“I guess that’s something—if he actual y worked, instead of pul ing a prima donna act.”
Eyes closed, I rol my head back and forth to stretch the kinks out of my neck after spending the day painting ceilings. “I had to sign some sort of court document at the end of the day, verifying he was there and doing actual labor. I guess he’d be in trouble if he didn’t perform the community service.”
The concerto swel s, and neither of us speaks for several minutes. Music, to both of us, is the purest expression of emotion. When it’s inspired, it leaves tears in my eyes, leaves me breathless. For me, there’s nothing better than singing and knowing I’ve affected someone that same way.
“So, what’s on the agenda tonight—partying til the wee hours? Drag racing on the strip? Hot date?” My father laughs at his little joke. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it—to him, I’m an incorrigible good girl. I may be the only girl in the history of California whose father encourages her to stay out later with friends.
“Sure—al of the above. Don’t wait up.”
“So are you stil seeing—” he snaps his fingers twice.
“Nick?”
“That’s the one.”
“We were never real y a thing, Dad.”
Nick is a guy from school who’s known for his civic-minded volunteer efforts. In other words, he’s a male me.
Everyone’s been trying to push us together since he transferred in during junior year. We’ve been out a few times and stil hang out occasional y. He’s nice enough, and certainly good-looking enough, but I can go for days without thinking about him. So I do.
“Is he aware of this?”
“Dad, sheesh.” I’m amused by the fact that my father is interested in my love life. Or lack thereof. “We get along fine. He’s nice. Fun. Easy to talk to.” Everything Reid isn’t.
Why am I thinking of him?
“Ouch,” Dad says, wincing. “No chemistry, huh?”
“What?”
“Nice, fun, easy to talk to—sounds like you’re talking about me!” He glances over his right shoulder to change lanes, winking at me in the process.
“I could do worse than someone like you, Dad,” I laugh.
He pretends to admire himself in the rearview mirror, waggling his eyebrows. “True. There’s no hurry, though.”
“Definitely not.”
I’m eighteen, so he’s right—there’s no hurry. I don’t tel him how much I want that sort of connection—a relationship like he and Mom share. The trust and respect between them is plain to see, but I know that under the surface, their relationship simmers with passion. I don’t tel him how much I worry it wil never happen for me. I don’t tel him how some days, I feel as though everything I do is an attempt to be worthy of being loved like that.
Chapter 6
REID
Mom meets me at the door with a drink in her hand. “Reid!” Plucking at the shirt, her eyes widen and her mouth screws up. Dropping the fabric like it’s covered in manure instead of paint, she rubs her fingers together.
“It’s just paint, Mom. And it’s dry.” I pul the shirt over my head and keep walking towards the curving marble staircase.
“Did you get any on the wal s?” Clearly, a smartass temperament is genetic, and I was dealt a double dose.
“Yeah, I actual y did. I’m gonna take a shower—when’s dinner?” I cal down when I hit the second landing.
“Immaculada should have it on the table by seven.”
“I think I’l nap, too. I’m going out later, and I’m dead tired.”
I don’t wait for an answer. If Dad isn’t going to be home
—he usual y isn’t—I have no idea how she’l spend the evening, besides having another cocktail or three.
***
“I stil can’t believe you destroyed your 911, man.” John downshifts his Jaguar XJ to take a curve. “It sucks ass, seriously.”
My one week old Porsche 911 GT2 RS was sweet. I don’t even remember getting into it that night. Guess I should be glad I hadn’t taken anyone home from that club—
the whole right side was crushed in.
Man, that’s a more sobering thought than I want to be having tonight.
“Gonna replace it?”
“No point right now—my license is suspended for six months anyway.” Six months. Damn. The judge didn’t even count the time from the accident to my court date against it
—he started the sentence from the court date, leaving five months, two weeks and four days to go.
John frowns, confused. “So?”
I should know better than to expect my best friend to get why I won’t be driving on a suspended license. He has no concept of consequences. He’s the luckiest bastard I hang out with—he never gets caught doing anything. It’s bizarre.
Not to mention unfair as hel .
“I’ve gotta lay low for a bit. First getting busted at that party, and now this DUI and community service crap.”
“But they dropped the charges on the weed, right?”
“Yeah. But standing there in front of a judge, you can’t help feeling like he knows everything you’ve ever done.”
“Whoa.” John is one of those guys who frequently comes across as stoned off his ass. He’s brighter than he seems
—unless he’s actual y stoned, in which case he’s practical y brain dead.