Page 9 of You Were Never Not Mine

I just won’t give him the satisfaction that I know who he is. And I’m not about to reveal that we’ve encountered each other in the past, either. It’s shocking how he doesn’t recognize me, though I’ve changed quite a bit from the too-skinny girl with braces on her teeth and pimples on her face.

“Really.” I smile and he does too andoh. He is devastatingly handsome.

I tear my gaze from his so I don’t get too caught up in his good looks, taking another fumbling gulp from my drink. Praying it makes me drunker quicker so I can withstand this conversation that I have no business engaging in.

“Maybe I just recognize something in you that I’m feeling as well,” he admits, his voice so low I swear I can feel it vibrating within me.

I jerk my gaze back to his, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I watched you enter the house. You looked absolutely disgusted at being here. Maybe even a little bored.” It’s his turn to sip from his glass, never taking his gaze away from mine as he does so. “And my immediate thought when I saw you was, ‘I feel the same way that she looks.’”

“Oh.” I duck my head, hating that he could read my mood so well. My father always said I would make a terrible poker player and an even worse negotiator, which was a sin in his eyes. My father is the king of negotiators and can keep a straight face through anything. No one can ever read his moods and it’s scary sometimes.

August leans in, his cheek almost pressed to mine when he whispers, “Busted.”

My entire face heats up at his nearness and he backs away, a knowing smirk on his face.

“The house is beautiful.” I look around, taking it all in yet again and the walls are so dark, it almost gives the place an ominous feel. “Nothing like what I thought a fraternity would look like.”

“We’re not your typical frat.” He pauses with the glass directly in front of his lips. “Are you telling me this is the first frat party you’ve been to?”

I nod, not bothering to speak.

“We’ve been on campus for over a month. There are parties every week. Almost every day.”

I shrug, then drain the last bit of my glass, shocked that it’s already gone. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“School. Studying.” I take college seriously because I refuse to be like so many of the other girls my age who get into a prestigious university, party their asses off, get drunk on the daily and end up basically flunking out within the first year, if not the first semester. But it doesn’t matter because they’ll find some rich boy from a rich family who’ll take care of them the rest of their lives as long as they give him babies and are the dutiful wife.

Like my mother. She pretends my father doesn’t have affairs and it’s fine because he buys her new jewelry whenever he feels guilty, which is often. It’s a great arrangement and they don’t seem to complain about it, ever.

That’s not what I want. I want independence. My own career and my own life where I don’t have to rely on a man to take care of me. Am I taking advantage of the fact that my father pays for my expensive college education? Yes. I would be a fool to try and do it on my own. But I’m not going to end up a boring little housewife like every other woman I know.

His smile returns, faint and almost evil looking. “Such a dutiful student.”

“I have goals.” That’s all I say and I can tell he’s intrigued.

“What type of goals?”

“I thought about going to medical school.” Maybe. Maybe not. I’m focused on getting good grades no matter what I want to do but if I’m being real with myself?

I have no clue what I want to do as a career. How are we expected to know anyway? I’m barely out of high school and I’m supposed to have my entire life mapped out in front of me? Give me a break.

“Ambitious,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my empty glass. “Want another refill?”

“I shouldn’t,” I protest as he takes the glass from my grip and turns to refill it, pouring himself more too. “Really. I should go,” I tell the broad expanse of his back.

“But we’re talking.” He faces me once more, pressing the glass against my palm and I take it. “I want to hear more about your goals.”

“They’re boring.” Why does he act interested? He doesn’t care. He has no idea who I am. He hasn’t even asked my name and I’m sure once I say it to him, he’ll remember. And abandon me as quickly as he can.

“You think so?” His brows lift. “Then why are you doing it?”

“To make something of myself.”

His gaze drops to the Alhambra sweet bracelet on my wrist. The matching pendant dangling from my neck. “You come from money.”

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