A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(36)

I like her.

I do.

What the fuck?

“Crew, come the fuck on. Leave him alone.”

I turn to find Ezra standing there, slowly shaking his head. I ignore him, returning my attention back to Larsen. “Like I said—touch her and I’ll break every bone in your body. Record her doing anything, even smiling at you, and I’ll kill you.” I shove him away from me, and he stumbles into the chair behind him, falling to the ground.

We glare at each other as I stand over him, my hands clenched into fists. I’m fucking panting, I’m so pissed.

I hate this fucker. So damn much.

Turning away, I leave the common room, Ezra hot on my heels.

“What the hell, dude? Why you fucking with Larsen? We always would leave him alone, you know.”

Because we were a bunch of idiots who thought we were doing the right thing by protecting one of our own.

Well fuck that.

“He’s a piece of shit.” I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “He deserves to be called out.”

“Why? What’s the big deal now?”

I turn on my friend. “He’s having dinner with the Beaumonts tomorrow night.”

Realization dawns across Ezra’s face. “And what? You think he’s going to get with Wren? Give me a break. She’s too scared to even look at him.”

“I saw them talking in the hall earlier. I think she trusts that asshole.”

“She shouldn’t. Doesn’t she know?”

“Probably not.” She didn’t. I don’t know if she believed what I told her, either.

My mind won’t stop imagining her with Larsen. Laughing with him as he slowly but surely earns her trust. Honing in on that needy side of her, the one she doesn’t really show anyone. She wants attention. She’s starved for it. And he’ll give it to her. He might even try to drug her.

Next thing she knows, she’s getting fucked by that asshole. And I can see it. I can see it all in my head, and there’s no way I can let that happen.

I can’t.

I won’t.





FOURTEEN





WREN





“I’m so sorry, Pumpkin, but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow for the exhibit.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I clutch the phone closer to my ear, my fingers cramping, I’m holding it so tightly. “I only came home so we could go together.”

“I know, and I wish I had a different answer for you, but something else came up,” my father says.

I flop onto the blue velvet couch in the living room, hating how hard it is. How stiff. Like everything else in this cold, sterile apartment my parents live in. “What suddenly came up?”

“I’m meeting with some clients this evening for dinner,” he says, his voice smooth. “You know how it is.”

How it always is. For some reason though, it feels like he’s lying. “On a Friday night?”

“I work seven days a week. You know this.” He sounds irritated, and I immediately feel terrible for even doubting him.

“I know, you’re right. I’m just—disappointed.” I close my eyes, letting the emotion wash over me. The entire week hasn’t gone well and I was so looking forward to seeing this exhibit tomorrow.

For once, I just wanted something to work in my favor.

“I’m disappointed too, Pumpkin. Maybe we can go another time. I’d love to see her exhibit.”

“It’s over at the end of the year,” I remind him. “And this weekend was the best time for me. I have finals to prepare for, and then it’s Christmas. My birthday.”

“Maybe we could go the week between Christmas and New Year’s?” he suggests.

“But that’s my birthday week. I might have plans.”

With who, I’m not even sure anymore.

He chuckles. “Right. My little girl loves to string out her birthday for as long as possible.”

Only my father would make me feel bad for something he started in the first place. When I turned ten, he made such a big deal about my birthday, trying to make it special considering I share the day with the one of the most major holidays of the year. He kept my tenth birthday celebration going for days, much to my mother’s not-so-secret annoyance. It’s been a tradition ever since.

“What sort of plans do you have?” he asks when I still haven’t said anything.

“I wanted to go out of town,” I admit, realizing there really isn’t anyone I want to go with me anymore. I was thinking about asking Maggie, but she’s still not talking to me after the Fig incident, so what would be the point? She probably hates me, and she was my last real friend.

“Where were you thinking of going? Somewhere warm?”

“Actually, I was looking at somewhere in the mountains with lots of snow. It sounds cozy, staying in a log cabin and drinking hot chocolate by the fire.” Saying the words out loud, I’m sure I sound like a foolish little girl.

“You don’t want to go somewhere tropical? Most people want to go to the beach during the winter. What about Aruba?”

A tropical vacation means bikinis and lots of skin. Guys leering at me and my chest. I hate having them on display. They’re just so…big.