“Good luck trying to make a dent in it. In fact, take it as a challenge. You seem to like those.”
“Challenge accepted.” I walk to the first rack of hanging clothes that I see. I begin to rummage through them, sliding each hanger along the metal rod until I find something I like. I lift the price tag up and my mouth drops open. I know I teased Carter about making a dent in his wallet but there is no way that I can allow myself to spend this type of money on clothing.
Carter takes it from my hand, handing it to a woman that came out of nowhere. “Get her a room. My girl, like always, has a point to prove.”
This time it’s me that’s left speechless. Did he just call me his girl?
Chapter 11
Carter
“Is that Carter Franklin?” I hear someone squeal.
“No way. Carter Franklin doesn’t shop. It’s too normal. He has people come to his house with trunks of clothes and he picks out what he wants from there.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s what I heard.”
I roll my head to one side and then the other. The cracking of my neck makes them shut up.
“Oh, Carter, it is you,” one of the girls says. She looks vaguely familiar. I might have seen her in a class or one of my teammates might have fucked her after a game. That happens. “It’s Bea Simpson.”
I stare up at the brunette and try to place her. All of the girls in my school look pretty much the same. Either they have stick-straight hair or fat curls, but it’s uniformly long and they almost all have a Starbucks cup glued to their hands. Not that the guys are much different with their sneaker gear, jeans, and untucked T-shirts.
“He doesn’t know,” says the second one, nudging her friend to the side. “Bea and I were in your stats class last semester.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure why they’re talking to me. Most people in school know better. I roll my neck again and wonder what’s taking Waif so long. I guess I shouldn’t call her that. She told me her real name—Mallory Simmons —and her date of birth—September—and her Social Security number, but she’s always going to be the lost girl I found in the back seat of my Maserati.
“Rumor is that you’re having a party this weekend.”
“Ahh, well…” If I lie will that mean no one comes? I didn’t promise Brad that I’d host a big party or that I’d publicize it.
“He is. You should come.”
My eyes flick immediately toward the dressing room, where Waif is standing in one of the new outfits she picked out. The shorts have sort of a ruffle around her waist and the top is cropped, showing off a stripe of skin. I like it. “We’ll take it,” I tell the clerk who’s hovering over my shoulder.
“There are two different colors.”
“Great.”
“There are a few other items in that collection. I also recommend these shoes.”
“Put those on the card, too.”
“Wait a second,” protests Waif.
The clerk pauses but I wave her off. She scurries away to ring up everything before Waif can change my mind.
With a scowl, Waif watches the clerk leave. “Don’t I get an opinion?”
“It depends if you have bad taste. People with bad taste don’t get to have opinions about clothes.”
“How is it that I have bad taste? Maybe you’re the one with bad taste,” she accuses. Her arms fly out and I take the opportunity to admire her sexy body, which is all soft, round curves, hips that I can dig my fingers into, and tits perky enough to balance a glass on. I can definitely envision sliding my cock in between those two globes. The blood starts pooling in my jeans so I force that image out of my head.
“Do you like this outfit?”
She makes a face, clearly not wanting to agree with me on anything. “Maybe.”
“Then maybe you have good taste.”
“Is this…your…cousin?” the brunette breaks in. I’ve forgotten her name already. In fact, I forgot that Waif and I weren’t alone in this joint.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Waif says at the same time.
My brows come together. “Yes?” Did she just say we were cousins to two of my classmates?
“I’m Mallory,” Waif announces before I can interject, strolling up to the girls with her hand out. “I just moved to town to stay with Uncle—” She shoots a demanding stare at me, silently ordering me to supply my dad’s name.
“Teddy,” I supply reluctantly, not sure of where Waif is going with this.
Her triumphant grin sends a cold shiver down my spine. It’s like she’s slowly realizing her power over me. That’s terrifying and yet, somehow very sexy. My dick twitches happily. In order not to embarrass myself, I switch my gaze to the floor and start counting the tiles.
“Right. Uncle Teddy. Anyway, my mom’s sick so I had to come and stay with Uncle Teddy and Deuce, but Deuce here says that my wardrobe sucked so here we are.” She sounds annoyed, as if I’m the problem.