I turn left, unsure where I’m heading. It’s a dead-end, making me anxious as I know Carson’s close by. A door opens, a waiter exiting what looks like the kitchen with a tray full of canapés. I go inside, zig-zagging between the kitchen staff busily preparing meals. The other entrance opens to a small patio where a few people are standing around smoking. I scramble through the grass, stilettos digging into the dirt until I’m back at the front.
Wesley is beside the fountain, a young woman in front of him standing rather close. I stop fast in my tracks, watching them from afar. I can only see her physique from behind—curvy backside in a tight white dress that stops just short of her ass. If it were any shorter, I’m certain her anatomy could be seen by everyone here at the party.
The pumps she wears are gold and strappy, wrapping around her ankle and reaching her mid-calf. Her figure is slim, and exactly how the magazines depict actresses. No doubt she is one.
I do, however, admire the color of her hair. A bright-colored red that’s paper straight and falls just above her waist. Though my gut is telling me I shouldn’t be admiring a woman who has casually placed her hand on my boyfriend’s chest.
Wesley seems agitated, removing her hand abruptly and lighting up a smoke. “Fuck off. What are you doing here?”
“Stop the games. Let’s go… c’mon, a quick fuck upstairs. You can take me up the ass… I know you love it that way.”
Wesley smiles, my stomach swarming with this sick feeling from his enthusiasm. This isn’t the way to start a relationship. I could butt in, interrupt this so-called hookup, or I can act mature and trust my boyfriend.
I so want to trust him.
His smile becomes a sinister laugh. “I took you up the ass, so I didn’t have to look at your face. Go away.”
The woman attempts to slap his face, but Wesley is quick to hold her back.
“You asshole!” she shouts, defiant and stomping her feet. “The last time you chose to act like this, you paid a very high price, Wesley. I’m not sure you want to make the same mistake again.”
“Sweetheart…” he touches her face, admiring her lips with a longing gaze, “… you are the mistake. You’re everyone’s mistake. Now carry on, I’m sure Carson is waiting for you in his office. I’ve heard he likes young ass, too. Right up your alley.”
Her words are jumbled, and with an irritated huff, she disappears back inside the house, leaving Wesley alone. Whatever I just witnessed, seems surreal. It’s like I walked onto the set of a soap opera. People sleeping with random people. Deceit. Lies. This isn’t me.
No, me is hanging out with my best friend back home, lying on the grass out back and counting the stars while we consume large bags of marshmallows and discuss Phoebe marrying a prince of some small country which leads her to become a queen. Foolish, out of this world but nevertheless, it’s what we did.
Tonight is too much for me. The events, the people, losing my best friend, and Wesley’s promiscuous ways. I can’t rid myself of the ill-feeling that nestles its way and sits in the pit of my stomach. It might be the shrimp, but I know deep down it’s more than that.
This, all of this, is another world to me. It terrifies me.
And when something drives fear into me, my reaction is always to make it go away. Do whatever it takes. Taking slow breaths, I walk toward the fountain.
Wesley’s eyes meet mine with an annoyed expression. “I’ve been looking for you,” he barks, irritated.
“Not hard, I assume. Can we go now?”
A gust of wind blows between us. Wesley’s expression softens as he puts his arms around my waist and pulls me into him. “Yeah, sure. Are you okay?”
“Just not my thing,” I lie, coupled with a forced smile. “Let’s have some fun. Take me somewhere fun.”
It’s as if he knows what I need is to escape reality. A sardonic grin spreads across his handsome face, his intentions anything but good.
“You want to have fun? I know just the place…”
Chapter Sixteen
Wesley Rich is on a mission.
My heels drag across the dirt with my balance compromised as he pulls my hand, stopping at a locked fence. There’s a large padlock hanging off the latch, and a sign that reads No Trespassing.
Between balancing a smoke in the corner of his mouth and trying to break the latch, he’s getting nowhere.
Inside my purse sits a pocketknife. An impromptu purchase during my first night here. Removing it from the secret compartment, I slide the knife out and jimmy the lock until the latch opens.
“How?” Wesley asks, scratching his head in confusion.
“Do I know how to break a lock? Let’s just say back in high school, I had this constant need to hang out under the bleachers.”