Page 8 of Beg for It
He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. “Lacrosse game.”
“The season doesn’t start until January.”
“Offseason practice match.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
I have to hand it to him, playing the sport card was a smart move. It is the one thing our parents never relent on, especially our father.
“Come on, Bumble Bee, don’t make a sour face.”
I purse my lips even further, my childhood nickname hitting home.
“You’re not the one who was stuck being primped, plucked, and prodded by Mom for the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t even get any sleep because the gardeners arrived at six this morning to leaf blow the driveway, and then the event decorators showed up at nine and started all this drilling.”
Josh winces, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yikes. Sorry, sis.”
I let out a sigh, feeling better now that I’ve finally had a chance to vent my frustrations to someone. Each year mypatience seems to run thinner, but for some reason, I’m really on edge this time.
I spent the morning tidying up the fridge to make space for the desserts the pâtissier brought over, picking up Rufus from the groomer—where some woman accidentally lost hold of her teacup poodle, causing an entire scene—and getting a Brazilian wax even though no one is going to see it under seven layers of tulle.
I then came home to my mother having a minor meltdown over the placement of cobwebs on the balustrade and had to sit her down with a glass of wine before overseeing the decorators swinging more cobwebs—this time with little dangling strands with diamantés on the end—over the chandelier.
The house smells of cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. It is giving me a headache, which isn’t being helped, by my tiny corset.
“It’s fine.” I wave him off. “I helped get most things organized, so there really shouldn’t be anything left for us to worry about after we’ve got our costumes sorted, other than showing up for the bash.”
“Right, right. There’s nothing else.” Josh nods his head up and down, but he has this glint in his eye.
“What. What’s that look?”
He steps closer, or as close as my three-foot-wide skirt will allow him, and dips his chin. “Since we’retechnicallyfree tonight, you want to head to Old Spur with me?”
“The bar on Main?”
“Yeah, there’s a few groups going.”
Josh has to be out of his mind.
There is zero chance our parents would let us go out the night before the Halloween bash. Well, at least there is zero chance they would allow me to go. Josh always gets a smidge more leeway, whether it is because he is a boy or younger, I’mnot sure. Either way, there isn’t a chance in hell I’d be allowed to step foot out of this house for anything other than a Mom-approved errand between now and tomorrow evening. Mom has crafted a very specific image of who I am, and if I get caught doing anything to ruin it, I’m done for. Our parents are strict and abide by an “our house, our rules” mentality, and just because I’m in college doesn’t mean I’m suddenly free from their grip—especially since they hold my tuition over my head.
It’s seems a little ridiculous, and most people don’t understand it, but it’s my reality nonetheless.
“Wishful thinking, lil bro,” I scoff. “The alarm will go off before you even try.”
“What if I told you I have a way—for both of us.”
That tingle in my chest lights up, sparking my veins, and the darkness beneath my skin hums.
“I don’t know.”
A loud, clanging cacophony of metal reverberates throughout the house. It has to be Josh’s tin suit, meaning our mother isn’t too far off.
“I’m going, with or without you. Just trust me, Bee.” He pokes my shoulder a few times. “We won’t get caught. Live a little.”
I want to. I really,really,want to. I suppose sneaking out with Josh is a hell of a lot smarter than trying to sneak out on my own. I’d failed every time I’d tried that in high school.
