The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(14)

“Max invited me,” I say with an easy grin. He’ll catch shit for that later, but I don’t really care.

People grumble as we all get up, but no one lost money they couldn’t afford to lose tonight. And when I cash in my chips, I’m up almost a thousand dollars.

I stuff it in my back pocket and make a quick getaway before any of the guys can come try to chat me up. Don’t ask me what it is about getting beaten at poker by a woman, but for some reason, it tends to make men horny. Maybe it’s just a last ditch effort to prove their masculinity, who knows.

None of the four kings were here tonight, thank fuck—but I do see another guy I’ve noticed hanging around with them a few times, Ethan, watching me with narrowed eyes as I slip out the door.

As I pull away from the warehouse, I crank up the music in the car and sing along, whipping my hair as I dance behind the wheel. It’s after one o’clock by now, but I’m wired and wide awake. Depositing the cash into the ATM makes a fierce pride swell in my chest, and one more little piece of the crushing guilt I carry chips away.

I’ve been doing this for a few years—only intermittently though, and not as often recently. I sneak the extra money I win into my mom’s account. It usually involves borrowing a substantial amount first, but I’ve rarely ended up losing it all.

Mom’s great at a lot of things, but keeping track of her money isn’t one of them. It got worse and worse after my treatments finally finished; I think it’s probably some kind of avoidance mechanism from when new bills were coming in every day and she couldn’t afford to pay any of them.

I took over managing our finances, paying bills and stuff, when I was thirteen—and it makes things like this way easier. My mom’s never noticed the money I take or the extra cash I manage to bring in.

On the drive back to the Black house, I turn the music off but roll down the windows, letting the chilly, slightly salty air infiltrate the car. Their house is a few miles from the waterfront, but I swear I can still taste the ocean in the air.

I switch off my lights before I punch in the code for the gate, and then I roll quietly into the second garage and hop out, crossing the short expanse from the garage to the house. As I reach the door to the service entrance, I catch the scent of coriander and musk a split second before a hand clamps around my wrist.

The tiny bit of advance warning isn’t enough to stop my heart from leaping into my throat, and I spin toward the large male body behind me, keys clenched in my fist.

“You gonna punch me, Pool Girl?”

Lincoln’s voice is wry, and I can’t make out much of his face in the darkness—just his light amber eyes.

I let out a gasping breath, yanking my hand out of his grasp and shoving him away with two palms to his chest. I’m too freaked out to realize I probably shouldn’t be touching my boss’s son and frequent tormentor so casually.

“Jesus Christ, Lincoln! You scared the shit out of me!” I hiss. “What are you doing out here?”

“Probably the same thing you are. Sneaking in.”

I blink. “You use the service entrance for that?”

“Sometimes, yeah. It’s easier than going in through the front. Less shit to trip over, and I don’t have to worry about running into my old man or mom.” He cocks his head at me, those insanely alluring eyes of his scanning my body like the answer will be written there. “Where were you? You’re not dressed to impress.”

Jesus. This fucking guy.

I take a step back, trying to put more distance between us so I can think better. I’m dressed just fine for kicking ass at poker, thank you very much.

“Where were you?” I ask, turning the question back on him.

“All right, all right.” One side of his mouth tilts up, and he holds out his hands. “We can both keep our secrets.”

Dammit. I want to know where he was—don’t ask me why. But I’m not trading him my secret in exchange for his. It’s bad enough he knows I snuck out at all. It just gives him one more thing to use against me if he does decide to get me fired.

Speaking of which…

“Hey. Why didn’t you tell your dad about the phone?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“What?”

“River’s phone. You guys were all pissed, I saw it. Why didn’t you tell him?”

He shrugs, his large shoulders rising and falling. He is dressed to impress, in a white shirt and perfectly tailored jacket that felt soft and silky against my skin when I touched him. Where the hell was he?

“River’s phone was a piece of shit. He needed a new one. I’d been telling him that for weeks.”

“Oh, so I did you a favor?” I shoot back.

His demeanor, more relaxed than usual, changes in an instant, and he steps toward me, crowding me against the wall. “Pool Girl, don’t think for even one second that pulling shit on one of my friends is ‘doing me a favor’. And if you want me to get you fired, I’d be more than fucking happy to do it.”

I swallow hard. “No. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t…” I lick my lips, hating every second of this. “Don’t get me fired, please.”

His gaze flicks down, tracking the movement of my tongue, and he stills, the hard lines of his arms and shoulders softening for a moment. “You’re better than the last one was, I’ll give you that. You actually act like you care.”