Page 61 of The Golden Boys
She rolls her eyes before answering. “It wasn’t him,” she insists. “Now would you just drop it? Please?”
I study her for a long stretch, wishing I had already unearthed her tells, the signals she gives when she’s lying. But I don’t know her like that.
“So, thirty seconds, right?” she asks, trying to shift the subject back to her swimming lesson. She passes me an impatient look and I hold back from asking anything else.
“I’ll count,” I say instead, mulling over the sparse details as Southside goes under.
The conversation did nothing to expose her secrets, but it’s shined a light on several of mine. Like, how I’m a little too concerned with what happened to her over the weekend. As the one who swore I wanted her to suffer by my hand, why is it so hard to let this go?
I should be ecstatic that someone else is making her life a living hell, picking up the slack when I’m not around, but I’m finding it hard to get off on her misery today. Which I had no problem with just one short week ago. Somehow, I’d let her get under my skin, and I hate it. With a passion.
She pops above the surface of the water again, doing that same ridiculous gasping routine as before. As I watch her overreact, and nearly smack some unsuspecting nerd girl in the face as she swims by, I’m aware of the damn soft spot forming for the one I swore to ruin.
It was never a secret that the sexual tension between us was blistering hot, from that first time I laid eyes on her at the bonfire. But what comes as an unwelcomed surprise is that I find myself drawn in by more than just her looks. Even the dorky mess I’m staring atnowgets to me.
Something about this girl … it makes me want to pull her close and block out all the bad things she seems to draw to her like a magnet. People like me, her dad.
Mydad.
Don’t get distracted. This changes nothing. She’s still the enemy.
The short pep talk I give myself brings me back to my senses. I chose my side weeks ago, when I found the pic in the safe. I decided then that I’d find and destroy her. It’s a means to righting my own wrongs from the past, starting with being too young to do something about thefirstaffair I found out about.
If being attracted to Southside is the only thing that stands between me and making things as close to right as I can—without simultaneously tearing my mother’s world apart—I can manage that.
From now on, I’m keeping the blinders on. Her problems are just that.Herproblems. Including me, the biggest, most resilient problem of them all.
And as God is my witness … I’m not going anywhere.
* * *
@QweenPandora: Apparently, the pool at Cypress Prep has turned into a hot tub! Things seemed to be heating up between our beloved QB-1 and NewGirl this afternoon. If you’re easily offended by PDA, might want to grab a blindfold before checking out the pics. Not sure about everyone else, but I’m totally digging these two lovebirds from opposite sides of the track. However, one must wonder … are KingMidas’s parentals going to be as accepting of this star-crossed romance as the rest of us?
Stay tuned, peeps. The answer is sure to reveal itself in time.
—P
* * *
Chapter 20
WEST
“So, you boys already have dates to Homecoming?”
Mom’s smile is bright when she asks, contrasting the tension at the dinner table tonight. It isn’t often we actually join her and Dad for this Brady Bunch bullshit, but she asked nicely, so …
Not to mention, I figure she needs a break, after dealing with my father on a daily basis.
“Dates?” Sterling counters with a laugh. “Nobody really does that anymore, Mom. You go alone, then hook up with friends when you get there”
Our mother’s tiny, manicured hand slams to her chest. The southern belle of the family seems genuinely horrified by that answer.
“Are you kiddin’ me? Part of the fun of going to these things was waiting for ‘the boy’to finally get up the nerve to ask,” she shares. “Can’t believe your generation’s done away with all that. Some traditions are worth keeping.”
“And some are nothing but pretty little fantasies that twirl around inside you women’s heads,” Dad interjects with a gruff laugh. “It’s nonsense. You, of all people, should know this.”
He barely notices that we’re all staring as he stacks potatoes on his fork.