Her? What the fuck is going on? I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping and I’m not, not really. Both of them are talking loud enough that the neighbors could hear if they wanted to.
“I told you, she has really bad anxiety and I promised her parents that I would watch out for her. Darrel is one of my friends from when I started my business, he is one of the reasons we have money now, you know the money you use to buy booze and all the other expensive shit you have? I’ve known him and his family for a long time and I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. Now you’ll either do as I say, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
Consequences? What’s Steve going to do? Take his credit cards?
“Dad…” Clark growls, and I can practically see his face, the tendons in his neck tightening.
“Emerson is a sweet girl, and you will make her feel welcome here. Don’t disappoint me, son. Just do what I say.”
There’s a finality to Steve’s voice and I know whatever his father is setting him up to do he’ll do. Clark might not like the shit his father does, but he wants to be accepted by him, appreciated, seen as more than just a boy.
Seconds tick by and an irritated Clark exits his father’s office, his eyes downcast, frustration riddling what I can see of his face. Obviously neither of us are having a good fucking day. Listening in on Clark’s problems, I almost forgot about my own. About the con-artist at my house, about the fucking lies she spewed just this morning.
“What happened?” he asks as soon as he lifts his eyes and sees me standing against the staircase. Everything seems to fade away around me. All I see, all I feel is her, her lies wrapping around my throat, tightening, stealing my breath.
The muscles in my jaw flex. “You don’t even want to know, but since you’re best friends with the bitch, I’ll tell you. Long story short, we fucked, she used her pussy and some fake tears to spin a story about how my father cheated on my mom with her mother.”
Clark’s gaze widens. “Whoa, whoa. That’s…wow.” He pauses. “And you…fucked? How was it?” Suddenly he’s grinning. Of-fucking-course he worries about what it was like to fuck her instead of the task at hand.
Amazing. Sensational. Jaw-dropping. Nothing but a lie. That’s what it was like.
“Tight, warm, great until she opened her mouth.” I try and sound uninterested.
Clark shrugs. “That’s what it’s like every time. You’re fucking them, it’s great, you blow your load and then they open their mouth and suddenly it wasn’t worth it.”
“Getting off track here,” I growl. I’m an impatient fucker and my chest begs for something to dull the ache taking up residence inside it.
“Dude, sorry, you said something about fucking and it’s like I have a one-track mind sometimes.”
My features deadpan. “Look, it was either I came here and lost my fucking shit or went back to the house and confronted her. But, right now I don’t trust myself to be in the same house as her, so do you want to get piss drunk with me or do you have other plans for the day? Plans that involve the girl downstairs maybe?” I question with a thick brow raised, knowing that busting his balls will get him moving in the direction.
“Shut the fuck up.” He slugs me, but I don’t even feel it. Then he twists around and starts walking in the direction of his father’s whiskey cabinet. “Let’s go drink away your sorrows, fucker,” he slings over his shoulder with a knowing grin, and just like that, I’m already feeling better. Ava and her fucking lies being a distant memory as I swim in a pool of bad choices and enough alcohol to kill myself.
Chapter Fifteen
Ava
He never came home. Never showed his face back at the house. Forty-eight hours have passed and I still haven’t heard from him. I’ve tried to call him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I’m starting to wonder if he’s regretting what we did and maybe that’s why he wasn’t coming home. Part of me hopes he didn’t regret it but I’m dumb. I know that whatever is going on between us isn’t anything serious and I’ve come to terms with that fact. I’m probably going to be just another notch on his bedpost. Still, it doesn’t mean he couldn’t come home. This is his house after all. I’m merely an unwanted guest.
“Off to classes?” my mother asks as I enter the kitchen.
“Yup. I’ll be home later. I’m meeting up with a friend for dinner,” I say, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket before making myself a cup of coffee in the Keurig. My mother has been overly peachy lately, her and Henry didn’t even seem to notice a change in my attitude, nor did they seem to care that Vance hasn’t been home.