Page 25 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“I’m so sorry for the mistake, sir,” she says. “There hasn’t been any hotel with a room?—”

“It’s fine, truly. But a car would be appreciated.”

“Of course. Any specific requests?”

“Something fast.”

I’ve stayed at Mark’s house a couple of times before, on visits with Link, so I find it easily. Once I reach the driveway, I pass another car on its way out. Fearful that I’m going to miss Evie, I look carefully at the people in the vehicle. It’s driven by a red-haired woman, with a dark-haired woman as the passenger. It doesn’t look like anyone’s in the back seat, but the rear windows are tinted.

If I miss Evie, I’ll have to come back. I doubt she’d appreciate returning home to yet another guy she was intimate with at Vice.

Then again, she might appreciate it a lot.

Fuck, I need this girl.

* * *

Evelyn

Mom and Chloe are finally gone. Lots of talk of the wedding, and I endured it. Maybe my smiles were brittle, maybe I wasn’t as quick to gush over details like venues and music. But at least I didn’t cry. I held in tears the whole time, but now that the door is closed and locked behind them, and I can hear their car zooming unbelievably loudly down the driveway, I can finally cry.

I don’t cry, though. Too much swallowing back of those emotions, and now I’m just pissed.

“Fuck them,” I mutter, punching a couch cushion. “Fuck them all to hell, I hate them, I hate them so much.”

How am I supposed to go to the wedding? Am I just there to feel humiliated and help Chloe feel better about herself? Is that my sole function in their lives?

Sure as hell feels like it.

I’m alone in the house, for better or worse, so I empty out my dad’s liquor cabinet and take stock of the offerings. He’s not a big drinker, and neither am I, but he has vodka. I can mix it with the cran-raspberry juice in the fridge and maybe dull the too-strong emotions and the tension in my body. Not forever, just for right now.

I skip the cran-raspberry juice for my first drink, and gulp down some straight vodka. It burns, but I don’t care. A couple more swigs, and now I’m ready to slow down.

As I’m pouring a healthy amount of vodka into a glass, the doorbell rings.

Not fucking now. If they’re back, I’m pretending to be dead. I walk on less-than-steady legs to the front door. That vodka hit me fast. Good. I don’t want to make all the right choices anymore. Making all the right choices is what got me a cheating fiancé, a snake sister, and moving back in with my dad.

Now that it’s growing dark, though, I take advantage of the peephole in the door. Maybe I’m willing to make mistakes, but not with opening the door to potential serial killers. Or my mom.

But it isn’t my mom…it’s Caleb. Lincoln’s friend from the club.

No way.

I open the door, but I have no words.

“Hey, Evie,” he says.

“Um, hi.”

“Caleb,” he says, pointing at himself. “We never were formally introduced.”

Yeah, because that’s not the weird thing about him showing up at all. I can only nod.

“Link said you were staying here, and I also need a place to stay, and…I thought I should clear it with you, first.”

“You called him ‘James’ at the club,” I say. “Now ‘Link?’”

He shrugs. “I use both. Sometimes ‘Lincoln,’ too. It probably depends on the situation, but I haven’t really analyzed it. We can if you want.”

---