“I suppose so,” is all I answer, pulling away from his annoying fucking gaze. I hate the way he has been watching me. It makes me a little uncomfortable, and I don’t know why. He reminds me of someone or something. Something calculating.
Something I’ve only witnessed on someone once in my life.
Red alert. We aren’t going there right now.
I glance back to him once I realize he hasn’t replied back to me, only to find him flicking an unlit cigarette around in his mouth. Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke in here. He reaches into his pocket, flicks open his Zippo, and lights up his cigarette. Taking a long inhale, his eyes flick to mine, a smirk tickling the corner of his lips. Thick grey smoke slowly leaks out between his cocky lips.
Now it’s my turn to ask questions.
“Something funny?” I tilt my head my head and cock my eyebrow.
His grin deepens before he shakes his head, blowing the remainder of the smoke out through his mouth. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“Ho—”
“—So, Bryant, how was the game last weekend? Was a tight run in?” My dad interjects, knowing what I’m like and how I struggle to keep my mouth shut. Not to mention, you could pretty much cut the tension between Bryant and I with a pair of scissors—it’s that thick.
Rolling my eyes, I snatch my purse off the table. “Excuse me.”
Pushing past all the expensive frocks, fake tans, hair extensions, and dollar-dollar-bill bitches, I finally walk through the doors and step outside, letting out a long breath. God, why do I feel like I just survived The Hunger Games—foreplay version. Probably because I just did. That man had me hungrier than Katniss Everdeen right before she almost got ganked for stealing those bags of food.
My phone vibrates in my purse and I quickly grab it out.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t answer me, I thought you might have been dead.”
“Nope,” I pop the “p,” taking my smokes out of my bag and putting one in my mouth. “Sorry, still here.” I light up my cancer stick and take a long inhale before blowing out.
“You need to quit the cigs.”
“You need to quit sucking dick every day but hey! What do I know.” My best friend is bi. He tends to swing both ways. I love him to bits for many reasons, but one of them is definitely because of this. He has never cared what people thought nor has he cared for labels. If he finds you attractive—and I don’t mean that in a shallow way, I mean that if he finds you attractive in any way, he will try to sleep with you, and he usually gets his way because not only does he look like he should be on the cover of GQ magazine, but he has the gift of the gab too. He could sweet talk a nun into removing her panties in record time.
“What time are you bringing your sexy ass home?”
“I’m leaving now.”
Hanging up my phone, I put it back into my clutch before pressing my fingers into my mouth and whistling for the first taxi I see speeding toward me.
2
A sharp ringing sound pierces through the dark depths of my dreams, so I groan, flipping over onto my tummy while squeezing the pillow to my ears. “Make it stop!” The nuisance doesn’t stop though, oh no, it continues.
“Isa!” Devon—the best friend—storms into my room, the door handle hitting the back of my bedroom wall.
He snatches my phone from my bedside drawer and flashes it in front of me.
“Answer your fucking phone.”
He must see that I’m not about to answer my phone or him, so he answers,
“Hello?” Devon groans down my phone. “Yes, ma’am.” The mattress dips from underneath me. “Isa!” he whispers harshly. “It’s Lydia, wake up!”
“Sorry, I’m dead,” I murmur, snuggling deeper into my warm blankets.
“You asked for it…” something drops to my bed and then he walks out.
“Isa! Are you still asleep? It’s midday! For goodness sake, woman, get up!”
I let out a throaty groan while shoving the blankets off myself.
Fucking Devon, putting my phone on speaker.
Massaging my temples, I close my eyes. “Yes? What do you want!”
“The charity auction is tomorrow. I expect you to be here. Both your father and I do…”
“I can’t. I have work.” I flip my warm squishy blankets off my body.
“You’re an artist. Your job is not that important. Reschedule.”
I swing my legs off the bed and pull my ruffled socks up my legs. “My paintings don’t allow me to reschedule. Sorry, the creative brain curse, it means we’re a slave to ourselves.” I walk into my closet and tug down a pair of tight ripped skinny jeans and a clingy off the shoulder crop top. I have a slender body with a bubble butt and double DD’s. Devon says I have the body all men crave and all women envy, I’m not sold. I have wide ass hips and tiny legs. That means, when I buy a size two in jeans, they’re almost always tight around my butt while being loose around my waist. But these jeans are my favorite. They’re washed denim with a couple holes in the knees of each leg. They’re my favorite because they tuck and shove all of my skin in, and by skin I mean fat. The crop top is for added innocence since these are practically hoochie jeans.
Taking out a pair of nude strappy heels, I dump everything onto my bed. I wonder if this top will go with those dashing hoops I bought last week. Why am I caring what goes with what ou—
“Are you listening to me, Isa? You need to attend. Your father has important men coming tomorrow, and we need the family together!”
“For what— exactly?” I shuffle out of my loose cotton shirt, throwing it across the room. I’m not a tidy human. It drives Devon crazy, but I think it’s good for him to realize if he ever decides to settle down, that not all woman—or men— are uptight little OCD clean freaks. Some of us, don’t care.
Some of us, think there are more important things to waste your time on. Like I don’t know…eating.
“For the election, Isa, for goodness sake. You know your father is in his second term running for the presidency. You need to support this family whether you agree with some of your father’s decisions or not, it’s imperative that you attend. Especially with the end drawing near.”
“Jeeez.” I clip my strapless bra on. “How much did he pay you for that speech?”
“Isa…” she exhales. As much as I love to ruffle my stepmom’s feathers, deep down, I don’t want to overly-stress her out. My father does that enough for both of us.
“I’ll be there, Lydia.” Picking up my phone, I hang up and toss it back onto my bed just as Devon waltzes back in with his gym shorts hanging casually off his hips and a tight tank clinging to his chest.
Around a mouthful of granola, he points with his spoon. “You’re looking much more awake.”
My eyes narrow. I know it’s not his fault, but being mad at Devon is always fun, and anyway, now I’m in a pissy mood in general because I have to fucking fly to Washington.
“You got sucked in, huh?” He grins at me around his spoon, his boyish dimples sinking into his cheeks. Devon is handsome, that’s a given. He has thick lashes which curve around his ocean blue eyes, a messy mop of blond hair, and a hint of a smooth golden tan that I’m guessing, he inherited from his part Spanish background.
“Only because I didn’t want to be a pain to Lydia.” A guy walks past behind Devon down our hallway, and I snap my eyes back to a guilty looking Devon.
“And who was that?” I add a quirked eyebrow.
“That?” he looks over his shoulder innocently. “What?”
“Devon!” I bite at him.
“It’s not as—” another person walks past him, only this time, it was a girl.
“Really?” I deadpan. “You had to go there?”
He grins at me, his baby blue eyes lighting up my room and enough to break through my pissy mood.
I sigh in defeat. “I’m just jealous. I haven’t gotten any in well… almost a week.”