He’s rambling. And August never rambles.
“I know this is sudden,” he continues. “But it’s the realest—”
Lifting a finger to his lips, I quiet him.
“I know what you’re trying to say,” I tell him. “And I know what you’re afraid to say—because I feel it too.” I study his features in the dark, though even if my eyes were closed I’d still know them by heart. “So what do we do now? What the hell do we do?”
He answers me with a kiss, frenzied and wild, his fingers in my hair, but I suppose it’s because there is no other answer.
Our futures were written for us long before the day we met.
All we have is this moment.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
August
* * *
I have the unfortunate luck of running into Gannon Saturday morning after showing Sheridan out.
“Mind telling me what the fuck you were doing with Rich Rose’s daughter last night?” he asks.
“Who?” I grab an orange juice carton from the fridge and drink straight from the bottle, purely because I know it pisses him off.
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I saw her car. Had someone run the plates. It’s registered to Rich and Mary Beth Rose.”
“No shit? That girl was a Rose?” I play dumb as I take another swig. “Guess she left that out when I was asking her fifty million questions about her background before I fucked her.”
“Does Dad know you’re fucking Rich’s daughter?”
“He doesn’t. Would you mind filling him in next time you’re up his ass?”
Gannon scoffs, hands on his khaki-covered hips. Who the fuck wears khakis on a Saturday morning anyway?
“What, you think he’d be proud? Rich Rose is a liability. What if he tries to have his daughter say you raped her or something?” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I really think you have shit for brains.”
“Yeah, probably why I didn’t get into Vanderbilt.” He and I both know I never got in because I never applied. With my perfect SAT score and myriad of recommendation letters and high school accolades, I’d have been a shoo-in.
“I’m warning you, August. Stop messing around with that girl.” Gannon’s face is cherry-red, a surefire sign his gasket’s about to blow.
Perhaps it was naïve of me to not consider the ways our little arrangement could get twisted by the wrong person. But Sheridan would never do that. She’s above that shit.
“Or what? You’ll tattle on me?” I return the tainted OJ to the fridge, and when I close the door, I’m met with Gannon’s face in mine. “The fuck—”
“Good morning, boys.” Clarice shuffles into the kitchen, broom in hand, impeccable timing as always.
When we were younger and Clarice was here full-time, she was constantly breaking up fights. Only one time it got physical and she wound up in the middle of it with a broken nose.
We vowed never to fight around her again—the only thing we ever agreed on.
“Morning, Clarice.” I head for the stairs, only to be followed by the dipshit.
“I’m serious. Stay away from that family,” Gannon says under his breath as he trails behind me.
I stop, turning back. “For once in your life, do yourself a favor and mind your own damned business.”
“Her dad’s a murderer.”
“We don’t know that for sure. He was exonerated,” I say. I can’t believe I’m defending Rich right now, but if it gets Gannon off my nut sac I’ll do it.
“Oh now that you’re fucking that bastard’s daughter, you’re willing to look the other way?”
“Hardly.”
“Does Rich Rose know about you two?” He squints, his mouth formed into a devilish kink.
I can’t tell him yes or no. I can’t give him ammunition. While my original plan was to defile Sheridan out of spite, I actually give a shit about her now. I couldn’t live with myself if I made things worse for her at home—or if Gannon stirs shit up just to get his own rocks off.
“It’s really none of your business,” I warn him. “And if you’ve got an ounce of intelligence, you’ll leave it the fuck alone.”
“Or what?” He laughs.
“I’ll tell Dad you’re fucking Cassandra,” I say without missing a beat.
It’s amazing how quickly the smugness evaporates from his face. I’m bluffing. I don’t know that they’re fucking, but I’ve seen them flirt when our father isn’t looking and it always does a number on my gag reflex. But the expression on his face is enough to make me think that perhaps there’s some truth to my little accusation. Or at the very least, wishful thinking.
Gross.
“You’re a diabolical prick,” he says.
I shrug. “Takes one to know one.”
I wave Gannon off. And the asshole leaves, but not without shooting me a death look first. One that suggests he isn’t through with me.
But he doesn’t scare me.
The thought of losing Sheridan though? Downright fucking terrifying.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sheridan
* * *
“Hi, Mona, come on in.” I greet our new nurse Monday morning. “I’m Sheridan.”