Page 131 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
The way the man scowls and swipes at his suit arm after Mr. Borisov stumbles away makes me want to throat punch him, too. It’s not like how Alexei wipes himself down, upset at microbes in a way that’s understandable even if it’s unreasonable. That guy, the Ken doll, he looks … contemptuous, as if he thinks he’s so far superior to Alexei’s dad that the thought of being touched by him taints his perfect image.
Hmm.
“There’s food here, if you’re interested. It’s expensive and pretentious and entirely overblown, but I do believe that it’s of relatively good quality.” Alexei turns in the direction of the far wall and, if I peer between the strange half-walls that dot the floor, all of them covered with more hideous art, I can see the barest hint of some sort of fancy buffet.
“You gonna eat any of it?” I ask, and Alexei visibly shudders again.
It hits me yet again what a big damn deal it was for him to grab Aspen’s wrist for me like that.
“Certainly not.”
He takes off, but not before holding out his hand to indicate I should follow. I keep stride with him, and we pause before the glimmering display of wealth.
There are chocolate covered strawberries decorated with gold leaf, charcuterie boards, olive tapenade, shiny piles of what I think is caviar, meat skewers with mint, little shrimp tart things, bruschetta, fruit and cheese boards, and even oysters.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, snatching up a plate and unashamedly piling it high with goodies. Alexei looks on, bemused but also simultaneously disgusted, his hands twisted together behind his back, as if to make double sure that he doesn’t accidentally touch anything. “My family went through a few hard years when we didn’t have enough food to eat,” I explain, and Alexei’s expression shifts accordingly.
He seems sympathetic but also confused.
“Not enough food?” he asks, and I nod, taking one of those pretty strawberries and biting into it. Alexei’s eyes drop to my mouth in longing. I can’t tell if it’s the strawberry he’s lusting after or my mouth, but when a bit of juice runs down my chin, he jerks his head away and nods with his chin to indicate a stack of rolled cloth napkins.
I snatch one up and dab at my mouth.
“We got shit from the local food pantry, but people always donate useless crap. They donate Hamburger Helper, but no hamburger to put in it. They donate boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese but no butter or milk to make it with. Without cooking oil or salt and pepper, it’s even more difficult to make anything palatable.” I scratch at my temple and then shrug, digging back into my food. Not gonna waste expensive five-star shit. I’m here so I might as well eat.
“That’s … disturbing,” Alexei comments, looking at the huge table of food that hardly anyone is eating. “I imagine most of this gets dumped at the end of the night.”
“I’m sure that it does,” I reply with a slight growl in my voice. I bite into another strawberry and his eyes find it again, that glimmer in his gaze saying that maybe he likes both things: my mouth and the ripe fruit. “Anyway, I didn’t come here just to eat. I want to meet Aspen’s brother.”
“Ash?” Alexei queries in surprise, frowning and then shaking his head. “I’ve never met Ash Kelly in person. If he comes to these events, it’s incognito. He’s unhinged. His family is ashamed of him. He’s a violent person with numerous mental health issues. Mayor Kelly wouldn’t want him to make a scene tonight.”
I frown at that, turning to look at the crowd and wondering which one of them—if any—could be Ash Kelly.
Then Aspen waltzes by again and something strange catches my attention.
His hand. His right hand. The one that was bandaged when I saw him last week. As he passes by, I can clearly see that there’s no bandage in sight. And, earlier, when I was talking to him and he was gesturing, I didn’t even see the hint of a scar on his palm.
Cold chills take over me as I look back at Alexei.
“How, uh, close in age are the Kelly boys?” I query, and Alexei lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug.
“I have no idea. I’ve heard that Ash is the younger of the two, but I don’t know by how much.”
“So … it wasn’t a multiple birth sort of situation?” I continue, certain that I’m going crazy. I mean, I must be right? Because if Aspen and Ash were twins, I’d have heard about it. Surely, I’d have heard about it …
But could he have healed from the point of wearing a bandage to having flawless skin in just a week?
“Multiple birth? Like twins?” Alexei frowns and then shakes his head slightly. “I wouldn’t know, Miss Force.”
