Page 95 of Hate You More

I couldn’t stop laughing.

I guess what I’m trying to say is the Forbes vacation home is like a small palace. A coastal-inspired masterpiece with a mile-long fucking driveway and manicured grounds. The swimming pool is Olympic-size, the tennis courts are multiples, and the pool house is an actual fucking house. There’s a ten-car garage, a boathouse with direct access to the water, and, in the back, where the trash is kept, there’s an apartment for the housekeeper. This is where my mom lives. And me out of term time.

I’m not jealous. I’ll have a place like this someday. A home where the air is fresh and woodsy instead of stinking of stale oil and garbage.

Jesus, the place is full of the kinds of people I usually sweat for, affluent neighbors through to the megarich. I recognize a few faces, mostly the boat-shoes-and-chinos brigade. People who vacation, not live here. Men who can’t change a light bulb, and their wives, who’d gladly volunteer to hold the ladder for me while I do. And that’s not a code for something else despite the number of indecent proposals I’ve been on the receiving end of.

Money talks and bullshit walks, and I’ve never felt more out of place in my whole damn life. But that’s okay ’cause I’d put myself through a whole lot more for my girl.

“Troy!” Clara appears at the top of the staircase like Scarlett O’Hara, the sight of her hitting me in the chest like a fist. I sometimes watch old movies with my mom.

Almost twenty-one to my twenty-two, Clara is drop-dead gorgeous, bright and vivacious, and when she slides a smile my way, I can actually feel IQ points sloughing off. I might well be an idiot by the time fall rolls around, but I don’t care because I am having the best damn summer of my life.

Her dark hair tamed into some fancy updo, Clara glides down the stairs like she’s been groomed for this moment, wearing an emerald green dress she appears to have been poured into. I can’t believe she’s mine.

“Well, hey there, gorgeous.” I take her hand as she reaches the bottom step. The way I feel . . . it’s hard to contain. I want to hug her and kiss her and show her off. Or pull her out of the door, down to the boathouse. After her strange mood this afternoon, something tells me my girl would be down for that.

But there are things at stake tonight, because tonight, I’m being introduced to her old man. And while I’m not looking forward to it or expecting any kind of effusive welcome, I want to do what’s right. I’d probably wrestle with lions if it meant I could be in Clara’s life.

“Don’t you look handsome.” She’s all soft-eyed wonder as her fingers brush the knot of my tie. “If I’d known you looked this good, I would’ve asked you to suit up earlier.” Her words brim with suggestion.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t know that if you asked me to come along in my old jockstrap, I’d be standing here bare assed right now.”

“Interesting.” Her hand slides down my chest, though I catch it before it gets to my belt.

“Be good.” I press a kiss to her knuckles. And, man, the way she smiles, I don’t care if I get dumb.

I guess I should be glad her apparent suit kink has come late in the summer. I couldn’t have bought one before this weekend due to a lack of funds. Despite her playful compliments, I know she’s just being kind. The suit isn’t a great fit, but it was the best I could do.

I know what I am and what I’m not. And I know what her friends think about me. Likely her dad’s opinion will be the same. I can’t change any of that, but what I can do is do my best to try to deserve her. This prize of a woman who should be beyond my reach.

“Maybe I will be good . . . if you bring the jockstrap next time.”

“Next time what?”

“Next time I have my wicked way with you.” Voice low and hella sexy, she stares up at me through her lashes, those blue eyes rimmed with indigo.

“Now you’re just trying to make me embarrass myself.”

“Are you trying to turn me on right now?”

God, I want to kiss the life out of her. But that wouldn’t do thanks to the dozens of people around us watching. Fuck, it feels like there’s always someone watching. Always someone to be mindful of. I’m tired of sneaking around, pretending we aren’t together, springing apart when we hear footsteps. But it won’t always be the case, because September is just around the corner, and we’ll both be back at college. UConn to Brown is only ninety minutes, give or take, and I foresee a lot of driving between the two, because this is more than just sex. We both said the same this afternoon.

“Oh, champagne,” Clara says, plucking a couple of flutes from a tray as a waiter passes. She hands me one.

“Not a good idea,” I say, setting it down.

“Champagne is always a good idea.”

“Except when you’re under twenty-one. Or trying to create a good impression.”

“Well, I’m only one of those things,” she says with a shrug. She tips the glass back. “It’s just one glass.”

I realize I’m frowning. “This is important, Clara. I want him to like me.” Not that want has much to do with it.