I offer him a small smile. “I do.”
His eyes widen in shock momentarily. I instantly want to smack myself for giving him any kind of hope. I have to be careful when it comes to boys. If I move forward with someone, it has to be worth being on the receiving end of Royce’s wrath. Matty just isn’t.
“Anyway, I’m having a party, we’re all hitting the slopes. Think you’ll be keen? Of course, with your entourage.”
I squeeze the door handle. Not a chance. “Sure, I’ll think about it and see how Royce is feeling.”
“Of course.” He winks. “See ya, Sloane.” He waves us both off and we slip back inside the car.
“God, he’s so nice. Why can’t all guys be like Matty?” Sloane relaxes into her seat.
“Probably because we wouldn’t be interested.”
We both burst out laughing as I drive us back to my house.
“Royce…” I whine. “You can’t be out here. You have to be in the house.” My palm works furiously over my body, rubbing slick oil over my skin.
“She’s right, you stubborn fuck.” Storm pushes down his glasses over his nose, pausing his typing for a few seconds to glare at Royce.
“It’s been eleven days. Fuck off.” He and I still haven’t spoken much about what happened at the party. Not about what happened just before, when he wanted me to go back on the boat with him, and not about what happened after. It has been tough, because I for one have noticed the shift in Royce. He’s become a little more on edge. Not just with me, but with everyone.
“You know Matty’s party is something you should take him up on, Jade!” Sloane says innocently, tilting her head up to the sun while baking her already tanned skin.
“What?” Storm snaps before Royce can even get a word in.
Sloane must have just realized what she had said because her fingers flex and her lips curl between her teeth. “Oh, um…” Or she did it on purpose.
I roll my eyes, just as my phone dings beside my water bottle. I pick it up, opening the message from India.
India: Hey girl, I hope your brother is holding up okay.
I send off a text saying he’s back to his asshole-ish self and set it back to the ground.
When my eyes meet Royce’s, he’s glaring at me with cold, distant ones and raised brows.
“What’d I do now?” I say, already knowing I’m in trouble. “That was India.”
Royce flips me off. “Not what I’m talking about and you fucking know it.”
I glare at him. “I have no intention of going.”
“Going where?” Orson asks, bouncing a basketball between his lanky legs. “I just saw Matty B and told him we’d load up and head to his birthday.” Everyone laughs except Royce. Just as he’s about to interrupt our laughing, Dad comes out the sliding doors, whistling.
“Roy, a word?” At his presence, I fold my arms in front of myself. I’m instantly uncomfortable and I don’t know why. Royce stands from his chair, making his way into the house. I watch his retreating back with a pang of sadness in my chest. My frown is sharp.
“Hey.” Orson takes a seat at the end of my lounger. “What’s with the frown?”
I grab the leather basketball off him and practice spinning it on the tip of my index finger. “It’s Royce.” I glance toward the door to make sure he’s not coming, before focusing back on Orson’s hazel gaze. “He’s a bit off since the incident and I don’t know if it’s a me thing or a him thing.”
Storm’s eyes go to Orson, and I watch the silent exchange unfold in front of me.
“Girl, stop. The man just got shanked, he’s moody by nature at times. Let him heal.” Sloane wriggles back into her seat and covers her closed eyes with her Versace glasses. “And anyway, it doesn’t help that you’re growing into this total fucking ten and he has to fight all of the assholes off at school.”
“He doesn’t even go to our school anymore,” I interfere, referring to all three of them graduating a few months ago. I only have a couple more months left with Orson and Storm before they begin their life without little old me. “Will you guys miss me when you leave?” Storm is attending Brown and Orson is flying to LA to play for their team.
“Please.” Orson brushes me away.
Storm continues to glare at me. “I literally could not forget you if I tried, Duchess. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” He says the words with a passive look over his face, stoic and emotionless.
“Well, that’s not very assuring, considering you don’t have one.”
Storm taps his temple. “Ah, she’s catching on.”
“Only took me almost ten years,” I grumble, relaxing into my chair.
“For real, I think Royce is just healing. Sloane is right—for once—” Orson stands, removing his shirt and tossing it over his chair. His brown skin glistens against the sun, while his high cheekbones sit above his soft lips that curve around his straight, white teeth. Orson is beautiful. Insanely attractive. The kind of male that almost everyone stops to stare at.