Ainsley blinked at me, swinging her shopping bag on her finger. “I just bought the skinniest pair of jeans on the planet and you want me to eat a burger.”
My lips curved. “I’m buying. Or I should say, Steven is.” I pulled out a platinum credit card from my back pocket and dangled it from my fingers. Giving me a credit card was such a horrible idea. Did he have any idea the kind of damage I could do with a card like this? It was like giving candy to a baby.
“Gimme,” she said, grabbing the card.
I laughed, letting her snatch the glittery little piece of plastic.
“It’s so shiny and new.” She stroked it like the thing was something precious. “My ass is going to hate you,” she relented with fake venom.
Her metabolism wasn’t half as bad as she complained. Some people carried weight in all the best places: hips, ass, and boobs. Ainsley was one of them. But she had a tiny little waist and curves every girl dreamed of.
I, on the other hand, had a decent rack.Thank you, Angie. My legs were probably my best feature, combined with my natural golden skin. I’d been spending most of my time at the pool swimming at the Pattersons’ mansion. I still couldn’t bring myself to call that house home.
We sat at one of the sidewalk tables under a big black-and-white plaid umbrella. I took a chair that faced the street and watched the cars roll past. It was a typical Sunday. Everyone was out enjoying one of the last few days of summer. I grinned at the cutest little corgi as he pranced by on the sidewalk, looking all proud of himself.
“I wonder if I could get a dog,” I mused, watching the puppy’s tiny little butt bounce away. Just looking at him made my smile grow, but really, a dog wasn’t in my plan.
“Isn’t your mom allergic?” Ainsley reminded me.
“That was always her excuse. Maybe I could find one of those hypoallergenic breeds, like a Maltese. I think they’re okay.”
“I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but could you trust Carter with a dog?”
Her question was valid, and the mention of my stepbrother was enough to make my stomach churn. Carter couldn’t be trusted with shit. My heart sank, and I wasn’t so hungry anymore. “Good point.” I picked up the menu and scanned down the list of items, needing to occupy my mind with other thoughts than Carter. No way would I subject a dog to the evil torment of my stepbrother.
Talk about the biggest douchebag in existence. The Pattersons’ mansion, no matter how huge, was not quite large enough to keep Carter far away. Obviously, the universe decided I needed to be punished every single day of my life.
Carter made it clear from the second Mom and I moved in that he was onto our game. Meaning, he pegged my mom for the gold digger everyone knew she was, but somehow I was lumped into the equation. He had it all wrong. But it was a waste of breath to argue with a stubborn asshole like him.
Why the hatred he felt for her had to come out as bitterness and assholery against me was another story. It’s not like I put his dad and my mom together. I didn’t ask my mother to cheat on my father and divorce him, just to turn around and have the splashiest wedding Elmwood had seen in a decade. I wasn’t the cause of either of our problems. And I wasn’t the one who’d made my mother a complete narcissist who only cared about how she looked to the rest of the world.
Her daughter be damned.
Fuck Carter Patterson.
That was my motto until graduation.
He could shove his expensive cars and flashy clothes right up his saggy ass. Okay, Carter’s ass wasn’t saggy, but it sure as hell should have been. Not that I checked out his ass. Ever.
Cringe.
If I’d had my way, things would’ve stayed the way they were. Life with my parents hadn’t been full of roses and beams of sunshine. They hadn’t been happy for a long time. I picked up on the hostility that lingered in the air between them fairly young. Sure, some of the digs and insults went over my head, but from the overall vibe, I understood things were wrong. Broken, even. Kind of like me.
What was the old saying about ignorance being bliss?
But I’d give up a thousand mansions to be back in the little ranch I grew up in.
That was home.
“Oh, shit. Here comestrouble.” Ainsley said “trouble,” but the infliction in her tone implied otherwise.
I lowered the menu and followed the direction she was staring in. It didn’t take long for me to make out the black Range Rover cruising down the road in front of us, bass-heavy music thumping from the open windows.
Ainsley straightened up in her chair as she brushed aside any flyaway hairs from her face. “Why do the assholes always have to be so damn gorgeous? It seriously isn’t fair.”
The Elite.
Those were the assholes Ainsley referred to—four guys who were deemed the Elite of Elmwood Academy. They had quite a reputation for getting into trouble, drinking, fighting, getting laid, and partying. You name it; the four of them had done it.