Paper Princess (The Royals #1)(43)

With a grin, Easton glances around my pink bedroom and says, “My dad is a clueless fucker, huh?”

I can’t help but return the grin. “I guess he’s not used to raising girls.”

“Not used to raising boys either,” Easton mutters under his breath.

“Aw, is this where you tell me all about your daddy issues? Daddy wasn’t home, Daddy ignored me, Daddy didn’t love me.”

He rolls his eyes again and ignores the taunt. “My brother’s pissed at you,” he says instead.

“Your brother is always pissed about something.”

Easton doesn’t respond. He raises the bottle to his lips.

My curiosity gets the better of me. “Fine, I’ll bite. Why’s he pissed?”

“Because you threw down with Jordan today.”

“She had it coming.”

He takes another sip. “Yeah, she did.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What, no lecture? No ‘you’re tarnishing the Royal name, Ella. You’re a disappointment to us all.’”

His lips quirk. “Naah.” Another grin surfaces, impish this time. “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The two of you rolling around on the floor like that….damn. You gave me enough material to feed the spank bank for years.”

“Gross. I don’t want to hear about your spank bank.”

“Sure you do.” One more sip, and then he holds out the Jack’s. “Drink.”

“No thanks.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop being so difficult all the time. Live a little.” He shoves the bottle in my hand. “Drink.”

I drink.

I’m not sure why. Maybe I do it because I want the buzz. Maybe I do it because this is the first time any Royal other than Callum has been somewhat nice to me since I moved in.

Easton’s eyes shine with approval as I take a deep swig. He runs a hand through his hair, then winces at the movement. I feel sorry for him. That’s a heck of a bruise.

We sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. I stop drinking the moment I feel buzzed, and he pokes me in the side, even as his gaze stays glued to the TV.

“You’re not drinking enough.”

“I don’t want any more.” I lean back on the headboard and close my eyes. “I don’t like being drunk. I stop at tipsy.”

“Have you ever even been drunk?” he challenges.

“Yes. Have you?”

“Never,” he says innocently.

I snort. “Uh-huh. You were probably an alcoholic at the age of ten.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I let out a sigh.

“What?” He watches me curiously. He’s a lot more attractive when he’s not scowling or smirking.

“Nothing. Just a stupid memory.” I should change the subject—talking about my past is something I usually avoid—but the memory has taken root, and I can’t help but laugh now. “It’s kind of messed up, actually.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.”

“I was ten the first time I got drunk,” I confess.

He grins. “For real?”

“Yeah. My mom was dating this guy. Leo.” Who had mob ties, but I don’t share that with Easton. “We were living in Chicago at the time, and he took us to a Cubs game one weekend. He was drinking beer, and I kept begging to try a sip. My mom was all, no way in hell, but Leo convinced her that one sip wouldn’t hurt.”

I close my eyes, transported back to that warm June day. “So I tried it, and it tasted awful. Leo thought the face I made when I drank it was hilarious, so every time Mom turned her back, he’d pass me the bottle and then piss his pants laughing at my expression. I couldn’t have drunk more than a quarter of that bottle, but I got wasted.”

Beside me, Easton bursts out laughing. I realize this is the first time I’ve heard genuine laughter in the Royal palace. “Did your mom freak?”

“Oh yeah. God. You should’ve seen it. I was stumbling up and down the aisle, this ten-year-old girl, slurring like a wino—‘whadda you mean you won’ buy me a hot dog?’”

We’re both laughing now, the mattress shaking beneath us. It’s nice. So of course that means it doesn’t last long.

Easton abruptly goes silent for a moment, then twists his head to meet my eyes. “Were you really a stripper?”

I stiffen. The word no bites at my tongue. But what does it matter at this point? The kids at school are going to say I stripped, regardless of whether or not it’s true.

So I nod.

He looks impressed. “That’s kind of badass.”

“No. It’s not.”

He shifts, and his shoulder grazes mine. I don’t know if it’s intentional on his part, but when his face turns toward mine again, I know he’s totally aware of the contact between our bodies.

“You know, you’re hot when you’re not snarling.” His gaze fixes on my mouth.

I’m frozen in place, but it’s not fear that’s making my heart pound. Easton’s eyes are dark with need. They’re the same shade of blue as Reed’s.

“You should go.” I swallow. “I want to go to bed now.”

“No, you don’t.”