Page 1 of Dirty Martini
Prologue
SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL
RHYS
“Congratulations, motherfucker!”
I scoff as my best friend shouts in my ear, leaning over the back of the couch, a little bit of his room-temperature beer sloshing over his red solo cup and onto my lap.
“Jesus, Elton,” I say without any malice, wiping at the now-damp spot on my black jeans. “How many have you had?”
Elton pinches his dark eyebrows in concentration, mumbling something under his breath as he starts ticking off his fingers. After reaching five, he throws his hand up in the air and shrugs. “It’s a party, Rhys. You should partake. It’syourcelebration, man.”
I shake my head with a lighthearted laugh. Yeah, I know this is supposed to be a party thrown in my honor, but I think these rich prep school fucks wanted nothing more than an excuse to party. I’m not friends with any of them, Elton is. He’s friends witheveryone—stupid fucking charming golden boy—while I’m the black sheep of our crowd. But if the guy throwing this wants to provide our graduating class with free booze and regretful memories in my name, who am I to stop him?
I’m sure none of these assholes would give the scholarship kid a second look if I wasn’t best friends with the richest one of them all. That’s what it’s like living in Miami. You’re either raised with a silver spoon in your mouth in one of the many multi-million-dollar mansions or high rises, or you’re barely making it by in shitty apartments with astronomically high rents, like my family. While everyone else customizes their designer uniforms for our school, I walk in wearing something my mom had to sew together. When they go off campus and eat at whatever bougie restaurant caters to their fancy black cards, I go to the library with my packed lunch. Regardless, I try not to let the chip on my shoulder growtooheavy.
How could I when I found out today that out of all these preppy assholes,Iwas elected as valedictorian of our graduating class?
“One drink,” Elton urges, his sun-kissed cheeks already red from all the alcohol. His green eyes are bloodshot too, no doubt from the weed he reeks of. I love my best friend to death, but he’s a mess—only in the best way possible. Even then, he’s the sun we all simply revolve around. Smart, talented, funny. The one we all want to be. Well, except me. I’m the one who has to put up with his three a.m. calls aboutSex and the Cityreruns and the one who has to indulge his Rocky Road addiction.
Endearing fucker.
“I’m good, man.” I laugh, once again pushing his red solo cup away from where it’s practically plastered to my cheek. I glance over his shoulder to see that the beer pong table is being set up, and I flick my eyebrows up. “Want to play beer pong once they’re done?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna get shit about playing with water.”
“As if I care what people think,” I snort. Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then we can play.”
Jerking his chin, his eyes wander behind me, and I scoff when I turn to see him checking out Cassandra. “Careful,” I warn him teasingly, shoving his shoulder. “She’ll break your heart.”
Elton’s heart eyes glaze over with lust as he stares at the head cheerleader. I want to roll my eyes at how predictable it all is, but I wasn’t kidding when I told him she’d break his heart. Despite acting like a classic fuck boy, Elton has forever in his eyes whenever anyone catches his interest. His heart is just too big, and he’s going to get hurt if he keeps on chasing after love. Cassandra is a ‘love them and leave them’ kind of girl. She just wants to have a good time without any strings attached before she heads off to Notre Dame in the fall. More power to her.
As I stare at the crowd of my peers, it’s hard to believe this room full of drunk idiots is all bound for their Ivy League universities. I say that as affectionately as I can while watching some guy take body tequila shots off a girl’s ankle divots.What the fuck?
Elton and I aren’t any better, though, so I should just shut the up. He and I are set to start at Dartmouth once we graduate. When I had shown him the email containing my acceptance and my very generous academic scholarship, he had loudly announced to his family during dinner that he was going too. Mr. Hill just rolled his eyes, mumbling something about how he should have spanked Elton more as a child, while Mrs. Hill congratulated me. It’s going to be awesome since Elton’s dad is footing the bill for our off-campus apartment so we don’t have to live in the dorms. We’re heading up there in a few weeks to get a feel for the area, and I can’t wait.
My pride doesn’t just stem from the fact that it’s an Ivy League school. I honestly couldn’t care less about that. It’sthe fact that I’m going to be the first one in my family to graduate high school, let alone go to college. My parents have never placed a high value on education, so it was up to me to work my ass off to reach my goals. It’s a rewarding feeling knowing that everything I’ve worked for since I understood the concept of personal achievement is finally coming to fruition. I’m damn proud of myself and all that I’ve accomplished thanks to determination and hard work.
Elton has disappeared from behind the couch, already halfway across the room and in front of Cassandra. I can tell from the way she flashes her bright blue eyes that she’s feeling him tonight, so I remind myself to not be a cockblock later before we head back to his place. I snort when he tries to place his hand over the mantle above her head—a total BDE move—but ends up slipping and tipping his drink all over his expensive shirt. Serves him right for trying to be cool.
Shaking my head, I walk away from the scene, but stop short when I see someone I don’t expect walk through the front door.
What the hell is Everest doing here?
Everest, Elton’s younger brother, should definitely not be at this party. It was made very clear on the invite that it was a senior-only gathering and Everest is a freshman. When Elton and I left the house earlier, promising his parents we’d be careful and call if we needed anything, Everest was heading to another party with his friends. My curiosity spikes when I see that none of the people who usually hang off him are present. The kid is just like Elton, the center of everyone’s attention, so it’s weird to see him by himself.
Or maybe not. Lately, things have been different with Everest. Ever since his injury, his outings have become less and less frequent. Whenever I’m over at their house now, he’s usually in his room, watching old lacrosse reruns and nursing his still healing collarbone.
I don’t blame him for wanting to take it easy. I was at the game when it happened, seeing as though Elton and I have never missed one since Everest started playing. Watching him in his element was always impressive, a glimmer of true talent, and seeing him play alongside college recruits as a freshman made even me, his brother’s best friend, fill with pride. He was killing it. I don’t know much about lacrosse, but you would have been an idiot not to notice the way Everest shined out on the field. He was a definite star in the making, so confident, so graceful?—
Until some fucker tackled him and broke his collarbone.
I’ve never heard anyone scream the way Everest did when he went down. Me and the Hills had rushed to the field, trying to comfort him as we waited for the paramedics. But when I saw shards of his bone sticking out of his skin, I knew what Everest quickly discovered. Shattering—because it wasn’t just any type of break—his collarbone on his dominant throwing side effectively shut down any prospects in the sport.
A stab of affection hits me as I watch him rake a hand through his shaggy blond hair, a touch darker than his brother’s, as his wide green eyes scan the room. His right arm is still in a sling, and he awkwardly adjusts it as he passes through the sea of drunken bodies. He hugs the walls and avoids touching anyone, which is impressive for someone his size. At six-four, he’s taller than both Elton and I, and built like a fucking truck.
I see the lost expression on his face and wander over to him, smiling on instinct when the side of his lips quirk up shyly once he sees me. Even though he’s my best friend’s younger brother, I know him decently well. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but definitely on our way to being friends once he gets a bit older.
