Page 57 of Crush
Since this wasn’t Society related, there was no way Malcolm was about to let me out of the house without knowing exactly where I was going. There was also no possibility I’d be staying in said house during Halloween. He inherited a teenager, not a prisoner, and I made sure to tell him so when I announced I’d be attending a party tonight.
I may have just had Zeke give him the wrong address and confirm that it was the Aiden’s house, not the Briars’.
It’s Malcolm’s fault, anyway, for being gone all the time and not following up on confirmation phone calls. He said he’d be back tomorrow evening. By then, I’ll have the proper story to recite over dinner about all the platonic fun I had with my new celebrity friend at a Halloween party.
I direct Zeke into the drawing/reception/receiving room—depending on what century you’re in—with a large, front-facing room and grand arched windows set within elaborate wood trim on the walls. A full bar is set up in crystal decanters in the far corner behind the velvet-stitched couches, which Zeke makes a beeline for.
“Can I pour you one?” he asks with his back to me as he sifts through the decanters, finally settling on one he likes with a pale golden liquor inside.
“Sure.” I take a moment to check out Zeke from behind, his pert butt curving out from under his thin, silk cape. He spins on his heel, heading over to me with the drinks clinking with ice, his tailored black slacks and collared shirt unbuttoned to showcase his bare, sculpted pecs, and I wonder… why can’t I be attracted to him?
Zeke’s so easy-going and humble compared to his fame outside Winthorpe. He’s funny, has a great laugh, and pays attention to everything I say—even offering me advice. Thorne never does that. He scoffs, growls, bites…
And lights a fire in my belly every time he comes near.
Zeke, as gorgeous as he is, doesn’t do that.
He comes back to me, offering the drink. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and I feel—normal.
“Thank you.” I toast to him before taking a sip.
“Will Lurch be pissed we’re breaking into your dad’s stash?”
I find a few things wrong with that question. “Dash is pretty cool, and Malcolm’s not my dad.”
“Shite. Sorry.” Zeke frowns, appearing genuinely contrite.
Softening, I add, “I mean, not my dad in the way that matters. A man named Gary Beckett raised me, and he’s the man I consider my dad. Malcolm is … my biological father.”
“Considering how you turned out, I think I need to thank the guy. I must say, you look fucking gorgeous tonight.”
My mouth feels lopsided as I smile politely at the compliment. Zeke doesn’t seem to notice. He turns, scanning the ornate drawing room—from the various paintings of hills, horses, and ladies in ball gowns to the life-sized suits of armor guarding the fireplace. “How old is this place?”
“Hundreds of years, I’m told. Maybe the early 1800s?”
“So fucking awesome. If the rooms look like this, I can’t wait to get into the hidden passageways. Have you run across a skull yet? Buried jewels? Hidden money?”
I laugh into my crystal tumbler. “This isn’t a treasure hunt, Zeke. We’re just breaking into the neighbor’s house and finding dirt on our worst enemy. Get your adventure straight.”
He releases that bold, bright laugh. This time, my answering smile is genuine.
Zeke tips more bourbon into his mouth. “What time are we sneaking off?”
I check the grandfather clock in the corner. I’ve gotten used to its ticks and its forlorn clang each hour. It keeps me company more than Malcolm does.
That lonely thought settles its pressure into my mind. I glance at Zeke. “In about twenty minutes. Dash is notoriously routine and will be in bed by then. Hey, can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure.” He pulls it out from his pants pocket. “You don’t have yours?”
“Malcolm tracks me on it.”
“Ah.” Zeke nods as if well familiar with the maneuver. He notices me opening the texting app and typing in a number. “Who are you talking to?”
I don’t look up, my heart racing. “Mom and Dad.”
“Oh. Uh … you sure that’s wise?” Zeke glances about the room like Malcolm is about to materialize from the walls.
Malcolm has yet to fully invest in Zeke Aiden, the name only being brought up by me this weekend. That hasn’t given him the time needed to connect to Zeke’s phone like I bet he has with Aiko. I can’t underestimate him. Malcolm may be a slave to Damion, but that doesn’t mean he’s not independent in some things. Malcolm maintains connections through his business, powerful ones, both corporate and Societal. Soon, he’ll zero in on Zeke and everything about him. Until then, I have a small window to communicate to those I miss most.