California Nights: Rich Boys of California Duet

I mean, how many times did the guy have to run around the estate to pass the garage?

Because it seemed like he passed the garage a lot. A couple of times every weekend at least.

And he was always missing his shirt when he did it.

He knew of course, that I had a monstrous crush on him. At first I was too young to hide it, and later, well, the cat was out of the bag. He’d chuck me on the chin and flash his pearly whites, turning my insides to mush.

No one could say that Clayton didn’t know his own appeal.

Three years ago he’d headed off to college. Princeton. I barely saw him after that, except during the summers. Even then I’d been too busy working at a local day camp. But this summer, he’d be harder to avoid. Now we had some of the same friends. We were both college kids now and might end up at the same parties.

I wondered what he’d think of the new me?

In addition to filling out, I’d also started wearing a little makeup. I’d even let my honey blond hair grow long, well past my shoulders. The ends had gotten light from the sun, making me look like I had highlights. Not that I would spend that kind of money on a salon treatment.

But for the first time in my life, I kind of looked like I had.

And I’d finally learned to flirt. Boys at college had been after me non-stop. Not that I’d dated anyone seriously yet. But I’d had a few make out sessions. I wasn’t as innocent as I’d been.

I smiled for the first time all day.

Yes, Clay was in for a big surprise.

Chapter Five

Clay

“Hello Claire.”

I leaned forward to press a kiss on my stepmother’s perfectly made up cheek. As usual, she looked utterly composed, beautifully groomed, and cold as a fish. She smiled at me without warmth.

“Welcome home, Clay.”

My father stood beside her looking somewhat glad to see me. Comparatively anyway. His hand slammed down on my shoulder.

“Good to see you, son. I heard you performed well this season.”

Not that he would ever actually come see me play, but I was on the soccer and tennis team at Princeton. He had his private secretary keep track of my grades and stats. It was almost touching.

Not.

“Yeah, we did alright. Thanks.”

He stood there, staring at me for a moment. It was almost as if he couldn’t quite believe I belonged to him. But I fulfilled the legacy he required and then some. He couldn’t really ask for more.

“Well, let’s get you settled. Dinner’s at seven.”

I waved off the butler and carried my own bags into the main house. It was always a little weird to be home. Welcoming, and yet… not. The entire place had been designed by my mother. The one thing my father had done right since her death was not allowing Claire to redecorate it. Inside, or out.

It was still my mother’s roses that bloomed outside, her wall paper in the library, her layout in the living room. Thankfully, her taste had been impeccable and classic so it still looked current. I was secretly afraid every time I came home that it would all be gone.

Someday, I knew it would.

I dreaded that day. In fact, I’d told the head housekeeper a long time ago to keep some of Mom’s stuff in storage if it every came to that.

When I moved out I planned to take as much of my Mom with me as I could.

My bedroom was spotlessly clean, devoid of personality. It overlooked the pool and gardens and was tastefully decorated when I was just a boy in taupe and navy. Not one poster had ever hung on these walls, other than some vintage travel posters, expensively framed and matted, of course. A bookshelf with some artfully arranged picture frames were literally the only personal items in here, other than my clothes. The private en suite bathroom was the same.

Still, I was always instantly relaxed the moment I closed the door behind me. If I didn’t shut it, a maid or someone would come in and try to unpack for me. I’d never said anything, but I didn’t really dig people touching my shit.

I threw my bag on the chair and fished out a bottle of bourbon. At the very least, I could get lit before sitting through a meal with two people I loathed. Actually, that wasn’t fair. I tolerated Claire. It was my father who’d disappointed me over and over again. She was just window dressing.

I couldn’t really blame the trophy wife for the asshole who had won the trophy.

Chapter Six

Nevada

I waved ecstatically at my mother across the parking lot. I know a lot of girls my age aren’t crazy about their mothers but I was. Like, really crazy about her. She was the hardest working, smartest, toughest, best person I know.