ARROGANT PLAYBOY (34 page)

WAVERLY

I’ve never snuck out in my life, but here I
am, ten o’clock on a school night, walking toward a twenty-one-and-over bar in
downtown Whispering Hills. Music travels down the street with a steady thumping
that beats in time with our footsteps.

The beating in my chest
coincides with the music, giving me an adrenaline rush. My body’s been tingling
with raw dynamism since the moment we snuck out of the house and dropped my
acceptance response in a nearby mailbox before cruising across town.

“Welcome to the dark side.” My
cousin, Liberty, opens up the alley entrance in the back of the place a moment
later. She’s always been my rebellious older cousin—the one my father
would keep at an arm’s length because he said she would be a bad influence on
us. “Jensen, how goes it?”

She slaps his shoulder and
gives it a squeeze before leading us down a long, dark hallway. The music grows
louder as we pass door after door. My shoes stick to the floor when I walk,
making a Velcro noise with each step. It smells like alcohol and cigarettes.

“Come on.” Jensen slows down,
slipping his hand across my lower back. He leans into my ear so I can hear him
above the noise. “Tonight’s all about you.”

His words warm my soul more
than he’ll ever know. I rarely feel special, especially growing up in such a
large family.

Liberty takes us to a VIP area
with a bunch of low-to-the-ground seating and a blue velvet rope separating us
from the rest of the bar scene. A fancy looking bottle of clear alcohol sits on
a bucket of ice surrounded by several bottles of beer.

“Kian’s headlining tonight,”
she yells. “So we get the VIP treatment.”

Everywhere I look, people are
dancing, laughing, drinking, touching, feeling, kissing, partying. I’m
surrounded by everything I’ve been led to believe is evil. But it can’t be
evil. Everyone’s having so much fun.

“I’ll be right back.” Jensen
taps my leg and exits the VIP area, coming back a few minutes later with a cup
for me.

“What is this?”

“Sprite.”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He hands me
my cup.

“If you’re going to be bad,
Jensen Mackey, at least invite me.”

I feel it—that rebellion
in my marrow that creeps up from time to time. I’m feeling good, my freedom
just two months away. Jensen says no one can take it from me, and I’m finally
beginning to believe he’s onto something.

And that calls for a
celebration.

“You feeling all right?” Jensen
grabs a beer from the ice bucket and twists the cap off. He promised to take me
under his wing tonight, swearing on his life we won’t get caught.

I swipe the bottle from his
hands and take a swig. It’s disgusting. It tastes like watered wheat. My face
puckers instantly as I was not expecting the bitterness. Jensen studies me,
watching as I take a second drink and a third. It tastes better with each swig,
the distinct bite subsiding.

“Okay, then.” Jensen grabs
himself another beer, uncaps it, and then clinks it with mine. “To Waverly and
her bright future, whatever it may entail.”

“To the University of Utah.” I
take another drink.

Liberty stands up, whistling
through her fingers as a new band takes the stage. It must be her boyfriend. He
takes a seat on a bar stool, his guitar slung around his chest. She is glued to
him, a smile claiming her red lips. A tattoo vining up her forearm reads “wild
thing” in ornate, cursive letters. I admire her ability to not care what anyone
else thinks, to be her true self and to live a life that’s all her own.

He strums and then tunes his
guitar and the crowd cheers. The rest of his band takes the stage. He’s wearing
aviator sunglasses and a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos much like
Liberty’s. His hair is long and mangy, and yet he’s somehow still a striking
man. Anyone with half a brain can see he and Liberty are cut from the same
cloth.

I finish my beer just as they
finish their first song, so I help myself to another. A few songs later, I’m
working on my third beer. My face is numb, my body relaxed. I’m sitting here,
but I may as well have melted into a puddle of tranquility.

“Hey, slow down,” Jensen says,
counting the empty beer bottles that line the table before us. “I’m not here to
babysit you tonight.”

I wave my hand in his face,
though my depth perception is way off. I end up sliding my fingers across his
mouth. His lips are warm against the pads of my fingers, and my belly zings as
I think about how they might taste.

But he doesn’t want me. He made
that abundantly clear. And things have been good between us ever since we
decided to be friends.

 
“You’re not as fun as I thought you’d be
in this setting.” I’m slurring my words, though they’re clear as a bell in my
head. “You just sit there like a… like a bump on a log.”

I giggle like I’ve just said
the funniest thing in the whole entire world. Buzzing Waverly is much more
carefree than her sober counterpart.

“Waverly.” He cocks his head at
me, grabbing my wrist with his hand.

“Oh, no,” I laugh. “You better
let go of me. I’m not in control.”

He cracks a sarcastic
half-smile and releases my wrist. “Just cool it, okay? We’re underage. Last
thing we want is to attract any attention. Liberty’s doing us a solid here.”

“I have to use the ladies’
room.” I stand up way too fast, toppling over into his lap, my behind in the
air.

My
father would be so proud right now.

“Let me walk you.” He helps me
up and rises beside me.

I shake my head, my hair
falling into my face and sticking to my forehead. The bar feels like a sauna
now or maybe it’s just me. “No. I’ll be right back.”

I push through a sea of mostly
college-aged people and find the line for the bathroom. The one bathroom door
has a man symbol next to a woman symbol, and there are both guys and girls
waiting in line.

I sigh, counting ahead to figure
out where I fall in line. I’m sixth. It might be a while. Glancing around the
room, I watch a rail-thin woman make out with a big, bearded guy. I listen to
the girl in front of me yell into her phone, telling her babysitter she’ll be
late tonight. The guy behind me has bloodshot eyes and a droopy face. I think
he’s on something. I’m in a strange, new land, and I’m still learning the
culture, but I kind of like it.

Autonomy is the greatest
feeling on earth. Mix that together with a little rebellion and a taste of
inhibition, and I’m scaling heights I never knew existed.

I bob my head to the music.
It’s deep but catchy, like the voice of a sad man singing happy songs.
Liberty’s boyfriend is ridiculously talented.

“Excuse me, miss.” I spin
around, finding myself faced with a broad-shouldered man donning a black
t-shirt with SECURITY written across it. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”

JENSEN

“You’re lucky your friends are covering for
your punk asses,” the owner of the bar scolds us outside in the alley. His
finger is pointed at my chest, inches away from poking me. He’s lucky he
doesn’t. “You’re eighteen-goddamned-years old. You should be at home, in bed.
You’re lucky I don’t call your parents.”

We stand there and take it,
waiting for him to calm down so we can leave. I’ve only had one beer, and it’s
been well over an hour, so I should be okay to drive us home.

“Get out of here.” The owner
waves us away. “And take care of her. She’s drunk off her ass.”

He would be correct. Waverly is
sloppy drunk from the three beers she chugged on an empty stomach. That, and
it’s her first time drinking. She has zero tolerance. I should’ve kept a closer
eye on her.

I slip her arm around my
shoulder and wrap my arm around her back, leading her to my truck.

“Sorry I ruined our night,” she
sighs.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You
just happen to look young and they happened to notice you.”

“I had fun celebrating,” she
says when we reach the truck. I fish for my keys as she leans against it,
staring at me like she’s lost in thought. “Thanks for celebrating with me. It
means a lot.”

I slip my key into the
passenger door and yank it open for her like her own personal coachman. “Hop on
in. Let’s get you home.”

She doesn’t move. “I mean it,
Jensen. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who actually gives a darn
about me.”

I smile. Even when she’s drunk,
she can’t bring herself to swear. Her hand lifts to my face, her fingertips
tracing my jaw as her eyes narrow and attempt to focus on my mouth.

“That’s not true.”

“The way you look at me.” She
exhales her words. “It’s different. No one else looks at me the way you do.”

I shrug. Sure, I think the
world of her. She’s pretty much the only person I’ve ever known that I don’t
completely dislike. But we don’t talk about how we feel about each other
anymore, not since that first week when we both made it clear we shared a mutual
attraction. Shit got weird, and it’s been smooth sailing ever since we got past
that.

“You’re imagining things. Get
in.”

“Am I?” She still won’t move.
“Am I imagin-in-ing-ing it, Jensen?”

She’s had too much to drink.
Her filter is loose, if not missing altogether. She’s speaking whatever’s on
her mind, and she’s going to regret it tomorrow. I opt not to engage in this
drunken conversation in lieu of getting her home safely.

The second we pull up to the
main house, I make sure the lights are out and Mark Miller’s not lurking in the
shadows somewhere. She’s passed out beside me, her head pressed against the
condensation-covered glass of the passenger window. The coast is clear, so I
climb out, grab Waverly, hoist her over my shoulder like a rag doll. Inside, I
quietly carry her upstairs, where I deposit her gently into her bed.

She stirs slightly, then makes
a faint humming sound as she breathes. “Jensen?”

She’s awake.

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“Now will you kiss me?”

She’s drunk. She’s just saying
that. She doesn’t mean it.

Fuck, do I want to kiss her.

But that ship has sailed.

Not that I haven’t thought
about it every single day since I’ve lived here.

Besides, she won’t remember it
in the morning, and I won’t forget, and that’ll be a problem for me.

***

“We’re having company over for dinner
tonight.” I overhear Jane talking to Bellamy and Waverly in the kitchen as they
prepare breakfast the next morning. Fridays usually mean cinnamon French toast
and scrambled eggs. This place is a tightly run ship with intricate routines
and a careful balance of customs and schedules.

Company?

I’m surprised they’re having
someone over given the fact that they live their lives in secrecy. Must be
another poly person.

Summer labors over a hot
skillet, minding her own business. It’s like she’s not even there.

“Please wear your Sunday best,”
Jane says. I glance over to see her pointing to both her daughters.

Why
would they need to dress up for a Friday night dinner?

“Should I dress up too?” I
interject facetiously from across the room where I’m finishing up some homework
before breakfast. Three sets of eyes dart toward me.

“I can’t make it tonight,”
Bellamy says casually. “Work thing.”

“You didn’t mention that
before. And it’s not on the family calendar. You’ll have to reschedule it.”
Jane says it in such a way that Bellamy doesn’t bother arguing. “Our guest is
coming from out of town. Your attendance is mandatory, and Waverly, why on
Earth do you look so tired this morning? You feeling okay?”

“Are you going to tell us who’s
coming?” Waverly asks, blinking bloodshot eyes. She massages her temples as
soon as her mother looks away.

“Your father will talk to you
this evening.” Jane leaves it at that, walking off to set the table.

Tonight must be when they drop
the bomb on Waverly about her college plans, but why would they do that with
company coming over?

This family is so fucking
weird.

WAVERLY

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?”
Bellamy’s somber words send a chill down my spine, settling the anxiety that’s
been coursing through my body all day into a pool of liquid nerves.

We’re standing in front of the
bathroom mirror. I’m curling my hair and she’s slicking on a couple coats of
mascara. Conservative dresses cover our bodies. She leans forward, turning her
head from side to side and then up and down as she inspects her lashes.

“No, I don’t. Care to enlighten
me?” I run my fingers through my warm curls, breaking them into loose waves.

Bellamy, normally a vision of
coolness, is shaking like a poodle.

“No, I’m asking,” she says.
“You know what’s going on?”

“Of course not,” I huff.

“Something’s up.” She clicks
her blush compact open and grabs a brush, taking her sweet time as if she’s
trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Obviously.”

“Last-minute dinner guest. Us
being told to look good.”

“Maybe it’s someone from the
UAB? Dad’s always trying to get on their good side. They don’t like that he
left the old community and moved us all out here.”

Mom always said he didn’t like
being financially dependent on the UAB back in Scottsbluff, and when he found a
pharmacy for sale here, he jumped at the opportunity. They didn’t like that,
and he’s been trying to redeem himself ever since.

“Could be a friend from work?”
I suggest. “Maybe he’s just being sociable? I heard there are secret poly
families all over Whispering Hills.”

Bellamy clicks her compact shut
and turns to me. “Stop being so naïve, Waverly. He’s trying to marry us off.”

I resent her tone. “You don’t
know that.”

“It’s the only logical
explanation.”

“Dad wouldn’t do that. I just
got into Utah. I’m going to college in a couple months.” My heart breaks for my
sister. If she is right, she’s way more likely to be married off than me.

She turns to her reflection,
her shoulders tensing as she grips the ledge of the counter.

“I thought you wanted to get
married soon?” I say. “You’re almost twenty-two. You’re done with school.
Aren’t you just waiting for—”

“No.” Without any further
explanation, she exits the bathroom.

As the oldest of the family,
Bellamy carries a great burden. She’s to set an example, be a shining image of
perfection in our father’s eyes. She’s supposed to set the precedence and we’re
all supposed to follow it.

The hard knot in my stomach
tells me life as we know it is about to change.

Several slow, intentional steps
carry me downstairs to where my mothers are preparing a feast fit for Christ’s
second coming. That, coupled with the fact that Bellamy and I were excused from
kitchen duty so we could get dressed up, tells me my sister’s suspicions might
be founded.

Dad leads the younger kids in
from the family room, and Jensen struts down the steps a moment later. I take
my usual seat, twirling the stem of the iced tea glass between my thumb and
forefinger.

Stiff silence fills the air. No
one dares to speak.

There’s an extra chair between
where my mother and father usually sit. A cool sweat glazes over me. I try to
tell myself that Bellamy got me all worked up. That this could be nothing. It
all might be in our heads. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that if my father was
going to marry one of us off, it’d be Bellamy. She’s ready. She’s smart and
pretty and she can cook and sew. She’s great with kids.

I continue listing off all the
reasons Bellamy would make a better wife than me, but then I remember her face
in the bathroom. She doesn’t want to be married.

But neither do I.

I’m not ready.

The doorbell rings, sending my
heart galloping like a runaway horse. Dad rises from the table and heads to the
foyer. A second later I hear voices—both male. I watch, breath suspended,
for them to emerge from around the corner.

And when they do, I know.