Page 17 of Wanted Beta

It’s not like I can do anything about it. I don’t have a limitless credit card from a rich father to fund a whole new closet full of designer labels every season, like Chelsea clearly does.

“I’m more of a classic guy myself.” Rourke’s voice from behind us distracts me.

I bump the bottle of Coke on the table trying to turn too fast, and the lid comes off with a tell-tale hiss, slipping through my fingers and bouncing to the floor. I gasp out a breath as the dark, fizzed up soda sprays a heavy line across Chelsea’s perfectly tailored baby blue dress.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I blurt, as the Coke continues to fizz over onto the chest of my own dress now that it’s done with the initial spray. “That’s totally my bad!”

Rourke holds out his hands to me, and I pass the bottle to him.

“Thanks,” I mumble, as I realize my hands are wet and sticky.

“Are you crazy?” Chelsea screeches. “This is Prada!”

“Then you’d better go home and clean it, before it stains,” Rourke tells her, as he places the wet bottle in the kitchen sink.

He turns on the tap and motions to me. I move toward him, but I’m not sure what he’s asking until he reaches for my hands and puts them under the warm water.

“Oh …” I murmur, as he squirts soap into my palm.

“Are you kidding me?” Chelsea fumes. “My dress is ruined!”

I glance up at Rourke and catch him rolling his eyes.

“If I buy you a new one, will you leave?” he asks her.

She makes an irritated noise and goes out back.

Even over the sound of the music out there, I can hear her rounding up her friends to get them to storm out of Rourke’s house with her.

“What is her problem?” he mutters.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she’s hangry?”

He laughs lightly. “I bet she wishes she didn’t come to this party now.”

“Probably.”

I realize his hand is on my back while I’m washing the Coke off my hands and forearms, and I don’t want him to take it away. I take my time, and he turns off the tap when I’m done.

Chelsea and her friends are stomping their way into the kitchen when he’s handing me a towel.

“I expect you to buy me a new dress,” Chelsea says, her gaze levelled on me. “And to never speak to me or come anywhere near me ever again.”

Ouch. I mean the second request is easy, but that first one? It’s not like I have any savings, and I don’t think my allowance will stretch to cover a Prada outfit for a spoiled brat.

“You’ll get your new dress,” Rourke assures her, his voice hitting a warning tone that makes me gasp in a breath. “But if you ever so much as look at this woman wrong again, I’ll make sure your college applications get rejected. All of them. Even the backup schools.”

“You wouldn’t dare …” Chelsea starts, before it sinks in what he’s just threatened her with. She blinks at him. “Wait, what? You can’t do that.”

I feel as shocked as she looks when Rourke gives her a mean smile.

“You know who my parents are. You know how much influence they have. One phone call, and your future looks a whole lot different than you expect it to. Don’t cross me.”

“I’m … But she’s just …” Chelsea starts.

“She’s not just anything,” he practically growls. “She’s my mate.”

Chelsea goes pale and her friends drag her past us while her mouth works, but no words come out. I stare at Rourke, and he picks up the towel when it falls out of my hands.

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