“Of course I give a shit, Katherine,” he says. “You’re a nice piece of ass.”
It’s like he’s purposely trying to be a dick. “That’s all it is, then?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m just a nice piece of ass, then. Nothing more.”
“Oh, right, did you think I was going to be your Prince Charming or something?” he laughs. “We’re having a little fun, that’s all.”
“Get out,” I say. I bite down on my lower lip, because I think I might cry. It’s not like I’m in love with Caulter or anything remotely that stupid. But does he have to be such a jerk all the time? His mood swings, between nice guy and asshole, are exhausting. “Get the fuck out of my room.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.” He turns and leaves through the balcony, the way he came in, and I hear his glass door on the other side slam shut.
I sink into my chair, unable to hold back the tears that spill down my cheeks. I’m more angry than anything else.
It’s more than a few minutes later that I see my sketchpad lying on the desk, the one I usually keep carefully tucked under the mattress. Except for last night. Last night, I’d shoved it under the pillow when Jo had shown up in my room early. How could I have forgotten?
I’m so mortified I just want to crawl into a hole and hide. The thought of Caulter seeing the sketches of him...of his cock, holy shit, how many are there of his cock? It makes me want to vomit. He probably thinks I’m obsessed with him, some pathetic virgin who got laid and can't let go.
“Oh, darling, you look so elegant.” Ella says, her hand covering her mouth. “It’s a wonderful tuxedo. What do you think?”
“I think that it’s better than the leather pants I was forced to wear for the wedding with Nick, your tween lover,” I say, my voice bitter. Her wedding to the former boy band member was ridiculous.
It’s not even Ella that I’m irritated with. The thing with Kate has me so on edge. I’m completely avoiding being in the same room with Kate, except at dinner, when I sit in sullen silence. Ella thinks it’s because of the engagement party.
“You could see fit to muster up some kind of happiness for me,” she says.
“I’m thrilled that you’ve found someone to hitch your wagon to,” I say. “Your dreams of finally being legitimate might come true.”
I’m shocked when she slaps me across the face. Ella has done a lot of things, but she’s never actually slapped me. The stylist doing the fitting quickly exits the room, making an excuse about taking a call. “At some point, you have to grow up, Caulter, and stop acting like a spoiled little shit.”
“Well, you raised me, mother,” I say, rubbing my face. “I’m your son, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
“I didn’t raise you to act like a complete ass.”
“No,” I say. “You didn’t raise me at all. You send me off to rehab and military school and then Brighton, so you could live out your teenage years all over again, partying with rock stars. Now you’ve met someone who’s powerful and influential, whose arm you can hang on and pretend to be concerned about issues that matter. So you need me back in your life to play the good son role.”
“That’s not true, Caulter,” she says. “I didn’t know what I was doing with you -- I was a kid myself.”
I shrug. “You made your choices,” I say. “Just like I’m making mine, holding out for the trust fund. I’ll play along, but after summer is over, I’m done.”
“Bourbon.” The bartender looks at me, shaking his head. “You’re the Senator’s kid, aren’t you?”
“I’m Ella Sterling’s kid.” This goddamned tuxedo is practically cutting off my air supply, choking my neck. It’s stifling, despite the fact that the evening air is cool. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re in high school. I can’t serve you.”
“I’m not in high school,” I say. “But fine. Whatever.” Turning around, I lean against the bar, looking out over the crowd gathered in the backyard. The party planners have been at this for two days, and Ella has gone all out for the engagement party. The yard has been transformed into something that looks like white lights and flowers have been vomited everywhere.
But minimalism isn’t Ella’s style, despite her prior weddings. The marriage to the rock star involved a tiger, so at least that one was more entertaining.
This one is just...blah. That is, until I see her. We’ve been in a state of deep freeze since the argument in her room.
She should have at least made an attempt to hide the sketches of me. I was lying in bed, trying to will away my boner that night, when my hand touched the notebook.
Page after fucking page of pictures of me. Me, leaning on the balcony smoking. Me, shirtless, my pants unbuttoned at the top. My face. My chest. My dick. Drawings of me, staring me right in the face.
I mentally chastise myself for ever being stupid enough to screw a virgin. I got caught up in the pursuit, but this goes no further. Owning her * is one thing, but she's obviously infatuated with me. I never expected that.
Kate is talking to a guy I recognize from school, a lacrosse player I think she dated before. Those fucking lacrosse players and that Brighton Bingo game piss me off. I clench my hands into fists, considering smashing his face in, when she makes eye contact with me.
She's wearing this white dress, one of the ones Ella's stylist sent. I regret giving her the dresses now that the guy she's next to is leering at her the way he is. The dress is short, barely touching the top of her thigh, and covered in this gold floral pattern that catches the light when she moves. She's wearing white sandals and gold earrings, her hair piled on top of her head, little pieces falling from the up do, across her forehead and down the sides of her face. The whole effect makes her look like a Greek goddess. She has no idea that she catches the eye of everyone around here.
Kate laughs at something he says, and touches his arm, and that’s it. It’s fucking enough. At least if she’s going to flirt with some other guy, I don't have to watch it happen right in front of me.
I storm through the backyard, weaving through the crowd of people. Ella says something to me, but I shrug her off, escaping into the house, through the kitchen.
“Is everything all right out there, Caulter?” Rose asks as I pass.
“I’m just taking a break.” I don’t pause, but she stops me, with one hand on my arm.
“The library is closed off,” she says. “It’ll be quiet, if you want someplace where you won’t be bothered.”
I cover her palm with mine. “Thanks, Rose.”
She smiled and waves me off. “No harm in taking a break,” she says. “You kids don’t need to be on display all the time. You want me to make you a sandwich? All those little appetizers don’t amount to much of anything. You’re probably starving.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I just want to get out of here.
“Scoot, then, before someone finds you,” she says. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re an angel.”
Rose chortles. “You’re delusional.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Closing the library door, I shut everything out. Kate should be flirting with someone else, I tell myself. It’s better this way. The thing between us was just supposed to be sex. Nothing more. She isn't supposed to be drawing page after page of pictures of me. I’m not supposed to be thinking about her, dropping everything to rescue her at parties, turning down sex when she throws herself at me because I don’t want to hurt her.
It’s like I don’t even know who I fucking am anymore.
I’m sure as hell not whatever Kate thinks I am. I’m not a good guy.