Page 272 of Filthy Elites

I shrug. “I’m not her fucking shrink, Anae. I don’t know which obstacle is the biggest. I’m just saying both issues have presented a problem.”

She doesn’t hide her skepticism.

She waits for me to say something else since this is as close to getting me on the ropes as she’s been before.

I don’t.

“All right,” she says after a minute of hard-eyed mutual silence. “Well, why don’t we give it another week? Obviously, I don’t want to ask you to devote all your time to this, but if you can’t get your dick in her by this time next weekend, we’ll regroup and make a different plan.”

I see letting it go isn’t even on the table, so I shrug and turn toward the pool. “Whatever. Another week is fine with me.”

I tug off my shirt and empty my pockets before diving into the pool with Scofield.

We do a few laps so I can show him up, and when he admits I’m faster, I smirk and look around for Anae. I don’t see her over by her friends or by the side of the pool with her legs in the water where she usually is.

“Hey,” I call out to Mallory.

She looks up from her phone. “Yeah?”

“Where’d Anae go?”

“She had to pee.”

“Hey, I want a rematch,” Scofield says, swimming up beside me and grabbing onto the edge of the pool. “Best two out of three?”

“You’re on.”

SIXTEEN

Aubrey

After a great night’s sleep,Mom and I have breakfast and go for a walk. When we get home, I spot a vase full of flowers on the doorstep that must have been delivered while we were out.

Mom’s not feeling well enough today to walk the whole way, so she’s in her wheelchair by the time we return home. We don’t have a wheelchair ramp, so I roll her into the garage and see if she needs help up the steps.

Once she’s safely inside with a nice cold glass of water, I come back out to grab the bouquet of white roses.

There’s a card that says, “Sorry for your loss,” but no other message, and it isn’t signed.

“Who are they from?” Mom asks as I bring them inside the house.

I pocket the card and take the flowers over to the counter. “I’m not sure. Doesn’t say.”

If not for that weird card, I might have thought they were from Dare. I’m not sure he’s a guy who sends flowers, but I don’t really know what the alternative could be, either.

Dare.

I haven’t talked to him since last night.

It’s hard to believe last night even happened. I got so caught up, but I can’t believe I sent him that picture.

Or took that call.

God, in the light of day, it’s so embarrassing.

But last night… last night, it was so hot.

It’s probably a flimsy excuse because I’m sure the flowers aren’t from him, but when Mom goes in to take a nap, I plop down on my bed—the scene of the crime—and open the text chain between me and Dare.

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