“Harper Apple, get your ass up here and dance with me,” DeShaun says, holding a hand down to me. I take it, and he pulls me into the truck bed, where everyone’s grinding. He pushes a cup of beer into my hand and flashes me a smile. “First one’s free.”
I quirk a brow at him. “Is that because one’s all y’all need to get a girl passed out so you can date rape her?”
“There are a dozen people here who just saw me hand you that beer. If I slipped something in it, first of all, I’d be as good as dead, and second of all, no one here would lay a finger on you even if you were passed out without a stitch of clothes on you. Now get that uptight look off your face and feel the music, baby.”
“Well, thank you, I guess,” I say, sipping the beer. He touches his cup to mine and puts a hand on my waist, smiling down at me as we dance. He doesn’t push up on me, though, which I appreciate, even though I know it’s out of respect for his boy, not me.
“I met your dad the other day,” I say. “I didn’t know y’all owned Cliff’s.”
“Best steakhouse in Arkansas, three years running,” he says. “You there with Dolce?”
“Yeah,” I say, a bad taste returning with the memory of that night and the knowledge that he went to Gloria’s afterwards. I know jealousy-green isn’t a good look on anyone, though, so I resist the urge to ask DeShaun about them or to look around and see if she’s still out here. I won’t think about what she might be doing if she’s inside, if Royal would’ve pulled her into that room and kissed her, if he’ll fuck her on Preston’s bed because I’m not there to fuck when he’s ready.
“You know, I’ve known Royal a while,” DeShaun says. “He doesn’t get smitten.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “I’m a bros before hoes kinda guy. If y’all break up, there’s a one-hundred-percent chance that I’ll have my boy’s back, not yours. But I think you’re pretty damn cool, Harper Apple.”
“Thanks,” I say. “The feeling is mutual.”
“That being said, watch yourself, okay? You’re traveling in uncharted waters, and those waters are like the Bermuda Triangle. Know what I’m saying?”
“That I might disappear and never be heard from again?”
“I’m saying don’t mess with his head,” he says. “The Dolce Triangle’s waters are infested with sharks, a couple kraken, and Godzilla himself. You cross a Dolce, you don’t come back from it.”
“Like them?” I say, nodding up toward the house.
“Exactly like them,” he says.
“And what do you get out of it?”
“This,” he says, spreading his arms wide, a beer still in one hand. He grins, and I take it all in. The drama and chaos, the unending stream of booze and girls, the Gatsby-esque glamour of the nights of debauchery and destruction. Yeah, I can see why guys flock to the Dolces, too.
“There’s one of them now.” DeShaun nods behind me, and I turn in time to see Duke come listing out the door, his drunken stagger taking him sideways instead of forward toward the stairs. He steps off the side of the stone porch, all that’s left of it, and crashes to the ground.
“Mm’okay,” he mumbles, holding his beer bottle aloft. Everyone around us bursts into laughter and applause.
I sigh and hop down from the truck bed, jogging over and grabbing his hand. I try to pull him up, but he weights a fuck-ton more than me, and instead of getting him up, he ends up pulling me down with him. My knee lands on a framed picture of Lindsey’s family, splintering the glass. I pick it up and tap the glass from it. There’s Lindsey, and the lady they carried out earlier, who must be her mom. A young blond guy that must be her brother, and an older blond man who must be her dad.
Preston’s dad, the Darling who’s in jail and can’t fight the Dolces but who might be gathering information about them for when he’s released. What will he do when I tell him about tonight?
I want to look longer, to stare into his eyes, as if that could somehow tell me if he’s Mr. D. But Duke grabs the photo and yanks it out of the frame, crumpling it in his fist. “Fuck Preston Darling right up the ass with a grenade,” he says, his eyes falling halfway closed. “He tried to rape my sister.”
“Duke,” I snap, grabbing his chin. “Get up. I’ll get you to the car.”
“Cherry Pie,” he slurs, grinning crookedly at me. “Take me to the car and ride me, baby. I’ll pop that cherry for you.”
“Unless you’ve got a time machine that’ll take you back several years, you’re too late for that,” I say. “Now, you should probably puke now if Baron’s particular about his seats.”
“I don’t puke,” Duke slurs. “What kind of pussy do you take me for?”
“Come on,” I say, shrugging under his arm. Even that weighs a ton. These boys are big as fuck. I struggle onto my feet, half dragging, half carrying him to Baron’s car, as it seems I’m on babysitting duty tonight. I open the door, and he falls in, landing face down on the seat. I tuck his legs in and close the door.
Just as I turn, Royal looms over me. My heart skips. I never know when he’s going to be pissed about something I did or didn’t do that he wanted, and when he’s going to be human. We’re out by the road, and though I still have a full view of the house and yard, his face is in shadow, his back to the brightly lit house.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says.