Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(72)

“I’m not.”

“It’s a—”

“I’M NOT!” I yell, jerking hard out of his grip. He snuffs the cigarette on my shoulder, skin searing, and I slap him across the face with a stiff palm.

He swings.

I duck, body trembling in rage, in sheer will to hang on, and I spin towards the sink and collect my clothes. Why did I go for a bitch slap?

I have no idea.

His face is reddened from the smack. His jaw clenching and unclenching, and it takes something so deep inside of me not to bolt out that door. I stay in the kitchen and prove that I’m not afraid of him.

Colin is one person, but he speaks for so many that I feel myself facing every family member.

“You need time to think, then think this over,” Colin says slowly. “We’ll talk later.”

“I made my decision, Colin. I’m not the family’s piggybank and gateway to cash so you all can get high and keep a roof over your head while you’re doin’ it. You fuck with my job and these families, and I’ll be the one making sure you’re behind bars. End of discussion.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s not a birthday wish.”

He lifts his chin again, scratching at a scab on his jaw. “You think they’d fire you if they found out you were talking to me?” He hoists his phone and suddenly snaps a photo of me. In his kitchen. In his girlfriend’s robe. “It’s saved to the cloud. Don’t try to break my phone.”

I go still. “You plan to send that to my boss?”

“Or you could just steal something from Beckett. Hell, have him help you. Get him to sign his underwear. That’d go for a grand, at least.”

I grind my teeth and shake my head.

They can blackmail me, if they want. I’d rather they fucked over my job, my life, than hurt anyone else. “I won’t,” I say again.

“Then the picture goes out.”

“Then I’m fired and no longer allowed access to Beckett’s apartment.”

“You’re his boyfriend—”

“I’m nothing!” I shout, and I hate that because I know I’m something. I am someone to people, and I am more than this family who did nothing for me. “You risk what you wanna risk. I’m out.”

Colin watches me toss away his girlfriend’s robe and put on my soaked clothes. My feet squish in my boots.

We say nothing else before I leave. And I realize, I’m worse off than when I showed up. Loren Hale doesn’t trust me much, and if he knows I’m talking with my family, that photo might just be the nail in my coffin.

I thought I’d be able to scare my cousin about the power that the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts possess.

But cockroaches aren’t afraid of much. I should know.

I am one.

With a sinking feeling in my chest and a cigarette-singed shoulder, I drive to the Hale House. Don’t have time to go to the penthouse and change. Didn’t add “getting soaked” into today’s plan.

When I park in the driveway and reach the door, I’m sopping wet still, and I’m just hoping I don’t run into Loren Hale. Any other Hale will let me use their dryer, but I think he’d rather I walked around looking like he pushed me in a pool.

Xander opens the door. Prayers answered.

He hasn’t changed for homecoming yet. Still in a Dalton uniform, he’s looking me up and down. “What happened to you?”

“Fell into a lake,” I lie.

His frown deepens as he lets me inside. “Seriously?”

“Communed with duckies,” I say. “Had a nice chitchat about the status of their pond. All good things.”

Xander doesn’t dig further. “You can use the dryer. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

Gotta love Hufflepuffs.





Laundry room is a short distance from the kitchen, and I make it there unseen. Once Xander leaves me with a pile of clothes and goes upstairs to get ready for the dance, I shut the door and realize there’s no lock.

I’ll be quick.

I open the dryer and start undressing. Tossing in my soaked Aerosmith shirt, my pants, boxer-briefs, and as I’m yanking off the first wet sock, the door swings open.

Loren Hale has entered the chat. “What the hell…?”

I stumble with my sock.

His glare springs to the ceiling, avoiding eye-contact with my dick.

I whirl around, my ass facing Lo. “Sorry, sir—I mean, Xander’s Dad.” Fuck me. “I, uh…” I tear off the second sock and toss both into the dryer. “I needed to use your dryer. Xander said it’d be okay.”

Lo is eerily quiet, and I wonder if he’s just staring at my tattoos. Like the dice on my ass—which I honestly thought Luna would accidentally see before her father. Or maybe he’s looking at the Wawa tattoo on my shoulder blade. Or the red devil inked with the words Not Today, Satan.

I gather Xander’s clothes and start dressing.

Turns out I’m the same size as a seventeen-year-old. Just rocking these tight boy jeans and a sick House Stark crewneck shirt. Don’t think his dad’s going to find it as cool, but I’ve gotten myself out of many sticky pickles. Wouldn’t be the first.

It’s just I haven’t been looking to cause more waves with Lo, and this feels like a tsunami. Not starting the dryer yet, I face Xander’s dad again.