Page 35 of Privilege
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Dane.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“You and your brother,” she grumbles. “Can’t anyone just give a straight answer in your family?”
“Oh sweet summer child. That’s not how it works,” I say.
“It’s very irritating. I would very much like for you both to just stop with the cryptic foreshadowing of a blowout over some dramatized high school bullshit and talk to me.”
“Your directness is… refreshing.” I edit myself from saying ‘borderline sexual’. “Give Rich time. He’ll get used to you.”
“He’s used to me fine. He takes a while, but he gets there. You though?” She looks me up and down and my cock stirs.Not the time, buddy.“I’m not convinced you’ll ever answer me.”
I shrug. “It’s a boring story. Like watching a teen drama with too many episodes per season.”
Her blue eyes roam all over my face, studying me, taking me in. My skin tightens like shrink wrap under the honest scrutiny; I’m not sure anybody has ever looked at me this long without grabbing my cock or my wallet.
“Tell me about Europe,” she says.
Surprise elbows me hard in the ribs. Of all the things I thought she’d ask me, that isn’t it.
“What about it?” My voice is reluctant. Suspicious.
A dreamy expression settles over her soft, beautiful features. “I’ve always wanted to go,” she says.
I frown. “So go.”
She laughs, a warm gentle sound that reminds me of sleigh bells at Christmas. I make a mental note to take a toaster in the bath later for spewing Hallmark over this girl.
“You know it’s not like that, for normal people, right?” she says. “We have to save. Plan. Take time off from work, for which we need permission.”
“Sounds lame,” I say with a shrug.
More laughter. “It is lame, I guess.”
We sit in silence, sipping our coffee in the servant’s quarters while the sun comes up, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt this calm. It occurs to me that I could apologize for what I said in the boathouse. But for some reason, one that is genuinely not driven by my own ego or stubbornness, it feels like she’s forgiven me. Like she’s decided it’s not worth a grudge, even though I was a fucking prick.
It doesn’t matter whether Rich tells her about the past or not. This girl is his future. And fuck me if it isn’t going to be fucking amazing, for them.
Yep. Definitely need the toaster.
I shake my head; I need to keep my eye on the ball. Home fucking stretch.
Chapter Eighteen
Dane
Giggling, shuffling, and generalruckusechoes across the marble floors before a blur of blonde goes streaking past the archway to the hall, closely followed by a shirtless Rich.
I slam my laptop closed and rub my eyes. It’s late, but there’s no rest for the wicked. Finding the will to stand, legs sore from so many hours at the never-used kitchen table that seats twelve, takes Herculean effort. Rich is in a pair of thin black joggers slung low on his hips, with a white tank top in hand, and appears to be swinging it over his head like a lasso. Cara has collapsed onto an armchair inthe living room, playfully kicking at him while he fake-whips her with the shirt.
I can’t decide if I want to film it so I can watch it until I die, or throw up from how disgustingly cute they are. Either way, I quickly decide to leave them to it but Rich sees me first and stiffens.
His arm drops to his side and Cara frowns up at him, before following his irritable expression in my direction.
“What do you want,” Rich says.
You sound exactly like your mother right now.
