I chose to drive the Porsche on a whim, snagging the keys out of the drawer by the garage on the way out. I’d really only gone home to get a clean sweater and a pair of shoes that weren’t covered in grease, but I’d doubled back at the last second. It’s not like I stole it or anything. It’s technically my car—the one my father bought me last year—the nice, flashy, approved vehicle that represents our family’s status. It’s not that I don’t like the car. It’s a fucking Porsche. It’s a nice fucking Porsche. What’s not to like? But it’s just so easy. Driving it always makes me feel like a pampered, spoiled little brat. That’s more Heston’s gig.
But I chose to drive it anyway, because if there’s one thing I can do, it’s level the playing field for Sugar. Driving this car and wearing these clothes is one way to do that. She doesn’t come from money like me, which is something I like about her. But in this town, that has a way of setting you apart.
But now that we’re pulling into the restaurant parking lot, I begin wishing I’d driven the Shelby, self-inflicted dents and all. The Adamses aren’t like other Preston families. For one, they actually want their kids. Secondly, they believe in good causes and genuine people. The fancy clothes and car, all my money, it’s a part of me, but it’s not who I am. I’d rather be getting down and dirty below the hood of a car than sitting on Italian leather. They’d probably appreciate that, not shun it. Chances are, flashing my status around the Adamses will probably make them like me less.
“You okay?” Sugar asks, squeezing my hand. “You look worried.”
“Yeah, I just…I hope coming with you wasn’t a b
ad idea.” Somehow, I’ve become more nervous about this dinner than she is. I just want them to like her, like I do. God knows why.
“Why would it be a bad idea?”
“I told you there was some bad blood between Heston and their kids. He pulled a pretty mean prank on Micha last year. I just hope they don’t think I’m like him. I don’t want them to judge you for being with me.”
She just snorts a laugh. “Bass, Micha is your number one fan, and Michaela is a creepily close second. I don’t think either of them are holding a grudge against you for whatever dumb shit your brother pulled.”
Which of course is half the problem. The Adamses don’t hold grudges. They’re too good for that. And even if the twins are Team Bass, my charms do have limits. Fuck. I scrub my face and nod, “Well, it’s too late to turn back now anyway. I’m starving and you look hot as fuck. No way I’m letting you go in that restaurant without me.”
She gives me a sour look. “What exactly do you think is going to happen? Like men are just going to start jumping me or something?”
“Maybe,” I say, shooting her a grin. “Or maybe I just need everyone to know that I’m scoring with the hottest girl in the room.”
Her sour expression flattens into something vaguely amused. “That, I can actually buy.”
I exit the car and walk around to open the door for her. She looks so pretty, so perfect, the last thing I want to do is fuck this night up for her. I help her out of the car and give her a kiss, but don’t let my touch linger. I’m starting to learn that there are times and places to make my testing touches. She’s probably got enough nerves as it is.
“Sebastian?”
My fingers tighten around Sugar’s and I turn toward the familiar voice.
“Hamilton.” I’m genuinely surprised to see him, but there he is, in all his bitchy glory. I offer my hand, fighting the urge to wipe my palm on my pants before I do. Instead, I flash a grin at his date. “Gwendolyn, nice to see you.”
Gwen looks pretty—not as pretty as Sugar, but just… better. Better than she had last year, back when she was always stone-faced and dead-eyed and avoiding everyone. Not that she was at fault for that. When the head of the Devils tells everyone to pretend you don’t exist, that’s exactly what happens. And then, apparently, you end up dating him.
Weird fucking place, Preston.
Gwen narrows her eyes like she’s trying to place who I am. In that moment, if I could wipe my genes away, I would.
“Babe,” Hamilton says, arm slung casually around Gwen’s shoulder, “you probably never met Sebastian. He’s Heston’s younger brother.”
“Oh,” she says, recognition clicking in. “Right. Wilcox.”
“Same last name,” I assure her, “but the similarities stop there.” His eyes dart over to Sugar and I turn to her, smiling. “So, believe it or not, we’re here to meet your family. This is Sugar Voss, recipient of your parents’ scholarship.”
“Oh, you’re Sugar!” Gwen’s expression softens. “I really love your work. The black and white one of the cemetery with the flags was really provoking.”
“Thank you,” Sugar replies, tucking her hair behind an ear in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. Despite that, I can still see the spark of overwhelmed pride in her eyes.
Gwen’s phone chimes and she looks down. “I think the rest of the family is already inside. I hear you’ve already made an impression on the twins. You can meet everyone else, too.”
I peek into the large front window, internally cringing at what awaits us inside. The whole fucking family came. Even the older brother. Even Skylar. At least that’s one sin that’s not hanging around my neck.
“Sugar, walk with me. We can talk art while the guys catch up.”
I release Sugar’s hand and watch her walk off. I drag my eyes away from her and look at Hamilton, who’s watching me closely.
“How’s lacrosse?” he asks in a clear display of shooting the shit.