Page 82 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Blair rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re impossible, you know that? Always acting like you’re too cool for everything.”

“Someone has to keep the family grounded,” I quip, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Mm-hmm. Grounded, sure.”

I shook my head, chuckling. “So when are you coming to Altair? Or is that still on hold out of pure spite and principle?”

Blair had been avoiding the topic of Altair for weeks, ever since the plan involving Prescott had happened. She kept using the excuse that she “needed to talk to her first.” Our mother knew she was stalling, I knew, and if we’d had a dog, even they would know it.

I glanced at her, noticing she was shifting in her seat, her fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest. A small flicker of irritation passed over her face as she reached forward and turned the radio down, the noise fading into silence.

Blair sighed, crossing her arms as if she could dodge the topic altogether. “You know the deal. I have to talk to Alex first. And really,” she pointed out, her lips curving up just slightly, “you failed to get her to visit, so this is all on you.”

I shot her a quick look. “You’re really going to blame me for that?”

Blair tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Why not? You’re the one who didn’t bring her.”

I scoffed. “I tried to get her to come with me.”

“Well,” Blair continued with that signature smirk, “clearly you didn’t try hard enough.”

I leaned back in my seat, grinding my teeth as the truth slowly settled in. She had a point. I’d taken Prescott to that party when I should’ve just taken her straight to my house. That had been my plan.

“I was going to,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. “Plans changed.”

Blair raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “What, she blinked at you and you panicked?”

I didn’t respond, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. When she’d shown up at the door—after Cam’s half-cousin had slammed it in my face, no less—Prescott had that gleam in her eyes, a look that was somehow both playful and challenging.

It had thrown me off.

And like an idiot, I’d let my better judgment slip away.

“This idea of yours is dumb anyway,” I said finally, mostly to shut Blair up.

Blair waved her hand dismissively. “Changes the plan last minute, then complains when it doesn't work out. Unbelievable."

The words hung in the air for a moment as the silence settled between us. And in that silence my thoughts drifted back to Prescott.

I could still remember exactly how she looked that night. She was wearing a black, tight dress that clung to every curve of her body in all the right ways. Nothing like the usual oversized hoodies and baggy jeans she hid behind when she wasn’t in her school uniform. No, this was something else entirely. The smooth, almost matte fabric stretched across her skin, giving her a sleek, almost dangerous vibe. The dress hugged her in places I wasn’t used to seeing. Somehow it made her legs looked longer, her waist cinched, and when she moved, the fabric seemed to move with her like it was made for her alone.

She lookedhot. There was no denying it. This wasn’t a version of Prescott I was used to—someone who was always confident, always unapologetic, but usually hiding behind her oversized clothes. That night she was different. She wasn’t hiding anything. She stood tall, every inch of her radiating self-assurance. This was the version of her that could command a room without lifting a finger, and I found myself stuck in her orbit.

I couldn’t stop staring. And it pissed me off that I hadn’t acted indifferent. I had been too distracted by how attractive she looked to focus on anything else.

Too caught off guard to stick to the plan—like taking her to see my sister so I could get both my mother and my sister off my back, and finally wipe my hands of this ridiculous part I’d somehow been coaxed into playing. All in the hopes of getting Blair to attend Altair, like that was supposed to make everything worth it.

I had let Prescott take the lead that night, and for some reason, I couldn’t figure out why. Part of me knew I should’ve stuck to my original intention and taken her straight to my house. But instead, like an idiot, I’d driven her and her friend to that party. I didn’t get it. I’d been the one making decisions for everyone else up to that point. But that night, something about her—something about the way she looked, the way she carried herself—had thrown me off balance.

I hated that I let it happen.

But what I hated even more was what she’d admitted to me while she was drunk. That confession. The one she probably didn’t even remember, and honestly, I doubted her pride would allow her to ever bring it up again even if she did.

I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of her saying what was on her mind—that sharp, unfiltered version—because I knew that’s exactly what she would do if she had the chance.

I shifted in my seat, the thought of her hitting me like a fucking punch. I could feel myself getting hard, my jeans suddenly too tight. I hated that Ilikedthe idea of her voicing her opinions, that she actually had the guts to call me out. And she wasn’t afraid to chew me out, either.

And let’s be honest, I knew I deserved it.

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