Page 3 of Gilt

Josie follows my gaze, and her dark eyes narrow when she sees the pair. “Ignore them.”

“I am.” If only it were as simple as following her command, but Jonas is the one who broke my heart. He kissed me. He made me fall in love. Then he walked away for her, so I jumped into bed with the school’s resident narcissist to get back at him.

It would have been nice to know Hugo had placed a bet on how fast he could get me into bed. I’d known I was a sure thing. At least I could have made some money. I didn’t get much else out of it.

“I want to go out tonight,” I say before the thought fully processes.

Josie bounces, looking a bit too much like the ex-cheerleader she is, as she rubs her hands together.

“Nothing crazy,” I warn her.

“Don’t worry. It will be fun because I know exactly where we’re going.” The mischievous glint in her eyes sends a wave of apprehension surging through me.

What have I gotten myself into?

CHAPTER TWO

The shades are drawn when I reach home. Possibly the only thing more depressing than miles of blazing desert, as far as you can see, is a dark house smack in the middle of it. The only thing worse than that? The unwelcome scent of stale beer meets me at the door. I pause for a moment, surveying the scene and wondering why I hadn’t signed up for summer classes. I could have graduated early next year, enrolled part-time in Las Vegas Community College, and used the meager money I made at the shop to get my own place. I allow myself to consider this for all of five seconds before I begin collecting beer cans and cigarettes.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Dad greets me, rubbing his eyes. He hasn’t passed out yet, which is the only bright spot in this scene. “How was school? Do you have homework?”

My father has been asking those two questions every day of my life since mom left. It’s a lackluster attempt at parenting, but I appreciate the effort.

“Last day of school,” I remind him, cradling cans in my arms.

“That’s right. I got my days mixed up.” He scratches his head, smiling sheepishly. “We should celebrate.”

Dad tries, which is more than I can say for most parents around here. Most of my classmates were raised by the staff while their parents focused on the casino floor and keeping the whales happy. I wish I could say I was better off than the rest of them, but I’d spent the last five years holding our dysfunctional family together and keeping the business afloat.

He’d never gotten over losing mom, but she’d followed the money away from signed records and sports memorabilia and all the other junk we gave a home to at Pawnography. A seedy pawn shop blocks from the strip wasn’t the kind of wealth she’d envisioned. Mom wanted more, and she got it in the form of a new husband and a tasteful compound in Palm Springs, where she spent her day sipping white wine spritzers. On her wedding day, she told my sister and I that all her dreams had finally come true. Becca gave her a pass, saying she was simply in love. My sister could see the big picture, including the doors his money would open for us. She’d jumped at the chance to ditch Las Palmas High School when he offered, but I’d wanted no part of her new life. I finally agreed to attend Belle Mére Prep on her dime only after Josie had gotten a scholarship there. I couldn’t stand the idea of starting high school with both my sister and best friend there without me.

I drop the cans in the recycling bin, ignoring the fact that he dumped his ashtray in it. As I open the blinds, the sun hits me, and I wonder what mom is doing now. Probably sitting by the pool while someone else cooks her dinner. Or maybe she’s already on the private jet heading here to grace me with her presence.

“Where do you want to go? I know a guy over at the Rio who can hook us up at the buffet.” Dad rubs his hands over his hair to tame it. He looks like a lot of other men in Vegas at the moment: unshaven and unwashed in yesterday’s clothes. Unlike those other men, though, he’s handsome with a strong jaw and salt-and-pepper hair. I’ve had the displeasure of watching women fall all over him since I was a kid. It’s how he landed mom—looks and potential. It turns out looks can’t make up for failure.

“Actually, Josie is dragging me out, so you are off the hook.” I cringe at the thought of graduation parties. They might be as dangerous as the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet he’s offering me, but she’d made me swear I wouldn’t back out.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he suggests.

“Sure,” I say noncommittally. That way, when he forgets tomorrow, I won’t be disappointed. It’s a survival mechanism I’d adopted since the first time he forgot my birthday.

Grabbing a few things from the fridge, I start dinner. There’s always food in the house because I take care of that. I shop, and I plan. Dad doesn’t bother to eat unless I put a meal in front of him, so there’s no danger of coming home to an empty fridge. I dump sauce into a pan and start boiling water for pasta. I can’t claim it’s gourmet, given the cheap ingredients, but I can produce spaghetti in under fifteen minutes. Take that, Spago.

“This is really good, honey.” Dad twists his fork, collects another bite, and shoves it into his mouth.

“I’ll put some in the fridge, and you can heat it up for lunch.” It’s a lost cause. His entire diet consists of coffee, beer, and dinner if I’m around to cook.

He nods. We talk about summer plans and the shop. I have to remind him that I’m going to graduate next year. After I clean up the dishes, I peek into the living room, where he’s turned on a sporting event. I know this because there is a ball, and men trying to beat each other up to get it. My father’s obsession with sports did not transfer to me. On the upside, that probably means his sports gambling problem won’t either.

“I’m going to grab a shower. Let Josie in?”

He raises his beer in acknowledgment of my request.

I stay under the hot water so long that my skin is tight by the time I abandon it. I can’t wash away my problems, but I can go out tonight and forget them. Wrapping a towel around my head, I wipe off the mirror with my palm. My cheeks are flushed, which is the closest I get to having color. Unlike my peers, I don’t spend all afternoon worshipping the god of skin cancer. Of course, that means I have bluish circles under my eyes, and every single blemish sticks out like a sore thumb.

By the time I towel dry my hair and head to my room, Josie is waiting. A few shimmery scraps of cloth are scattered over my bed. I narrow my eyes as I pick one up. No matter how I hold it up, I can’t decide what it is.

“Is this a scarf?” I ask finally.