A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(3)

What I’d really prefer is to travel the world for a year or two after I graduate. Never work at all. Soak up the culture and the food. The scenery and the history. Eventually I can return to New York City, start working toward my real estate license, and eventually join my brothers’ business.

I have options, despite what the old man might think.

“Her birthday is actually on Christmas, but she mentioned she’s having the party the day after. Boxing Day,” Malcolm says. “Most underrated holiday, I might add.”

“Made-up holiday for the Brits to get more time off if you ask me,” I mutter.

“The British equivalent to Black Friday,” Ez adds with a grin.

Malcolm flips us both the bird. “Well, if she has it, I’m definitely going.”

“So am I,” Ez chimes in.

I frown. “You assholes were invited?”

Malcolm scoffs. “Of course. I assume you weren’t?”

I slowly shake my head, rubbing my chin. “She doesn’t speak to me. She definitely won’t invite me to her birthday party.”

“Eighteen and never been kissed.” Ezra pitches his voice higher, trying to sound like a girl yet failing miserably. “You should sneak into the party and lay one on her, Lancaster.”

“If only she could be so lucky,” I drawl, enjoying his idea.

Far too much.

“The Beaumonts are rich as fuck,” Malcolm reminds us. “The security for that party will be top notch, with all that priceless art hanging on their walls. Besides, her daddy watches over her like a fucking hawk. Hence the promise ring on her finger.”

Ezra mock shudders. “Creepy if you ask me. Promising yourself to Daddy? Makes me wonder what’s going on with that family.”

I hate where my thoughts lead me after Ezra’s comments. I hope like hell there’s nothing strange, or dare I think it—incestuous going on within the Beaumont household. I highly doubt it, but I don’t know her or her family. I only know what I witness, and I don’t see nearly as much as I’d like.

“There were a lot of girls at this school wearing promise rings that were given to them by their fathers,” Malcolm says. “They all copied Wren. Remember? It was a bunch of girls in our class and the freshmen when we were sophomores.”

Annoyance fills me. “That trend died a slow, painful death.”

Pretty sure Wren is literally the only one still wearing the ring.

“Right,” Malcolm drawls with a dirty grin. “Now they’re all a bunch of sluts, begging for our cocks.”

I chuckle, though I don’t find what he said very amusing. Malcolm has this way of insulting women that I find extra annoying. Yes, we’re all a bunch of misogynistic assholes when we hang out together, but none of us go around calling girls sluts like Malcolm does.

“Such a derogatory term,” Ezra says, causing us both to glance over at him. “I like whore better. Slut is just so…mean.”

“And whore isn’t?” Malcolm laughs.

We’re veering off track. I need to bring the conversation back to Wren.

The sweet little birdy who’s scared of the mean and nasty cat with fangs.

That would be me.

“If she’s actually having a birthday party, I want an invitation to it,” I tell them, my voice firm.

“We can’t work miracles,” Ezra says with a nonchalant shrug. But what does he care? He’s already been invited. “Maybe you should try a gentler approach with Wren. Be nice for once, instead of your glaring asshole self all the time.”

Seeing her makes me automatically scowl. How can I be nice when all I want to do is fuck her up?

Fuck her up as in, fuck her senseless. I see her, and I’m immediately filled with lust. Watching her suck a lollipop between her lips makes me hard. She’s sweet, gentle Wren for everyone else.

I see her differently. I want her…differently.

I don’t know how else to explain it.

“He’s glaring just thinking about her right now,” Malcolm points out. “He’s a lost cause. Give it up, mate. She’s not for you.”

What the hell does he know? I’m a Lancaster for God’s sake.

I can make anything happen.

Like fucking a virgin.





TWO





WREN





The moment the double doors clang shut behind me, I’m glancing over my shoulder, trying to spot Crew Lancaster through the opaque glass. But all I can make out is his dark blond head, plus the heads of his other friends. Malcolm and Ezra.

They don’t intimidate me like Crew does. Malcolm is a giant flirt with a distinctly wicked edge. Ezra is always looking for a laugh.

While Crew stands there and broods. It’s his thing.

I don’t like his thing.

I frown at my thoughts—that last one in particular seemed vaguely inappropriate, and I do not have thoughts like that—

“Wren, will you sit with us today at lunch?” one of the girls asks me.

Oh. I get to thinking about Crew and I forget what’s going on around me. Like the fact that I have four freshmen currently following me everywhere I go.

Smiling faintly at the girl who asked me about lunch, I say, “I’m so sorry, but I have a meeting to attend today during lunch. Maybe another time?”