Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(9)

It had been years since they’d touched me, but I hadn’t forgotten how it felt.

I hadn’t forgotten anything.





5





Oliver





THEN



“This is torture.” Chloe spoke through her teeth, a smile plastered on her face.

“I know. Sorry.” I did the same. Our mothers hovered with their digital cameras like vultures, taking photo after photo of us and of the rest of my friends and their dates fully decked out in formal prom attire.

Well, some of us were fully decked out in formal prom attire.

“Those shorts look so stupid,” Chloe told me, struggling with the word stupid as she continued to smile. “Couldn’t you guys afford suits?”

She was referring to the shorts my friends and I had chosen to wear with our dress shirts and navy blue blazers. My shorts were pale red, but all shades in the preppy rainbow were represented: kelly green, salmon pink, aqua blue, lemon yellow. Loafers, no socks. We wore bow ties, too. Mine was red and blue striped, and I thought I looked pretty badass, actually.

“This is a choice. Not a circumstance,” I assured her when our mothers finally took a break to cry and hug and say things like I can’t believe this is how old we are.

Chloe cocked a brow. “Really.”

“Yeah. We don’t want to be like every other guy who’s ever gone to prom. We’re proclaiming our individualism.”

“In matching short pants. Got it.”

“They’re not matching; they’re coordinated. And why should we be forced to wear tuxes or suits? We’re graduating. We’re sick of rules, and we’re sticking it to the man.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Oliver. Look around you. You guys are the man.”

I glanced at my friends and had to admit everyone there was wealthy and privileged, headed for ivy-covered schools where we’d study business or law or politics or medicine, following in our fathers’ footsteps, which would most likely lead us right back here to a big brick house near the water, where we’d live with our first wives and kids and dogs. We’d sail in the summer, ski in the winter, join country clubs, play golf on the weekends, and tennis after work. After a while, some of us would probably get divorced and move into a flat in the Park where our angry kids would be forced to spend time with us. Then maybe we’d get remarried and start the cycle all over again. It was kind of depressing, actually, how clearly I could see it all.

But Chloe was right. One thing we probably wouldn’t be was powerless or poor. Was I supposed to feel bad about it?

“Hey, it’s not my fault my family has money,” I told her. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, maybe use some of your millions to make a difference in the world? Do something meaningful?”

“We give plenty to charity.”

“Like what?”

I had no idea, but I was sure my mother was on the board of at least three philanthropic organizations. I made some shit up. “The Shriners,” I told her. “Those people with the funny hats that ring the bell outside grocery stores at Christmas.”

Chloe snorted. “I think you’ve got your charity hats confused. The bell-ringing is for the Salvation Army.”

“Oh. Well, I’m positive we give to both. And I’m donating my time to a sailing camp for underprivileged kids this summer.”

“Are you?” She looked surprised. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” I’d almost forgotten my mother had roped me into doing it. At first I’d complained because it meant getting up at the ass crack of dawn, and it would seriously cut into the time I planned to spend on my own boat this summer, working on my tan and trying to win back Caitlyn Becker. We’d been together all year until I’d fucked it up by messing around with a sophomore right before prom. Caitlyn found out and dumped my ass last week. Maybe I should tell her about the sailing camp, I thought. Chloe was looking at me kind of differently right now, as if she saw me in a new, more favorable light.

The last time we’d hung out, she’d gotten pissed about some comment I made about her stupid boyfriend, Chuck. I wasn’t sorry, though. That guy was a fucking tool. I don’t even recall exactly what I said, maybe something about him being the reason the gene pool needs a lifeguard, but she’d gone off on me, accused me of being a privileged, judgmental, prep school asshole. A sheep in a navy blazer and khaki pants.

Sometimes I worried she was right.

But I still thought I looked good.

She looked good tonight too. Like the rest of the girls, she had on a long strapless dress and wore sparkly things in her ears and around her neck. Her dark hair was done up, which made her look older and more sophisticated. It also meant her tattoo was visible across her upper back—that was something the other girls in the group definitely didn’t have. It was a line from a book or something, but I forgot which one. She said her parents had been so furious with her for getting it without permission, they’d grounded her for a month. Taken away her keys, her phone, her freedom.

She’d also said it had been worth it. I dug that.

The moms were making the girls line up alone for a photo, and I watched them all smile for the camera. Their teeth were all really, really white but their dresses were all different colors. They sort of looked like a row of frozen yogurt flavors at TCBY. Chloe’s would be key lime, I thought, but even I knew that probably wasn’t something I should say out loud.