Page 51 of The Star

I point a finger at her. “Except when we’re giving each other head.”

“We aren’t doing that anymore, remember?”

I faux pout, making her chuckle. I take the remaining two steps to sit down on the edge of her bed, sighing as I drop down. “I like you.”

Her head reels back. “What?!”

I reach a hand out, cupping her jaw. “You make me feel fucking insane. You make me want to kill people.”

“Wow, how cute,” she deadpans, and I roll my eyes in return.

“Tell me you don’t feel something for me,” I whisper.

She blinks. “I don’t.”

I stare into those golden eyes, studying the way they look when she’s lying. Because she is –lying. She feels it too. I can tell by the way she sucks in air when I’m around, how she twists her hair around her finger when she doesn’t think I know she’s admiring me from a distance. Logan Briar feels something for me, just like I feel something for her.

“You’re lying.” I rub my thumb along her cheek.

She leans forward, putting her face a few inches from mine. “Just because I sucked your dick, doesn’t mean I have feelings for you.”

I smirk, then stand up. “We’ll just see about that.”

twenty-six

LOGAN

“You’re lying.”

What a confident dickhead.

After an hour, I’m still humored by the amount of sheer certainty in Carson’s voice when he spoke to me. He’s always confident, but the way he barged in here and declared his feelings for me, then told me I felt the same? It was a new level of king behavior. He didn’t evenaccuseme of lying, just straight up told me I was lying and wouldn’t accept any other answer.

I rummage through my backpack, tossing my dirty clothes from the weekend into my hamper, then pull out the little box at the bottom. I was smart enough to snag some prerolls from a dealer before I left Franklin, and tonight is just one of those nights where I’ll need a little help from Mary J to get to sleep.

I throw a hoodie on over my bra, which hangs low enough that it completely covers the pajama shorts I have on, then I creep out of my room, trying to be as quiet as a mouse so I don’t alert Carson or our parents.

The house is dark as I make my way to the doors at the end of the living room that lead out to the pool, and I don’t bother turning on any lights before I exit. Finding the farthest possible seat on the deck, I slip my joint and lighter from my pocket and prop it between my lips.

Lighting the end, I puff until there’s a cherry of an ember, then sit back against the back of the recliner and throw my legs up to smoke in peace.

After a few hits, I start to feel the smoke going to my head, so I close my eyes and focus on the feeling. I’ve always loved getting stoned. I wouldn’t call myself a stoner, but I’ve never felt more dignified peace than I do when I’m high. Drinking is chaotic, it goes straight to my heart and makes me a wild animal – but weed? It goes to my head, makes me light and mellow in ways that nothing else can.

Which is why I don’t smoke that often. I like being insane. I like causing chaos and being the wildcard I’ve turned into as I’ve gotten older. It gives me my edge, gives me the upper hand. When I’m high, I’m vulnerable. I’m chilled out enough that nothing really matters. That’s why tonight smoking was a necessity. Carson turns me into an entirely new subgenre of crazy, making my blood boil and my stomach turn to bubbles all at once.

For tonight, I just want to relax. I want to get him out of my head. I want to put the last few weeks on the back burner and have a slice of serenity before life becomes even more chaotic – because it’s about to. The wedding is right around the corner, and it isn’t going to be easy.

I can play my part, slap a smile on my face, and wear a pretty dress. I can be the composed, elegant young lady that Sara and my father need me to be for the occasion, because no matter what… they deserve happiness. I’m realistic enough that I know there’s nothing I can do to put a stop to this, because it’s too fucking late. It’s marinated, and it’s baked enough that there is no going back now. We’re here – we’re in Luxington, my father has tied all the loose ends, and there will be no pulling at them again.

I am no fool; this is unchangeable. No matter the amount of hissy fits I could throw would put a dent in this life I have now. My mother is dead, my house has been sold, my entire life has restarted in a way that I cannot fight.

All I need to do is just get through it. Find the light at the end of the tunnel or whatever and move forward when I can.

Roll with the punches, and all that.

I finish my joint without shedding the tears I feel building in the back of my eyelids, stubbing it out on the brick flooring underneath my chair, then tossing the roach into the bushes behind me.

Relaxing back in the recliner again, I stare up at the dark sky and listen to the wind blowing as I breathe.

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