“Of course sir,” the waiter coughs, folding his hands together behind his back. The bus boy moves away, and my mother just sits there, looking confused.
“Shall we order?” Ranger asks, and even though you’d think in this situation, he’d blush, he doesn’t. Will he blush over a pair of unicorn socks? Sure. But not over a floppy winky in the bread bowl. Nope, not that.
The rest of dinner goes off smoothly, although the boys keep making jokes about Ranger’s prosthetic and Mom, bless her heart, genuinely inquires as to his story.
After we’re done, we head back to the apartment and Eloise goes in to give me a moment to talk to the guys.
“You assholes,” I growl, punching the twins in the shoulders. “You snuck that in my purse while we were—” I pause and give Spencer a look. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and raises a brow. “We went in the bathroom to, um, hang out.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ranger groans as Church sips his to-go coffee and watches the whole scene play out.
“You two are class acts,” Spencer says with a roll of his eyes, and the twins shrug.
“Your fault for dumping the dick in the bread. We just thought you might miss it is all. Or that maybe Spencer did.”
“Dude, I got so hard after squeezing that thing, you have no idea,” he retorts, lifting his chin in defiance and smirking. “It was so bad, that when I went in the bathroom after—”
“That’s enough of that,” Ranger snaps, holding up his hands and exhaling. “Look, we need to make progress on this Mr. Dave thing. You said your mom works on Monday?” He glances over at me, and I nod, wondering where, exactly, he’s hidden the packer penis. My eyes drift down, and Ranger narrows his, stepping forward to redirect my attention. “We’ll pick you up, and we’ll go back to my place, see if we can’t get some more information on the guy. And then we’ll bake something. Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a Culinary Club meeting.”
“Are you going to show her your room?” Spencer teases, and Ranger whips this dark glare over his shoulder. Spencer holds his hands up in surrender, but now I’m dying with curiosity to know what that’s about.
“Church, when is your parents’ party?” Ranger continues, ignoring the twins as they get into some sort of brotherly scuffle.
“End of July,” he says, tilting his head to one side, amber hair falling across his brow. “You’ll need a new dress.”
“Didn’t you guys just get me like a dozen new dresses?” I ask, trying to tuck my hands into the pockets of my blazer before I realize I’m not wearing one. God, I miss Adamson.
“Not a dress like this, for a party of this caliber.” He smiles at me, and I swear, I can’t decide if that bright cheeriness is more or less scary than that look of cold hell he passes out to his enemies. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out; we have time.”
“After we’re done here, my dad is coming,” I say, feeling this pit of cold dread in my stomach. “We’ll be staying in Santa Cruz for a while, and then I don’t know what his plans are.”
“I’ve got a stupid family trip in August with Jack and my parents,” Spencer says, running his fingers through his hair. “But other than that, wherever you go, I’ll go.”
“We’ll all go,” Ranger says, pausing as he glances over at the security dudes. “And we will figure out who’s stalking you, I promise.” He puts a hand on my shoulder before leaning down and kissing me briefly on the cheek. I’m so stunned by the move that I forget to respond when he tells me goodnight, sauntering back off in the direction of the car.
“What was that all about?” I whisper, but Church just shrugs and shakes his head.
“I have no idea,” he says, but then I remember that he lies as easily as he breathes.
So what the hell is Church Montague hiding?The boys send a car for me, and I end up riding in luxury in the back of some sleek silver sedan to this fabulous estate in the Hollywood Hills. My eyes widen as we curve up the long drive and head through a private gate.
“This is somebody’s house?” I whisper, putting my fingers to the glass as we approach what—I’ll be honest here—looks like an industrial nightmare. I mean, it’s a big, expensive looking house, but it’s made of steel and glass, and all the lawns are freakishly perfect and unnaturally green. It’s very, um, upscale, but also pretty stupid. “God, I hate rich people,” I murmur as the driver parks and opens my door.
For whatever reason, traffic was basically non-existent today (I mean, the LA version of non-existent which is to say horrific, but not as horrific as usual), so we made it in record time. Pretty sure Ranger doesn’t know I’m walking into his mother’s glass palace by the sea until I step into the kitchen and snort.
