Page 29 of Relentless (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 2)

“That’s fine.” I pull up the ESPN app on my phone and start checking scores and highlights. My stomach growls, so I decide to go bug her while she puts all that shit on her face that she doesn’t need. I love her the most when she’s barefaced and her hair is in its wild, naturally curly state.

“What. The. Fuck?” I pop my head into the bathroom and see her sitting at her vanity with white triangles painted under her eyes and various lines of different colors all over her face. “We’re just going to brunch, not clown college.”

“I’m contouring my face,” she makes eye contact with me in the mirror. “This is how I always do my make-up.” She starts rubbing it in and blending the colors with an egg-shaped thing. It’s equal parts fascinating and horrifying, like watching pimple popping videos on YouTube. “Your whole face is different.”

“Yes,” she nods condescendingly, “that is the point.”

“Okay, catfish,” I nod my head at her, “you ready? I’m hungry.”

“It’s not catfishing.” I’m treated to an eye roll. “Didn’t you absorb anything from feminist theory last year? Women don’t wear makeup for guys, most do it for themselves.” She grabs a purse from her closet and tosses her wallet, phone, and a tube of lip gloss inside.

“Yeah, but who sets the beauty standards?” I ask as I hold the door open for her. “Even if you’re wearing makeup for yourself, you are still participating in a culture that values a specific set of standards for beauty. Standards set by a culture with roots deep in the patriarchy.”

She stops, turns, and gapes at me. Her mouth closes and then opens again. “You were paying attention.”

“I always do. I’m not just a hard body and sexy face,” I say with a wink. “There’s a functioning brain in here, too. Don’t tell anyone, though. It’ll ruin my image.”

She surprises me by rising to her toes and wrapping her arms around my neck in a tight hug. “I missed you,” she whispers into my ear.

“I missed you, too,” I say dragging her familiar scent in my nostrils.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet,” the stepmonster croons from down the hall. “Didn’t realize howcloseyou two are.”

Ives stiffens in my arms and lets go of me. She tries to back away from me but fuck if I’m letting this vile piece of trash ruin our moment. I tighten my hold on Ives’s hips. “Yeah, Jennifer, we’ve only been best friends since we were eleven. The fact that we’d miss each other after a summer apart is so fucking surprising.”

I don’t hide my contempt for her anymore. She is a horrible mother and a terrible person. The damage she’s done to Ivy in just a year is horrendous. Ives thinks she hides it, but I catch her looking at herself extra critically. She pushes food around on her plate instead of eating. It all goes back to the abuse from the garbage standing ten feet away from us.

It’s been easy to avoid Jennifer this summer. Con and I basically spent most of our time with Griff in his pool house. We each have a bedroom there, and his parents’ chef would double all the dinners so we’d be fed. We didn’t even really go out and party much, aside from keeping up with the responsibilities of running the student body and keeping everyone in line.

“Where are you two going?” Jennifer asks.

“Brunch.” I keep my answer short.

“Oh, maybe Frank and I sho-”

“No.” I interrupt rudely. “Ives and I are catching up,” I pull Ives out the door and into the garage behind me. I don’t bother saying anything else.

“Which car are we taking?” she asks.

“The Lambo.” I hit the opener for the garage door and walk over to open the passenger door for her. Once she’s in and situated, I gently close it behind her. I’m not usually such a gentleman, but she slams car doors and this car is my baby.

“How was your summer?” I ask as I pull out of our neighborhood.

“It was actually really amazing. I loved London. Oliver showed me everything, and we even took a long weekend trip up to Scotland.”

“That’s awesome.” Not. “How was training with Olympians?”

“Normal,” she shrugs, “I mean, my dad and Godfather are both Olympic swimmers. Plus, your dad won a National Championship in college. I’m used to being around incredible athletes.” She pauses to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “It did cement that I don’t want to compete at that level though. They eat, sleep, and live swimming. I want more balance in my life.”

“Have you said anything to your dad about it yet?”

“No,” she says with a big sigh. “I don’t want to disappoint him. It’s bad enough that Mom hates me, the thought of disappointing my dad on top of it is scary.”

“Jennifer is trash and not worthy of one single second of your concern. Your dad might be bummed, but he would never be disappointed in you or your choices.” I lay my hand on her firm, smooth thigh. She doesn’t move away, so I leave it there the rest of the drive.

A comfortable silence follows our conversation about her summer until we get to the restaurant and place our orders. It’s one of my favorite things about being with Ives, the comfortable silences. So many nights at camp we would just sit on the dock skimming our feet through the water and looking at the stars, not saying anything. Everyone looks to me for the overtly sexual commentary, lewd jokes, or to be a leader on the football field. It’s nice to justbewith Ives.

“How was your summer?” she asks when our drinks arrive.

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