who've been bashing me waving at him.  I look away, but his arm comes to rest over my shoulders again as he nods in acknowledgment and offers them a smile.

Why does he keep touching me?  It's-

"Kade!" one guy yells, chuckling.  "You shittin' me?"

Oh no.  The color drains from my face.  He's about to say something.  The moment I've been dreading is here.

"Huh?" Kade asks, seeming confused.

The guy grunts when he takes a hard elbow to the ribs by another guy, and Kade looks to me and shrugs before leading me through the doors with his arm still draped around me.

He has no idea what he's just done.  He shouldn't have touched me in front of them.  Now more people will think he and I are together, and when it blows up, something tells me I'll be humiliated.

Chapter 4

Unlikely Friendship

I should have gone to Silk.  Nothing I'm reading is making a damn bit of sense because all I can think about is how Kade said I needed to have fun.  I could still go.  I'm sure a bus could take me there, but I've got thirteen dollars left to make it until the end of the week when my next check comes from the church.

I really don't think it'd be wise to use church money to go to a club.  I'd hate to get struck by lightning in the middle of the dance floor.

I'm starving and I'm sick of tuna, but it's affordable and plentiful.  Several cans of my tuna survived the wreckage.

I go to grab a can just as Kade walks through the door.  I freeze in the living room, standing in front of him in my panties and tank-top.  He wasn't supposed to come home this early.  It's barely ten.

A teasing gleam spreads through his eyes as his lips curl up in a taunting grin.  A squeal finally bubbles free from my lips as I rush up the stairs, wishing I hadn't been brave enough to strut around in my underwear.

Kade's roaring laughter drifts up the stairs as I slam the door to my room.  I can feel my whole body flushed.  I'm almost worried I'll be stained crimson forever.

"Raya," he chuckles out, lightly rapping on my door.  "Come on.  Don't hide.  It'll only make it more awkward... for you."

Great.  He's feeling playful tonight.  I almost prefer the brooding weirdo who can't make up his mind if he's pissed or pleasant.

"I'm not hiding... I'm... getting decent," I lie, well, sort of.  I am getting decent, but I have no intentions of coming out.  I might possibly go in and out of my window for a while.

"Raya," he says again, his laughter still lacing his words.  "Come on."

I groan and glance in the mirror to see if I'm as red as it feels like I am.  Yep.  I'm red.  My dark brown hair actually looks darker next to the red.

I stare at the doorknob like it's the enemy.  The shadow he casts tries to slip underneath the door.  He's not going anywhere until I come out.

"You know it was bound to happen sooner or later.  Would it make it easier if I stripped down and let you see me in my underwear?" he jokes.

Now I'm blushing for a whole new reason.  It sure as hell wouldn't make this easier.  He needs to go back to annoying the crap out of me.  He's just confusing me with this... less shallow version of himself.

"Raya?" he asks, prompting me to break my silence.

"Do not strip," I grumble, making his laughter fall out louder once again.

"Come out.  I grabbed some burgers.  It'll be better than the tuna you insist on eating.  The house will stink less, too."

Crap.  My tuna is stinking up the house?  Great.

Why is he buying me food?  Gah, a burger sounds perfect.  I'd love to eat anything that I didn't have to pull out of a can right now.

"Promise you won't laugh at me?"

He laughs.  Of course he laughs.  Jerk.  But while he laughs, I find myself smiling. 
Stop smiling
.

"I'm only laughing because I've been expecting it.  You always ran around your house in your underwear.  Not very smart for a girl trying to lay low."

I only thought I couldn't get any redder.  I look like I've been cooking under the sun for ten days straight right now.

"
Please
tell me you're joking," I whine.

"You should have bought curtains or worn shorts if you didn't want anyone to notice."

"I never thought anyone was peering through my damn windows!"

He almost coughs from his even louder laughter.

"Seriously?  Your room was almost directly across from mine, and your bed was pressed against the window.  How was I supposed to never see you lounging around in your underwear?  Don't make it a big deal."

Don't make it a big deal.  Yeah right.

I tug at the shorts, making sure they are covering up everything he's already seen - numerous times apparently - and I use all my willpower to open the door to the smiling bastard propped against the frame.

"I hate you, you know."

He chuckles as he motions for me to join him.  I'm relieved when he doesn't touch me, but then again, he hasn't touched me at all inside the house - only outside.

I follow him down the stairs, glaring at the back of his head as he continues to revel in my humiliation.  "I'll grab some plates."

I just nod, refusing to meet his gaze, and I move to stand in front of the island bar while he moves to the other side.  When a clear glass plate comes to rest beneath my eyes, I let out a snort of a laugh.  Leave it to a rich kid to break out the real dishes for paper-plate food.

I frown.  Or maybe leave it to me - the poor girl - to prefer paper plates.

"I thought you'd be at the club longer," I mumble by way of explaining.

"I don't ever stay long.  It's business.  Same for my parties.  I hang out until the sobriety is gone, and then I head to my room for the rest of the night.  Everyone got drunk earlier than usual tonight."

That brings my eyes up from the empty plate.

"Business?"

He offers a wry grin as he pulls out the paper bag and starts unwrapping the burgers that smell almost divine.  Way better than canned tuna.  It takes a lot more effort than I care to admit just to refrain from licking my lips and gapingly salivate.

"Yes, business.  My parties aren't for me to sew wild oats.  I have fun sometimes, and let loose, but most of the time I'm earning contacts.  Though Adam, John, Mandy, or Carla might seem like hell-raisers right now, in another few years, they'll be climbing high in whatever company they choose."

Ah.  "Pedigree rights," I murmur, clapping my hand over my mouth immediately upon hearing myself say it aloud.

He shrugs, never looking up from his task.  "Pedigree sometimes plays a part.  Most of the time they're actually brilliant minds.  There aren't a whole lot of people in an Ivy League college because they're stupid, Raya.  One day, I'll need to call them, and they'll remember these years at college.  Same for them and me.  Business.  You don't get to the top by hard work and brains alone.  You play the game.  Nothing else matters if you don't play the game."

"So you play games?" I tease.

Oh shit.  Am I flirting?  I had better not be flirting.

"When I have to," he says while offering me a delicious wink.

I would melt, but I'm too practical.  Oh, who the hell am I kidding?  He better not wink at me again.

"So, you came here to be close to your family and to play games with the other socialite offspring?" I ask, sounding less flirty and bitterer.

He tenses for a second as he grabs a couple of glasses from the cabinet.  He brought me dinner and he's getting it all together, and I have to go and say something unnecessarily snippy.

"Sorry.  That came out a little... harsher than I intended."

He nods slowly as he turns back around.  "Is it just me you hate or all of us?"

I sigh out heavily.  "I haven't had the best experience with the upper class.  Take this week for example.  Until today, most of the campus has been running their mouths about me.  The ones making my life hell weren't scholarship students."

His jaw clenches for a second, then a small smile comes into play.  "There are thousands of students here.  It's college; not high school.  Only a tenth of the population even know you exist.  Don't be so dramatic."

"Well, the ten percent who know I exist seem to be everywhere."

"Still?" he asks, leaning back while forgetting the task at hand - food.

Is this when I should tell him?  Should I tell him all his upscale friends are whispering behind his back about him being with me?  I might as well.  All hell might break loose at the party if I don't warn him.

"No, but only because-"

"They've moved on to something juicier.  Don't treat this like high school.  It's not the same.  There's no queen, no king, and no cliques that rule it all.  People talk whether you're in school or not, but it doesn't dictate anything.  You choose how much you allow people to rule you."

This is too deep.  Way too deep.  He's right.  This isn't high school, and there's no chance everyone here has been in on the rumors, but it sure as hell felt like at the time.  Maybe he doesn't have to know that some of the whispers amongst the groups are about us - together.

I'm definitely loving the reprieve from the ten percent.

"Was this your way of getting around my question?" I ask, stifling a grin.

"Ah, yes.  Your question.  I came here to be close to my family, as I said.  But also because this is where most of the partiers will be - rebels without a cause acting out for attention.  Believe it or not, the ones who don't end up in rehab will be some of the most successful businessmen or businesswomen in the country.  Always are.  And you build stronger bonds over beer than you do over brunch."

I chuckle over that last bit and he gives me a wink while popping the top on a beer and pouring it into a glass.  A glass.

"You want one?" he asks.

"Um... I'm eighteen."

"Old enough to vote and go to war, but not drink?"

Valid point?  Yes.  Legal and logical?  No.  But let's face it.  I'm no angel.  It won't be my first beer, so I don't know why I'm hassling him.

"I'll take one, but you can keep the glass."

He chuckles lightly while shaking his head.  "I only pour it in a glass when I eat.  Less backwash."

Ew.  "On second thought, I'll take the glass after all."

He smiles as he pours it carefully, acting like a pro.

"So you're twenty-one?"

"Yep.  Not far from twenty-two."

"And you're set to start work right out of school, I bet."  I'm so proud that didn't come out snarky.

"Yes.  Though, I doubt it's for the reasons you think.  I'm not going to deny I'm lucky, fortunate in some areas even.  Having a job lined up with my grandfather's company is one of those fortunate circumstances."

"And it's just that easy.  Finish college and take over his business?"

He laughs, sounding a little condescending in tone, but I'm hoping I'm reading too much into it.

"Definitely not easy.  My father hates it.  He built his business on his own, and then he married into money.  He came from the belly of the lower-class, and he earned his right to stand high in the upper-class - as you called it.  He thinks I should start at the ground-level and work my way up."

"And you don't feel you should have to?"  Entitled brat.  "You don't think there are people who have been working and waiting for an opportunity like you'll have?"

"My grandfather needs someone to take over certain pieces of the business as soon as possible.  Those pieces aren't the ground-level.  Though there are others who have been waiting longer for this opportunity, this is the company my grandfather built from nothing.  He wants someone he can trust, and he knows that's me.  So is it unfair to some?  Yes.  But do I feel guilty for being the one my granddad trusts?  Hell no."

I'm almost in awe. He definitely knows how to make you see his side of things.  He'll be excellent at negotiations.  It's crazy to think about all the times I've envied him and his friends for getting trashed and enjoying a good time, when he only looks at it as a future business investment.  He's a workaholic and he doesn't even have a job yet.

It's as though he's proud of something, but I don't know what.  Then it dawns on me.  The mention of his grandfather.  That's what's sparking the twinkle of pride.

"You're fond of your grandfather," I observe.

His smile quirks up while he resumes his task of dividing the fries on the plates.

"Very."  Then he points to my full plate.  "If that's the end of the Capperton Inquisition, how about we move to the living room and watch a movie while we eat?"

He's so confusing.

"One more question," I murmur softly while sliding off the stool and carrying my plate.

He heads into the living room and I follow, waiting on him to respond.  He waits until he puts his food down on the coffee table in front of the couch and then he leans back.

"Yes?" he says.

"Why are you being so nice to me all of the sudden?"

He frowns as I take a seat beside him, making sure to leave a respectable amount of distance between us without going overboard and making it look like I'm disgusted by him.  I was once disgusted by him, but he keeps... blurring the lines.

His eyes fall to my shoulder where one of my yellowing bruises barely remains visible.

"Because believe it or not, I don't like knowing you got hurt.  I feel like an ass.  Seeing the proof of the damage that could have been done... Let's just say it scared me.  Now, can we eat?"