A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(102)

I can’t wait to see what she got there.

There is so much more to this girl than meets the eye, and I like that she’s comfortable enough to reveal those things to me. I’m trying to be more open with her too, and I wonder if she realizes that.

If she knows how much she affects me.

Wren is unlike any girl I’ve ever known, and I want to know more. I feel as if I’ve barely scratched the surface, and tonight’s mini-rant was telling.

Though I shouldn’t call it a rant. She was being real and raw and vulnerable. Something she’s done with me often, which I like.

Damn it, I like everything about this girl, and that’s scary as fuck.

I don’t let people into my life, especially a girl. I have friends, but I keep most of them at surface level, worried to let them get close. I don’t trust people, even guys who are almost as rich as I am.

But no one I know is as wealthy as my family, and it’s hard to let them into my inner circle. Every girl who’s ever shown interest in me I always figured was after my money.

Shitty but true.

Not Wren though. She wanted nothing to do with me at first, but I guess I wore her down. It’s as if we can’t help ourselves when we’re around each other.

And now that we’ve gone this far, I’m not about to let her go without a fight.

She breaks the kiss first, her chest brushing against mine with her every breath. “I have a surprise for you.”

I raise my brows. “Does it have anything to do with that bag over there?” I incline my head toward the cluster of bags she left on the coffee table.

She nods, biting her lower lip. “I hope you don’t think it’s stupid.”

“Anything involving you and whatever you found at that store, I know it won’t be stupid.”

Her smile is small, her gaze locking on mine. “I’ve had so much fun with you today.”

I don’t think anyone’s ever called spending time with me fun before.

“And I’m so glad you convinced me to come with you, even though I was scared.” Her hands tighten on my shoulders. “I like how you push me.”

I run a hand through her hair, cupping the side of her head. “I don’t think you know what you’re capable of.”

“I’m starting to realize, thanks to you.” Her smile grows and then she’s ducking out of my hold and practically running over to the bags, plucking up the one from the lingerie store before she heads for the stairs. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Meet me up there in thirty?”

“Sure,” I tell her, smiling at her before she zooms up the stairs.

I settle onto the couch with another slice of pizza, checking my phone while I wait. I have text messages I’ve been avoiding. Ones from Malcolm and Ezra, both of them asking where I’m at. One from my sister, asking if I’ll be at the house for Christmas Eve.

I shoot her a quick text, because I never ignore Charlotte. She’s my closest sibling and I’ve been worried about her ever since she married that Perry dude.

There’s an ominous message from my father, one that fills me with dread.

We need to talk. Call me when you get a chance.

I consider ignoring it, but realize quickly that avoiding my problems is not the answer.

I bring up his number and call him, hoping he won’t answer.

Just my luck, he picks up on the second ring.

“Why didn’t you tell me detectives interviewed you yesterday?” he barks at me.

Damn it, I’m probably going to need alcohol after this conversation.

“You already knew about the situation, so I didn’t think I needed to call you. Plus, I’m eighteen. An adult,” I remind him.

“I deserved a call. That way I’m not caught unaware when some asshole reporter reaches out, looking for a reaction from me.”

Shit. I didn’t expect that.

“Why would anyone care? This doesn’t really involve us.”

“Because we’re Lancasters, son. And what we do, people pay attention to, even when we’re only involved on the sidelines,” Dad explains, his tone rough. I can tell he’s losing patience with me.

“Well, it was nothing. I was interviewed, I told my side of the story and what I saw, and that’s the end of it.” I glance upwards at the loft, hearing the telltale sign of the shower running, and I imagine Wren standing under the hot spray of water, her slick, naked body shrouded by steam.

Reaching between my legs, I readjust myself.

“The reporter was kind enough to tell me the story is hitting the papers Monday morning. You will be named as a witness. You will most likely have to testify in court when it goes to trial. I hope you’re prepared to make an appearance,” Dad says.

“I look forward to it. Anything to put that slimeball away for good.” I relish the thought of Figueroa behind bars. It’s what the asshole deserves.

“Where are you anyway? I saw that you used the jet.”

Damn. Busted.

“Vermont.”

“With who?”

“A friend.”

“Don’t you have finals next week?”

“Yeah, so?” I sound like a fucking little kid, but this is what happens when my dad does this sort of shit to me.

I revert.