“Yup,” Easton answers.
Wade stops by Steve’s Bugatti. He smooths a hand above the hood, not daring to lay his palm on the steel. “I think you should let me drive this, Mr. O’Halloran. For your daughter’s sake.”
“I think you should stop breathing on my two-million-dollar vehicle, Mr. Carlisle, and take my daughter to the dance.”
Holy mother of Mary. I gape at my father. “Two million?” I echo.
All of the men look at me like I’m ridiculous for asking, but they’re the ridiculous ones. Two million bucks for a car? These people have way too much money.
“It was worth a shot.” Grinning, Wade jogs to his own sports car and holds open the door for me. “Your chariot awaits.”
?
“Hey listen,” Wade says fifteen minutes later, as we idle behind a long line of cars waiting to turn into the country club. “I want you to know that you can come to me if you have any problems.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Next semester,” he clarifies. “After, ah, Reed’s gone.”
“What problems do you anticipate me having? Like if I forget a tampon, will you have extras in your locker?”
His head jerks around. “Reed keeps tampons in his locker for you?”
“No, you dumbass, but that’s about how stupid your statement is. I can take care of myself.” His words remind me eerily of Easton’s, though, and a note of suspicion strikes me. “Did Reed put you up to this?”
Wade looks out the window. “Did Reed put me up to what?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
His shoulders sag. “Okay, maybe.”
“Is he going to dictate instructions from his prison cell like some mafia don?”
Reed’s over-protectiveness will probably only get worse when he can’t see me every day. I guess it should make me feel suffocated, and for some girls, maybe it would—but for me, it’s comforting. I’m not going to let him control my life, but I don’t mind the gesture.
“I dunno. Maybe?” Wade seems unbothered by this. He shifts and slides a sly glance in my direction. “So…conjugal visits?”
I roll my eyes. “What is it with you guys and conjugal visits?”
“Dunno,” he says again. “Seems kinky.” His eyes become unfocused as he engages in some fantasy regarding jail cells and sex games.
And because I don’t want to sit next to Wade while he’s playing some porno in his head, I ask, “Speaking of kinky, what’s up with you and Val?”
His lips tighten into a rigid line.
“Cat got your tongue?” I taunt, but his mouth stays glued shut.
He’ll talk about anything but Val, huh? Very, very interesting.
“Fine, don’t talk, but just know that Val’s an awesome girl. Don’t play with her.” It’s not an overt threat, but Wade should know me by now. I’ll hurt him if he hurts her.
“Is that what you think?” he bursts out. “That I’m the problem? Women,” he mutters and then adds something under his breath that I can’t make out.
I raise my eyebrows, but he turns up the music, and I drop the subject because his outburst is answer enough.
By the time we make the turn into the Bayview Country Club property, Wade’s natural good humor has resurfaced. He loses his stiffness, and his characteristic easy smile is back on his face. “Sorry I snapped at you. Val and I are…complicated.”
“I’m sorry I pried. I just love Val and want her to be happy.”
“How about me?” he says in mock offense. “Do you want me to be happy?”
“Of course.” I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I want everyone to be happy.”
“Even Jordan?”
“Especially her,” I tell him as he pulls up in front of the club’s entrance. “If she’s happy, I think she’d be less of a terror.”
He snorts in disagreement. “Doubtful. She feeds off the fear and unhappiness of others.”
The valet opens my door before I can respond, but Wade’s assessment is depressingly correct. Jordan does seem to be happiest when everyone around her is miserable.
“Be careful. It’s my baby,” Wade tells the valet as he tosses his keys over. Then he pats the hood and winks at me. “Cars are less complicated than women.”
“Can’t have a conjugal visit with a car,” I remind him.
He snickers. “Good point.”
I haven’t been to the country club before, so I don’t know what it looks like when it’s not decked out in the Astor Prep blue and gold, but it’s pretty tonight. Wide swaths of white fabric hang from the center and outward, making the room look like a huge, luxurious tent. Along the white fabric hang tiny Christmas lights. Decorating the room are round tables covered with pristine white tablecloths and chairs wearing giant, shiny blue-and-gold ribbons. But despite the long line of cars outside, the room is surprisingly empty.
“Where is everyone?” I ask my date.
“You’ll see,” Wade says cryptically, leading me to a table at the entry.