Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

My mind spins, but I don’t have to wonder what he’s talking about long.

“Royce!” a bubbly voice squeals.

I’m almost knocked back when long, thin arms fly past my face to wrap around his neck.

“Ladies, come in.” He shifts to the side. “Victoria here is channeling her mama tonight,” he says and I grow stiff.

As far as everyone around here knows I’m nothing but a handout kid, parentless and living in a home for ‘free,’ a group home girl.

Thankfully, these girls are more interested in Royce himself and not his words at the moment.

“She’s playing maid lady tonight. Whatever you need, she’s your girl.” He smirks like a dickhead. “Put your phones in one hand and purses in the other.”

Wow.

“Oh, boo, but I wanted to Snap some pics tonight,” one girl says, her voice coming out completely whiny and desperate, but she sticks her lip out like it’s supposed to be cute and flutters her lashes as if he cares.

He doesn’t, and he doesn’t do desperate.

He nods his chin at the tall, intimidating dude with braids who stands just outside the entrance.

Dude slides in, wraps an arm around her shoulder and spins her on her heels.

“Hey, wha—”

“Don’t make it worse, girl,” he whispers as he leads her out.

Royce turns to the others, all three standing wide-eyed and unsure.

“Trash is out, ready to party?” He grins, unfazed.

Three words from him and their fourth friend is forgotten.

They swiftly pull their phones from their bags as instructed and step toward me.

I roll my eyes, holding my palms out without so much as a pause and Royce steps back with a smirk.

The last chick takes forever to pass off her stuff, applying what must be a fifth coat of gloss to her lips.

“Oh my god, Amber, hurry up!” her friends complain.

“What?” She shrugs, finally handing her bag over. “I need to be all shiny and plump. I heard Captain likes that.”

My muscles lock.

Royce was waiting for it, and his grin grows a little deeper, a lot nastier.

So these girls are their entertainment for the night, this is why Captain wanted me here.

A sick burn races up my stomach and into my ribs, but I’d never show it.

“Ladies, let Victoria know what you want to drink, she can deliver it to us.” He wraps an arm around two of them. “Make it quick, Rora. We’ll be behind the right curtain.”

Asshole.

I take a deep breath and walk to the bar, ignoring Chloe and Mac who are relaxing with drinks on a set of barstools.

Chloe watches me as I slip behind the counter instead of giving the orders to the grunge dude taking them.

I quickly pour the stupid champagne but leave some room and top it off with a little less than a double shot of gin. They’ll never know, and they won’t dare complain after their girl got kicked out for thinking her wants mattered.

Let’s see how well they can perform later when they can’t even walk.

Brayshaws don’t do sloppy.

Chloe chuckles, and then a stir stick is pushed into my line of sight.

I eye her a moment, then take it and give a light swirl, tossing it to the granite top after. I lock my fingers around the edges to support my weight, holding her gaze.

She leans over, grabs the gin and signals for the guy, who drops an empty glass in front of her.

Mac eyes us both as she fills it to the brim, the contents spilling onto her fingers as she slides it my way. “I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re on socialite duty, but something tells me you can handle your liquor, and that you might need that.” She doesn’t make me ask, which is good because I wouldn’t have, and offers her explanation anyway. “The chick in there, the one with the pink shorts, is Amber, and she’s wanted Captain since sixth grade. This is her first invite.”

I tap my fingertips along the rim of the glass then lift it, allowing the sweet yet piney liquid to warm my throat. I look to Chloe. “Why are you telling me this?”

She grins at the empty glass a moment, before looking to me.

“Because I know a scorned Brayshaw when I see one. Clearly you fucked up, I can see it, even though it’s not common knowledge to others how bad he wants to screw you… in both ways.” She places her elbows on the countertop, dropping her chin atop her interlocked fingers. “And because she’s a competitive gymnast, and you’re just… you.”

“You couldn’t help it, could you?”

She shrugs, hiding her grin in her drink as I hold mine back.

Mac chuckles, shaking his head, and offers to help me carry the drinks, but I ignore him and walk to the end of the bar, squaring my shoulders before I slip behind the black curtain.