Page 47 of The Golden Boys
Ricky turns to face the street instead of looking at me. He’s pissed and I see it all over his face.
My skin comes alive at the feel of hot fingers slinking across the small of my back. In the sliver of space where my high-waisted shorts and the t-shirt I’ve knotted at my ribs meet. West draws me close in a smooth motion that smashes me against his rock-hard body.
For a second, I forget that I hate him, but those feelings come rushing right back when he peers down at me.
“You said something about showing me your room, didn’t you?” He slipped the question in so smoothly I have to do a double-take.
“What? I—”
Before I can even form an answer—which would have been a resounding,‘Hell no!’—his hand eases into my back pocket and I’m ushered toward my front door.
Don’t make a scene Blue. You can light into him as soon as you cross the threshold, but don’t … make … a scene.
I still hadn’t forgotten West’s threat from the night before. Challenging him in front of his brothers had been enough to stir up talk of burning down my uncle’s diner. I could only imagine how much worse his reaction would be if I called him out right here, in front of everyone.
Fear of how far he’d take things is all that keeps me from breaking that hand now gripping my ass as my sister and friends watch him follow me into the house.
The second I close the door behind us, I shove him hard. I feel so much satisfaction when his back slams against the wall, rattling the pictures hanging beside the window.
Even if heiscompletely unfazed and laughing.
“Feel better getting that out your system?”
“What do you think you’re doing? Why’d you lie to them?” I cut in, ignoring his snarky comment completely.
He steps away from the wall and straightens his shirt while staring me down. “I think an evenbetterquestion is why you didn’t correct me.”
I’m seeing pure red. “You think I don’t know how that would end?”
The smile on his face broadens, but it’s turned wicked. “Well,somebody’slearning,” he croons, seeming pleased with the idea of me finally understanding my place.
“Congrats!” I shout. “You’re rich, I’m poor. You have this entire town on your side, and to you I’m nothing. Got it, asshole.”
I cross my arms over my chest after speaking and can’t even look at him. It’s then, in that moment of silence, that I glance around. The place is a wreck. Scar spent her day baking while I worked an early shift with Dusty. There had been no time to clean and, honestly, with school, work, and journalism club all week, it’d been more than a few days since anyone had straightened things.
The frustration that dominated my mood a moment ago is replaced by something else.
Embarrassment.
From the old couch that dips in the middle—thanks to the many nights Mike has chosen to sleepthereinstead of his actual bed, to the collection of empty beer cans and overflowing basket of laundry, to the two fist-sized holes in the wall from a recent episode where my father couldn’t control his temper.
West is worming his way into areas of my life I hardly allow the people I trust to enter, let alone my enemy.
“Just … go,” I say softly, feeling the weight of shame holding me in place. I can only imagine the things he’ll take back to school about me, about my home.
Before he can even say anything ugly, a door creaks down the hall and my stomach plummets.
“What’s all the damn noise about?”
Mike’s staggering even more than when he’d come out to terrorize us out front. Meaning, he’s downed another bottle or two since then.
“Nothing, Mike,” I say as firmly as possible, but my voice is quieter than usual, strained. “West was just leaving.”
At least, I hope he is.
Especially as I become aware of the familiar sting in my eyes. The one that usually means tears are on the way. I can’t think of anything worse than giving someone who sees me as weak, who believes he owns me, the chance to see me cry.
“Thought I told you bitches not to let any of these hellraisers you call friends into my damn house anymore. You stupid or something?”