I'm on edge because I haven't been able to get Katherine out of my fucking head since that night. I thought I was done with her, until my mother practically kidnaps me today and forces me on a flight to DC, announcing that she's getting engaged and that I have to meet her new beau. Like she couldn't have announced this three days ago when we were all at the graduation ceremony? Or told me over the weekend, back at the apartment in New York? Leave it to Ella to keep everything a secret. The only reason I agreed to get on the flight at all was because she had first class tickets and there would be good booze on the plane.
I drink and ignore her during the flight. Like I said, Ella getting married is old news. So imagine my surprise when she finally springs the name of the lucky guy on me as we're driving away from the airport. I'm slouched in the front seat texting on my phone when she says it, so I almost miss the last name. Harrison. Katherine's fucking father. I can't believe my ears.
"Senator Harrison?" I ask.
"He has a daughter in your class, I know," she says, looking at me nervously. She chews on her fingernails; I want to tell her it makes her look like a damn twelve-year-old girl but I never do. "Is that, like, completely weird? It's not weird, is it?"
"Sure, Ella," I say, my tone condescending. I'm trying to be nonchalant despite the way my heart is pounding. "It's no big fucking deal, you getting engaged to the father of someone I go to school with. Why not just date one of the teachers? Better yet, I could just find you one of my friends. That's more your style, isn't it? I thought you liked them young, but we're going for Senators now, are we?"
She glares at me, her eyes flashing. "You're not going to ruin this for me, Caulter."
I don't look up from my phone, going through the motions of texting even though I'm not actually talking to anyone. All I can think about is that it's Katherine's father. Which means she's bringing me to meet Katherine's father.
Which means we're headed to see Katherine.
Little Miss Perfect, too-good-for-her-own-good, going-to-Harvard Katherine. Giant-stick-up-her-ass Katherine. Barely-cracks-a-smile Katherine. All business, all the time.
Except that night.
The night.
I had hit on that girl more times than I could count at Brighton. I mean, hell, why not? It's not like Miss Priss should be wearing a paper bag over her head or something. In fact, it's exactly the opposite. She's smoking hot. And untouchable. The lacrosse team keeps scorecards with all the senior girls on them, each with their very own "bangable" rating. "Brighton Bingo," they call it. I don't play, because I'm not a stupid jock. I might fuck around, but keeping track on a scorecard is just tacky. For the lacrosse players, though, Katherine is the money spot on the card. The thing is, it's widely accepted she's out of everyone's league. There was talk she might not be into guys at all, but she dated some dickhead jock from the lacrosse team for a few months, probably the only guy in that school who wasn't trying to get in her pants. That guy just wanted to suck up to her father.
It's not like I ever thought it would happen with Miss Not Interested. She and I had developed a certain kind of relationship over the past two years that mostly consisted of rolling eyes and lobbing insults back and forth. Really, I only hit on her anymore because it's fun. I like that she looks at me with disgust and calls me asshole instead of sliding into the backseat of my car and offering up a threesome with her best friend. Chicks have been trying to get with me since I was in middle school. Everyone wants that son-of-a-celebrity cock.
Too much *. It's my cross to bear.
But Katherine is different from all of those other girls. She never wanted anything to do with me, writing me off as some kind of filthy manwhore. That fact makes me respect her as a good judge of character, since it's pretty accurate.
That's why I could have shit my pants when I get a text from her offering up one night at a hotel. I am sure it's a joke, but it's a week before graduation and Brighton is quiet and it's a night I'm bored anyway so I figure, what did I have to lose?
When she walks through the door of the hotel looking nervous as hell, I can't believe my eyes. She stands there in this short-sleeved black dress that hangs past her knees and these matronly black heels that make her look like a PTA mom. And a headband. I mean, we're eighteen, for fuck's sake. What the hell kind of adult woman wears a headband?
I've screwed models, actresses, and socialites. A girl wearing a headband and a dress the size of a tent should not light up my radar in any way, shape, or form. But for whatever the hell reason, it's the hottest thing I have ever seen.
I stare at her, for once without anything smart-assed to say. But my dick has a mind of its own. All the blood leaves my head and rushes to my cock. I'm hard as a rock. Apparently I have a thing for girls that wear headbands and weird-ass ultra-conservative dresses that show zero skin.
She pushes me over the edge when she opens her damn mouth. "So I decided before I leave Brighton next week, that I want to see what all the fuss is about."
The only thing I can think is that it's the ones who look like her, proper and conservative, who are the wildest in the bedroom.
That's a fact.