Page 24 of Privilege
My stomach churns, nerves starting to fire on all cylinders. My face is hot. Nobody has ever given me the benefit of the doubt, before. My whole life, it’s always beenDane the Fuck Up.Nobody ever paid close enough attention to wonder why. Not even Rich.
“Cara, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
She walks forward instead and plonks herself down beside me, reaches into the beer fridge beneath the seat and pulls out a beer. She smacks the lid off on the edge of the table, and flicks it at my chest.
It bounces off my linen shirt and onto the floor, spinning like a top for what feels like forever.
When it finally stops, she raises the bottle to her lips. “It’s time for you to come home,” she says.
I can’t take my eyes off her mouth.
Luckiest beer on the fucking planet.
Chapter Twelve
Cara
He is beautiful.
It hits harder when you’ve been away from him for a few weeks. Like the first time all over again. Nobody has any business having a face like that. It’s disorienting. Unnatural, even. It’s like I’ve walked onto an alien aircraft and discovered a new, offensively symmetrical race.
I try to ignore the saliva pooling in my mouth when he wobbles to his feet, his open shirt fluttering in the breeze exposing his thickly muscled body and dark smattering of chest hair. It extends downto his abdomen where it disappears beneath his obnoxiously Hawaiian shorts.
“Here,” he says, tossing me something.
The set of keys jingles when I snatch them out of the air. “I have a car,” I say, annoyed.
“Mine’s better,” he says.
He stumbles towards the gangway and I heave myself up and chug my beer. When I finish, I drop it in the box beside the lounger with all the rest of them and turn to follow Dane, but he’s stopped, has casually braced himself against the railing.
“You’re something special, you know.” He’s slurring a little. “You’re going to tear this town up, if you haven’t already.”
“I am pretty sure these people can handle themselves.”
He frowns. “Not all of them.”
I’m not sure what to say, or if he’s talking about Rich. Who is definitely different here, I’ll give Dane that. He’s not like this at school. He’s not even like this around his roommates, who he knows from Waldron Prep. But I would never,ever,question whether or not Rich can handle himself. Anybody who’s ever seen him play sports would laugh at theconcept; he’s a singularly focused monster out on the pitch.
Dane is watching me like he expects a response.
When in doubt, go with honesty.“I guess you don’t know what you can handle until you have to handle it.”
He narrows his eyes. “See? You’re gonna tear them up. None of them will have any clue what to do with you.”
I trail after him as he wobbles off the ostentatious yacht, without question the biggest one in the marina. I hadn’t even had to ask anyone what boat was theirs; after the past few weeks of parties, social gatherings, dinners out,lunches,and constant never-ending fundraisers, it’s been made clear to me that Mrs. van der Beer is the Queen of the Hamptons.
What has been made equally clear is how deeply unwelcome I am on her turf.
I’d like to say that it doesn’t hurt. The snide comments, the open socials snubs, thelooks.I shouldn’t be bothered by these girls. By their sudden silences when I enter the bathroom. It’s not like I want to be friends with these people—I’d legitimately rather peel my skin off with a carrot peeler. But I have a feeling that this game, this chessboard that is constantly in play, is closing in on me and closing in fast.
Rich’s mother is a piece of work. I don’t blame him for struggling to navigate the battering ram that is her idea of conversation. She comes with a broom up her ass, a plethora of anvils ready to tie Rich down by the ankles to a life he clearly doesn’t want, and probably a private investigator with the exact details of the contents of my bank account. I can’t stand the woman, and am pretty sure her blood-red nails have made their way into my dreams more than once. But how I feel about her doesn’t really matter right now.
I’m worried about Rich.
Dane scrambles sloppily over the side of an obnoxious convertible. Before we got here, my jaw would have dropped. Now I’ve gotten in and out of more luxury cars than I can count as Rich and his friends shuttle us around. I drove here in Arnold’s Lincoln. Which I don’t think he normally lends out, but for a man of few words he’s observant as hell and handed me the keys this morning before I even asked.
I clear my throat. “Dane, I’m not driving this.”
