“Uh-huh. I bet you do.”
“I do!” My solemn expression lasts for about a second before a grin breaks loose. “Like, when chicks say ‘Please, Easton, more!’ and ‘Omigod, Easton, you’re the best!’ I’m listening one hundred percent.”
“Wow.”
“I know, right? Wow.”
“I don’t think we’re wowing about the same thing.” She sighs heavily, then shuffles forward and grabs a serving spoon.
As she heaps a mountain of roasted potatoes onto her plate, I glance at her tray and realize she’s taken an insane amount of food. Sure, maybe she has a big appetite in general, but she’s so tiny that I can’t see where she’s putting away all this food. She either exercises like crazy, or…she’s a binge-and-purge type of girl.
That would be a damn shame. I hate it when girls are afraid of their own curves. Curves make the world go ’round. Hell, the world is round because it has curves. Curves rock. Curves—
I blink myself out of my thoughts. I go on tangents sometimes, not just out loud but in my head. These are the times when I want to smoke a joint or pound some booze, calm down the frenetic thoughts that race through my mind.
I’ve always been a bundle of energy, though, and it was even worse when I was a kid. I was on a perpetual sugar high even when I hadn’t had any sugar, bouncing around and around and around until I finally crashed, much to my parents’ relief.
“You want to do something tonight?” I ask Hartley.
She stops in her tracks.
I nearly slam into her, darting backward just in time. “Is that a yes?”
Her tone is matter-of-fact. “Look. Royal. I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I’m not interested in you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t. You can’t possibly understand why someone might not want to be around you.”
I feign a hurt look. “Why don’t you want to be around me? I’m fun.”
“Yeah, you are,” she agrees. “You’re fun, Easton. So fun that you get beat up by a bunch of thugs on Salem Street. So fun that even when you’re about to black out, you still think it’s a good idea to get on your motorcycle and drive home—”
Shame pricks my chest.
“—So fun that you crash at some random girl’s apartment with a wad of cash in your pocket. I could have robbed you blind if I wanted to.” She shrugs. “I don’t have time for that kind of stuff. It’s too much of a burden.”
A burden?
“I didn’t ask to stay over,” I remind her, a bit stiffly. “And I left you cash for your trouble.” I lift a brow. “Which you didn’t even say ‘thank you’ for.”
“I was out of the house before you—how could I know you left me money? And even if I did know about it, why would I ever thank you? I slept on the floor while Prince Royal got my bed. I deserve to be compensated for that. I woke up with a cockroach crawling up my arm, you know.”
I shiver in horror. I hate bugs. Especially cockroaches. They’re the worst. And once again, I’m torn between annoyance and guilt. Because while I didn’t ask for her help, she did help me. And she did give up her bed—well, her sofa—so my sorry, beaten-up ass would have somewhere to sleep.
“Thank you for giving me a place to stay,” I say sheepishly.
Someone nudges us, so we shuffle forward again, moving toward the dessert bar. I’m not surprised when Hartley takes not one but two pieces of cheesecake.
I feel a pang of concern. I really hope she doesn’t have an eating disorder. It’s bad enough that Ella’s lost her appetite since Reed left. I don’t want to spend the whole school year monitoring the diets of the women in my life.
“You’re welcome,” Hartley tells me. “But just so you know? You only get one favor from me. That was it.”
Before I can inform her that I’m very much looking forward to returning the favor, Felicity Worthington interrupts us.
“Hi, Easton.”
A few feet away stand a couple of her friends: the one who has a headband permanently attached to her head, and her blonde companion in four-inch heels. The two girls whisper to each other behind their hands as Felicity stands there eyeing me like a predator.
“What’s up, Felicity?” I ask lightly.
“Bonfire at my place next week,” she answers sweetly. “I wanted to personally extend the invitation.”
I swallow a laugh. The Worthingtons live a few houses down the shore from my house, so I’ve been to a ton of their parties, always hosted by Felicity’s older brother, Brent. But the last one I went to ended up with Daniel Delacorte stripped naked and trussed like a pig at a luau, courtesy of Ella, Val, and Savannah Montgomery. They were punishing the asshat for drugging Ella at a different party. And then, after Daniel got free, he ran down the beach and into Reed’s fist.
Needless to say, the Royals haven’t been invited back since. But Brent graduated last year, so I guess Felicity’s in charge now.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say noncommittally. “It all depends on whether my girl wants to go.” I wink and turn toward Hartley, only to find her gone.
Dammit. She’s walking across the polished floor toward the French doors that lead to the outdoor eating area. As I watch, Hartley makes a beeline for one of the farthest tables on the patio and sits with her back to the dining hall doors. Of course. Eating alone, like the antisocial princess she is.
“What girl?” Felicity narrows her eyes. “Do you mean Claire? Because she was telling Melissa the other day that you guys are back together—”
“We’re not back together,” I interject. Fuckin’ Claire.
“Oh. Okay. Good.” Felicity looks more than a little relieved. “Anyway, about the party, you don’t have to text that you’re coming or anything. Just show up. You’re always welcome at my place.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say again.
She reaches out and curls her fingers around my upper arm, lightly caressing my biceps over my shirt. “No maybes. Please come. I’d love to spend some quality time with you.”
As she flounces off to rejoin her giggling friends, I have to wonder if there’s even a bonfire. Maybe it’s just a scheme to get me over there so she can have her way with me.
But Felicity’s party is what Val and Ella are talking about when I walk up to our usual table. I knock fists with several of my teammates before sinking down in the chair next to Ella.
“I already told you, I don’t want to go,” she’s saying to Val. “Felicity’s fake sweetness gives me a toothache.”
Val laces her fingers together. “Me too, but you’ve got no choice. You have to make an appearance, especially now that we know what they’re up to.”
“What who is up to?” I ask with a frown.
Val glances over at me. “The nobles are planning a revolt against the crown.”
My frown deepens. “What do you mean?”
Ella notices my worried expression and reaches over to squeeze my arm. “Ignore her. She’s being melodramatic.”
“I am not,” Val maintains. “Easton, back me up here.”