Page 89 of Foolish Games

She flinches, her chocolate eyes pooling with hurt. I wait for her to argue that since I’m fucking her, that changes things. For her to tell me she doesn’t want me with anyone but her. For her to give me something, anything, a reason to believe any of it’s real. But she turns away, punches in the code on the gate, pulls her arm back inside the car and shifts, the tires spinning on the wet ground. “Fine,” she says. “You do that.”

“If you don’t care, then I guess I will.”

“Why would I care?” she asks, pulling up into a gravel lot behind a huge garage with six double doors. “You’re not my boyfriend. You can do whatever you want.”

She climbs out of the car, pulling out a huge black umbrella and opening it. I circle around and hold it over us, walking her to the door like the dutiful boyfriend I’ve become. I hate her for what she’s made me. I’m tired of pretending to be her lapdog. It’s time to go back to being the kind of dog I really am.

Inside, an honest-to-god butler takes our umbrella and coats, then ushers us up one of the wide sets of stairs leading to the second floor. Another servant opens the doors at the top of the stairs, and we enter a long, open room with windows all along one side. Along the opposite wall, tables are set up with fancy hors d’oeuvres that I probably can’t even identify. Two entire tables are topped with gleaming, delicate champagne flutes waiting to be filled with the sparkling gold toast at midnight.

Beyond them, at the far end of the room, a bar is set up in front of another door, and two bartenders continuously pour drinks and set them along the bar for people to grab as they pass. I could use a drink, so I grab Viv’s hand and pull her in that direction.

“Let’s party,” I say, snatching up a martini glass with hot pink liquid in it. I hand one to Viv, tap my glass against hers, and down mine in two swallows.

“Sebastian,” she hisses.

“What?” I ask, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. “Am I embarrassing you with my slovenly drinking habits? Sorry, not everyone was taught to raise their pinky and sip like a gentile lady.”

“You know what?” she says. “I think I’m going to go talk to my other friends and let you be an asshole all by yourself.”

“What friends?” I ask. “You mean Nerd Boy Chad?”

She lifts her chin and looks down her nose at me. “At least he’s not so miserable that he feels the need to intentionally make everyone else the same way.”

She turns on her heel and walks away.

“Why don’t you just fuck him while you’re at it?” I call after her.

A few people look at me, but I don’t care. I turn back to the bar and pick up another one of the fruity cocktails. Then I step off to the side and glare at Vivienne as she walks straight over to one of the dickhead blonds I saw her dancing with at the Founders Ball, joining them like she belongs there and not with me.

She does belong with them, and it pisses me off.

It’s my own fucking fault I’m left standing alone and out of place, reeling from her parting shot. It didn’t just hit close to home—it was a heat-seeking missile that crashed right into the middle of my home and blasted it to bits. The fact that she knows me that well after only a few months scares the fuck out of me. She may not know why I’m being such a dick, but she knows that’s what I’m doing.

Imploding.

Some self-destructive bitterness has risen in me, the culmination of months of being with her and years of being friends with Robert, going to his house, seeing that he has every fucking thing. Knowing I could never get too close to his hot sister, not just because she’s his sister, but because I’m not good enough for her.

I always thought I was pissed about it because they see me that way. But the truth is, maybe it’s because I know they’re right. No matter what I do, I can’t change who I am or what family I was born into. I don’t belong at this party. I don’t belong with these fancy people in their custom fit tuxedos, their champagne that’s undoubtedly the real stuff that came all the way from France, not the sparkling wine from the bottom shelf at the liquor store. And if I’ve got any shot at being a good person, I’ll walk away right now and leave Viv to get back together with Chaz, the guy she belonged with all along.

The thought sends me spiraling further into the dark place I’ve been paddling away from for days, weeks, maybe years. It’s slowly pulling me down, though, circling like a whirlpool under me. I finish my drink and take another. I should walk out. If Vivienne wanted me here, she’d be with me, not over there laughing at something a founding son is saying.

“Should’ve known I’d find you by the bar,” says a familiar voice.

I turn to see Billy’s grinning face as he grabs a drink from the bar and tips his glass at me. Seeing someone else out of a tux takes the edge off, and I’m instantly more comfortable. Billy has that effect on people—probably why they first hire him as their pool boy and then tell him their secrets. Behind him, all four of the Dolce brothers, Theo, and Lexi are grabbing drinks and downing them with more gusto than I did. Vivienne will freak when she finds out I’m responsible for the party crashers.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it in,” I say, knocking my glass against his. “Did they check for invites?”

“No, they fucking pimped me out,” Lexi says with a scowl, guzzling a fruity pink martini. “I can still taste his slimy tongue and feel his stubble.”

She gives a dramatic shudder and reaches for another drink.

“Whoa, slow down there, sis,” Billy says, taking the drink from her hand. “I don’t want you passing out and getting taken advantage of by some rich asshole who will send me to jail when I kick his ass for it.”

“You’re worth an ass kicking,” Tony says, handing Lexi another drink. “Bottom’s up, sweetheart. I’ll be saying that again later, once you’ve gotten enough vodka in you to stop being a tease.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at him and giving Billy a bratty look. “Glad some people know how to party.”

“Go ahead, get taken advantage of by the Dolces,” he says. “I got no problem kicking all their asses, and I won’t do a lick of jail time for it.”

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