Hudson(16)

Celia cast an irritated glance down at her friend. “Everyone’s drinking but me.”

With difficulty, I shifted my focus from Christina to Celia. I couldn’t let lust distract me. “I’m not drinking.”

She scowled. “But you could get some if you wanted.”

I looked around at the other guests our age. They weren’t legal, but almost all were nursing an alcoholic beverage of some sort. Obviously the bartender we’d hired wasn’t carding. “Why can’t you get one?”

I wondered if she was afraid to leave me alone with Christina. The way my cock pushed at my briefs, maybe that was a valid fear.

“My father’s guarding the bar. I have no shot.” Not the response I’d expected. “He already told me he wanted to find nothing in my hand tonight but Diet Coke. And he checks. See?”

I looked toward the bar where Warren was perched, his back against the counter. Sure enough, his eyes were on us, though I had a feeling it was more because he was interested in my fraternization with his daughter than because he was concerned about her stealing a sip of wine. Warren Werner was the protective father sort. It occurred to me that my experiment might earn me a black eye from the man.

It would be worth it.

The project consumed me now. I realized that fully. I’d turn down a f**k-hot sure thing at my feet for a chance to prove my hypothesis. Was it really an experiment anymore, or a game? It was my obsession, that’s what it was. Anything else I called it at this point was merely a label.

“I’m standing up now,” I warned Christina. She mumbled something then lay back on the grass, likely on the verge of passing out. Her shirt pushed up and I glimpsed her bare belly. I allowed myself one mental snapshot to savor for later when I jerked off in the shower. Then I turned to Celia.

“Come with me. I don’t believe the entire liquor cabinet was brought out to the patio. If it was, I know where my mother keeps her secret stash.” I took Celia’s hand and laced my fingers through hers. It felt warmer than I expected, and the shock of it almost made me let go. But I reasoned the sensation was likely caused by the filthy thoughts I’d been having about Christina.

I let the visions of sex fade from my mind as we walked toward the house. At the door, I peered over at my friend and winked. “Also, I have something I want to give you.”




“You do?” Her eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“All in good time, my love.” The manipulation of my endearment made me cringe. Especially when I saw the effect it had on The Subject. She literally glowed.

I was disgusted with myself. That surprised me, but I didn’t take it to mean anything too enlightening. A decent human being would have felt it long before now. More proof that I was neither decent nor feeling.

Except I was feeling in that moment. Bitter disgust. It was ugly in texture and taste. I didn’t like it. It was a hindrance to my goal. That drink would be good.

Ten minutes later as the bourbon from the mini-bar off the living room settled in my stomach, I reevaluated the weakness I’d felt shortly before. Perhaps it wasn’t weakness, after all. It was more recognition of fact than a feeling. There was no doubt I was a disgusting person. No one who knew the extent of my thoughts and actions would disagree.

But there was no one who knew my inner psyche. My secret belonged only to me.

“Better?” I swirled the liquid in my glass before finishing the last swallow.

“Much.” Celia downed her own drink, cringing as she took in the bitter alcohol. “Woo!” She held her hand out to me to steady herself. “Maybe I should have drank that slower.”

“Here.” I helped her to the couch. “Sit while I get your gift.”

She settled into the upholstery. “It’s not my birthday or anything. Why would you get me something?”

“Do I need an occasion? Besides, it’s barely anything at all.” I left her to head to the dining room where I’d stashed my gift on the china cabinet. I’d planned this earlier, and not wanting to be too sequestered with Celia, I’d made sure my present was near the party.

I gathered the items and thought briefly how I owed Mirabelle for the tip of gifting based on knowing someone. Celia hadn’t declared a major yet. She’d spent long hours debating with me about what she should choose. Her heart longed to pursue art, but her parents would never approve of such a frivolous career choice. While I’d listened and consoled, I hadn’t given much input. I appreciated art in all forms, yet I had not a lick of that kind of creativity, and how she could marry her passion with an occupation the Werners approved of was beyond me.

Then my mother hired an interior designer for our home back in Manhattan. By hand, he’d sketched out beautiful new concepts for our living room and den. The work he’d done was creative and artistic and completely something within Celia’s capability. I’d researched programs at Celia’s school and ordered some brochures. Then I purchased a coffee table book with photographs of contemporary designs from the last decade. These were the gifts I gave to Celia.

“It’s merely an option.” I sat and watched her look through the brochures over her shoulder. “You can take or leave the information however you like. I won’t be offended if you think it’s all shit.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s perfect. This idea is perfect.”