Dom rolls his eyes. “That’s another thing you should know,” he says to Mathis. “Royal here has hooked up with every chick at this school.”
“I’m a stud,” I confirm, shoving my feet into my sneaks. “Stick with me, QB, and you’ll get laid no problem.”
Chuckling, Mathis wanders over to me. “Gee, thanks, Royal—was that your name?”
“Easton Royal,” I confirm.
“Which one do you prefer?”
“Whichever. What do you prefer—Mathis or Brandon?”
“Bran, actually.”
“Bran? Like the stuff in cereal that makes you shit?”
Mathis throws his head back in laughter. “Yeah, like the stuff that makes you shit.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re a funny guy, Royal.”
Don’t I know it.
He’s still laughing as we file into the gym. Normally I partner up with Pash or Babbage, but since I wouldn’t mind getting to know my new quarterback, I offer to spot him.
“Sure,” Mathis says gratefully.
He lies on the bench. I stand at the head of it, my hands hovering over the heavy barbell. I study his arms—they’re long, muscular but not too bulky. I hope he’s got a decent throwing arm.
“So…Bellfield Prep, huh? Means you were living over in Hunter’s Point, right?” I ask, referring to a town about twenty minutes west of Bayview.
“Still living there, actually. My folks weren’t about to pack up and move just so I could be fifteen minutes closer to Astor. My mom loves her garden too much to give it up.”
“What does your family do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where did the Mathis fortune come from?” I clarify in a dry voice. “Oil? Exports? Transportation?”
“Oh, ah, there’s no fortune. We’re middle class, I guess? My mom’s a teacher and my dad is an accountant. I’m here on scholarship or I wouldn’t be able to swing it. Tuition’s about ten times the cost of Bellfield.” He sets the bar in place and takes a couple deep breaths. His face is red from the strain of lifting.
“Ah. Gotcha.” I feel a little stupid for making the assumption, but Mathis is a cool guy. He didn’t bat an eyelash over my questioning or look offended or embarrassed by his social status. Not that I go around bragging that my dad’s part of the three comma club, because what does my dad’s money got to do with me?
The conversation keeps flowing even as we switch places so I can lift while he spots me. He tells me that he started for Bellfield last year during the regular season, but a broken wrist kept him off the field for the playoffs. His backup lost them the first playoff game by throwing three interceptions, which is why Astor Park never played Bellfield Prep in the postseason. They’ve never made it there and are apparently pissed that Bran left them for Astor.
“But Astor opens doors, you know?” he says. “Better curriculum, better connections.”
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never moved outside the Astor social circle. If you’re part of that world, you went to St. Mary’s School for Boys and Girls, even if you weren’t religious. After St. Mary’s, you were shuttled to Lake Lee Academy. Finally, you ended up at Astor.
We’re a breeding ground of privilege with our trust funds, luxury cars, and designer clothing. And private jets, if you’re a Royal.
“What’s the social scene like at Bellfield?” I ask. Judging by the guys I fight and gamble with, the only difference between an Astor Prep punk and a kid from the dock is the price of the liquor we drink. We bleed the same, hurt the same.
“I’m not much of a partier. I don’t drink.”
“Like during the season?”
“At all. My parents are really strict,” he admits as I hop off the bench after my set. “My dad’s a football fanatic. As in, football is life. He monitors my food and drink intake. We have a nutritionist who comes to the house once a week with new diet plans. I’ve had a personal trainer since I was seven.”
That sounds like a nightmare. I can’t imagine my dad monitoring all the toxins I put in my body. There’d be too many of them for him to keep up with. The only thing he really puts his foot down about is flying. But as much as it bugs me that I’m banished from the cockpit, I know it probably has something to do with the lawsuit Dad dealt with a while back. One of the test pilots for Atlantic Aviation died, and post-accident investigation turned up a drinking problem. Dad’s been strict on the no bottle to throttle rule ever since.
“That’s brutal,” I say sympathetically.
Bran shrugs. “Football’s my ticket to a better life. It’s worth the sacrifice. Plus, your body is your temple, right? “
I grab a towel and use it to mop my sweaty neck. “Nah, man,” I answer with a grin. “My body’s a playground. No, wait. It’s an amusement park. Eastonland. Chicks come from far and wide to experience those wild Eastonland rides.”
Mathis hoots. “You always such a cocky bastard, Royal?”
“Always!” Pash confirms from the other side of the weight room.
“Seriously, it’s fucking annoying,” another teammate, Preston, chimes in.
“They’re just jealous,” I explain to Mathis. “Especially Preston.” In a stage whisper I add, “Poor guy’s still a virgin. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.”
Preston flips up his middle finger. “Screw off, Royal. You know that’s not true.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” I assure him, enjoying the way his face gets redder and redder. Preston’s so easy to needle. “Someone’s got to be around to exchange purity rings with the debutantes.”
The jokes and trash-talking go on for the rest of practice, and even though it’s fun, I’m disappointed we’re only lifting today. I would’ve liked to let out some aggression on the turf, but Coach takes strength and conditioning as seriously as field drills.
After a quick shower, I change into my uniform and march across campus with one destination in mind: Hartley Wright’s locker.
The first thing I see when I get there is Hartley’s butt. Well, kind of. She’s standing on her tiptoes, straining to reach something on the top shelf of her locker. Her skirt rides up, revealing a hint of bare thigh.
She didn’t hem the skirt, I realize. All the other chicks at this school hem their skirts to the shortest length that Beringer lets them get away with. Hartley leaves hers long, just above her knees.
“Lemme get that for you,” I offer.
She starts in surprise and bangs her head on the underside of the locker shelf. “Ow!” she exclaims. “Dammit, Royal.”
I snicker as she rubs her head. “Sorry. Was just trying to be helpful.” I lean past her and grab the textbook she was reaching for. “PS, maybe don’t put stuff on the top shelf if you’re too short to get it?”
Hartley scowls at me. “I’m not short.”
“Really?” I arch a brow and peer down at her.
“Really,” she insists. “I’m just vertically challenged.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s call it that, sure.” I place the book in her waiting hands, then rummage around in my backpack. “Speaking of me being awesome and helpful—”
“Nobody said you were awesome or helpful,” she interjects.
I ignore that. “I made copies of my calc notes for you. You’re starting class today, right?”
Hartley nods slowly. She looks a bit suspicious as she accepts the notes from me. “This is very…nice of you.”
I get the feeling she’d rather punch herself in the face than compliment me, which triggers a huge smile. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“You said I was awesome—”
“Didn’t say that, either.”
“—which is the same as saying thank-you.” I move closer and pat her on the head. She bats my hand away. “So, you’re welcome. By the way, I went over to your house last night and—”
“You what?” she screeches.
“I went over to your house.” I stare at her. “Is that not allowed?”
/> “Who answered the door?” she demands. “Was it my sister? How’d she look?”
How’d she look? She’s acting like she doesn’t even live there. “I don’t know. Your mom answered and when I asked if you were home, she said no and slammed the door in my face. What’s up with that?”
“My mother’s not the nicest,” is all she says, sounding resigned.
“No shit.”
Around us, the hallway is starting to get crowded. I notice Felicity and a couple of her friends lurking five feet away. They look mighty interested in my conversation with Hartley. I angle my body to block their view.
“So. Where were you?” I ask. “Hot date?”
“No. I don’t date.” Her tone is absent, and she’s gnawing on the side of her thumb.
“Like ever?”
“Like now. I don’t have time for dating.”
I frown. “Why not?”
She looks at me. “You’re super cute—”
I perk up, but she’s not done.
“—and in another life I’d jump all over the chance to date you, but I don’t have the time or energy to be with someone like you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to class.” She slams her locker shut.
“So we’ll see each other at lunch, then.”
I don’t get a response. But then again, I’m Easton Royal. I don’t really need one. I know she’ll come around. They all do.
Chapter 5
I waste ten minutes of my lunch period waiting for Hartley to show up. When my stomach starts growling, I trudge into the dining hall. What’s her deal, anyway? She admitted that I’m “super cute” and that she wants to be with me. End of story. Why she keeps running makes no sense. Doesn’t have time for me? Like I’m some high-maintenance boyfriend who needs nonstop attention? Ha.
“Easton! Over here!” A high-pitched voice hails me.
I cringe. Claire refuses to let me go, even though we haven’t dated for a year. Unlike Hartley, I know it’s not nice to ignore people, but I also know that when I give Claire even the smallest bit of attention, she takes it the wrong way. A hello in the hallway becomes a prom proposal in her head. If I eat lunch with her, she’ll be sending out save-the-date notices for an impending engagement party.
Gritting my teeth, I grab a tray and load it up with food, then make my way across the cafeteria. Well, with its oak-paneled walls, round tables, and floor-to-ceiling windows, the massive room looks more like a restaurant in a private club than a cafeteria. But that’s Astor Park Prep for you. Wealth and excess is the only way we roll.
I think the reason I’m interested in Hartley is because I’m bored. Every face here at Astor, I’ve seen for the last three years. Some of them, like Felicity Worthington, I’ve known since I was in diapers. She was just as irritating at the age of five as she is now.
School is boring. Like, I already know all the stuff that Ms. Mann is teaching. My grades aren’t great, but that’s because the subject matter is too easy. It’s not like I need good grades to test planes, as long as I know what I’m doing. And I do. I just can’t be bothered to show it right now.
Hartley is a nice distraction. A puzzle whose pieces don’t all fit together. And to be fair to her, I’m a good time. She’d be lucky to have me. So really, I shouldn’t let it go. For her sake and all.
Ella and her best friend, Val, are already at our usual table when I walk up. So are my twin brothers and their girl, Lauren.
Yeah, Sawyer and Seb share a girlfriend, but who am I to judge? I hooked up with my calc teacher yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asks when I park my ass in the chair next to Ella’s.
“Nothing,” I lie.
Across the table, Val’s dark eyes twinkle mischievously. “You’re lying.”
“I am not,” I lie again.
“You totally are. I always know when you’re lying.” She shoves a strand of dark hair behind her ear and leans toward me. “You get this little crease right here—” Val’s index finger traces a line across my forehead. “Sort of like ‘It’s painful for me to lie, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.’ Know what I mean?”
I capture Val’s hand before she can snatch it back. “Always looking for any excuse to touch me, eh, Carrington?”
She snickers. “You wish, Royal.”
“I do,” I answer solemnly. “I wish it so hard. Every night when I’m lying in bed all alone.”
“Poor baby.” Val pinches the center of my palm until I release her hand. “Keep wishing, Easton. All this goodness”—she gestures to herself with a flourish—“is off-limits.”
I roll my eyes. “Why? Are you keeping yourself pure for your nonexistent boyfriend?”
“Ouch.” But she’s grinning. “And no, I’m not staying pure for anyone. I’m just not into you.”
“Ouch,” I echo, but we both know I’m not broken up about it, either.
“I honestly can’t believe you two never hooked up,” Ella says with a laugh. She’s got a plate of chicken penne on her tray, but she’s just moving her fork around the pasta without taking any bites. “You’re like the same person.”
“Which is why we never hooked up,” Val answers.
“Not true,” I object. “We made out once.”
Ella’s jaw drops. “You did?”
Val looks like she’s about to deny it, but then she bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, we totally did. Mara Paulson’s Sweet Sixteen party! I forgot about that.”
I sigh. “Okay, that one hurt. You forgot we made out?”
Ella is grinning at us. “But you didn’t go out?”
Val shakes her head. “We decided we were better off as friends.”
“Too bad,” Ella remarks, her face falling. “Think of all the double dates we could’ve gone on.”
I watch my stepsister move her fork around some more. Reed asked me to watch out for her while he was away. So I’m always watching her. Like, right now, I’m watching how she’s yet again not eating.
I’m also watching the way her skirt rides up as she leans forward to rest both elbows on the table. Unlike Hartley, Ella does have her skirt hemmed short. Reed always liked it that way. I can’t say I disagree.
“East…” It’s the softest of warnings, courtesy of Sawyer. My younger brother noticed where my gaze had wandered.
Ella notices, too, and she reaches over to smack my arm. “Easton! Stop looking up my skirt!”
I fake innocence. “I was doing no such thing.”
“Bull,” she accuses.
“Bull,” Sawyer, the traitor, echoes. Seb nods silently beside him. Those two little shits are always ganging up on me.
I drop the act and flash Ella my best little-boy smile. “Sorry, sis. Habit.”
Val laughs. “Habit?”
“Yeah, habit.” I shrug. “I see a girl in a short skirt and I wanna know what’s under the skirt. So sue me. Besides…” Waggling my eyebrows, I tug a strand of Ella’s blonde hair and twirl it around my finger. “Reed can pretend it didn’t happen all he wants, but the first Royal lips you ever tasted were mine. We all know that.”
“Easton!” Her cheeks turn beet red.
“It’s true,” I tease.
“That doesn’t mean we have to talk about it. Ever.” She glares at me. “And anyway, you know I was just using you to forget about Reed.”
I slap a hand over my heart. “Wow. And I thought Val was the evil one.”
“Hey!” Val objects, but she’s still laughing.
“Oh whatever,” Ella says, waving a hand. “You said you were into someone else, too.”
I furrow my brow. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
I shove a few French fries into my mouth, chewing slowly. “Was I drunk when I said that?”
Ella thinks it over, then nods. “Wasted.”
“Thought so. I say lots of dumb things when I’m wasted.” And I’m pretty sure that when my lips were on
Ella’s, I wasn’t pretending she was anyone but herself. Ella is hot. I wanted to hook up with her, badly, before she got with my brother.
Nowadays, it’d feel incestuous, but I still have fun teasing her about it.
“Some chick is staring at you.”
The observation comes from Sawyer, who’s looking behind me in amusement.
I twist around, and just like that, my spirits rise higher. Hartley is sitting at a table near the window. Her guarded gray eyes meet mine for one brief moment before breaking contact.
“Who was that?” Lauren asks curiously, taking a sip from her Evian bottle.
“My new best friend.” I wink at the table full of shocked faces before I leap to my feet and make my way to Hartley.
Without waiting for an invitation, I plop down in the chair across from hers and steal a roll off her plate.
Hartley sighs. Loudly. “Don’t you get tired of following me around?”
“Don’t you get tired of playing hard to get?”
“I can see how that would bother you if I was actually playing hard to get, but in reality, which you apparently have a very thin grasp of, I’m just not interested.”
I thrum my fingers on the table. That’s possible. There are girls who haven’t been interested in me. Maybe. I guess, theoretically that’s true.
“You look stumped.”
“To be honest, I’ve never had anyone turn me down. I’m not saying that to be braggy, but it’s the truth. I’ve got a good sense about this sort of thing. Besides, you already admitted you think I’m hot.”
“I used the word cute and I also said that even if I was in the market, I wouldn’t pick you. You had your hand up our teacher’s skirt yesterday.”
I ignore the teacher jab and focus on the positive. “Cute. Hot. It’s the same thing. We might as well hook up. I’m free tonight.”
Hartley exhales again. Louder. “Easton,” she starts.
I fold both hands on the tabletop and lean closer. “Yes, babe?”
Exasperation fills her silvery eyes. “You know what? Forget it.” She reaches into the messenger bag on the empty chair beside her. “I’ve got some reading to do for Lit.”