Page 47 of Privilege
“You are very drunk,” he says. “And Miss van der Beer looked quite shaken. I strongly advise against this. Respectfully.”
“Has Rich been okay?” I ask him. “Like, really okay?”
Arnold frowns. “It has been a challenging year for Mr. van der Beer. But—”
I cut Arnold off by opening the car door. “We don’t deserve you, Arnold,” I say quietly. Then I slam it shut behind me.
Lyle’s place is a small beachfront residence, only six or seven bedrooms. But it’s always been the most popular for house parties with the beach frontage and nonexistent parentals.
There are too many bodies packed together inside, half-naked sweaty teenagers grinding to the blaring music, all drunk and high and looking for one last hookup before they scatter across the country for uni. It’s hot, and smells like hormones and impending doom.
At least one of these girls will be pregnant by night’s end.
Please God, don’t let it be Jamie.
My anxiety ratchets up as I scan for my brother. I wouldn’t put it past her to safety-pin the condom, or even fake a pregnancy for a while if it meant keeping him.
I need to get him out of this place. Away from these people. I need to show him a different world. I just need to find the courage to tell him what I have planned.
And I need to keep my hands to myself.
Clusters of Rich’s friends and spray-tanned girls in bedazzled scraps of fabric descend on me. I wade my way through the sloppy mess, but it still takes forever to get through the throng of people throwing their arms around my shoulders, around my hips, around my neck. Shot, after shot, after shot.
I’m seeing double by the time I make my way through the house and out onto the back deck. The wind from the water is more than welcome on my sweaty brow, and I take a deep breath.
Where the fuck is Rich?
“So.Big Brother is back,” comes a voice from behind me.
I close my eyes because the deck is spinning. “Jamie,” I say curtly. “Always a pleasure.”
“Clearly your manners haven’t improved overseas,” she says. She wedges herself between my body and the wooden bannister, her bare skin brushing the front of my sweaty linen shirt.
I lean away. “Clearly you’ve never been to France if you think it would improve my manners.”
“Where did you stay? I heard you were slumming it, staying inhostelsin Montmartre. Did your daddy finally cut you off?”
“I’m going to assume that while your mother trolled for someone who can actually get hard, you spent your entire family trip to Paris on the Champs D’Elysees imagining which ring my brother will never buy you.”
Her nostrils flare and she clamps down her jaw. “What is your problem with me, huh?” she demands. “What thefuckhave Ieverdone to you? What have I ever done to Rich?”
I stare at her coldly. “It’s what youdon’tdo, Jamie.”
“And what’s that?”
“Love him.”
Her mouth twists, pupils dilating with rage, and I know I’m gonna get hit. I can fucking feel it coming, my cheekbone already tingling with the familiar sting of a woman’s palm. But she stands there, staring at me, seething with rage. If skin could boil, hers would be cooked.
“And what do you know about love, huh?” she says quietly. “The only person you’ve ever loved is Rich. And we both know you love him too much.”
My body recoils like I’ve been punched in the gut. Heart pounding, I force a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t love you, Jamie. You’re justavailable.”
“Lots of girls areavailable!”she spits. “But none of them know how he likes it.”
I step towards her, so close I can smell her floral shampoo and her expensive perfume. It makes my nose tingle, and for half a second I hope I throw up all over her.
“It doesn’t matterhow he likes it,Jamie. You’re never going to last.”
