Reaching between my legs, I readjust myself.
“The reporter was kind enough to tell me the story is hitting the papers Monday morning. You will be named as a witness. You will most likely have to testify in court when it goes to trial. I hope you’re prepared to make an appearance,” Dad says.
“I look forward to it. Anything to put that slimeball away for good.” I relish the thought of Figueroa behind bars. It’s what the asshole deserves.
“Where are you anyway? I saw that you used the jet.”
Damn. Busted.
“Vermont.”
“With who?”
“A friend.”
“Don’t you have finals next week?”
“Yeah, so?” I sound like a fucking little kid, but this is what happens when my dad does this sort of shit to me.
I revert.
“So I don’t think it’s wise that you’re out partying the weekend before finals,” he says, anger lacing his tone. “You can’t be a fuck-up during the important moments in your life, Crew. You have to straighten out sometime.”
I press my lips together to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
“You should go back to campus,” he continues. “Study for your finals and make sure your grades are in good shape. You’ve applied to colleges and I’m sure they’re watching you.”
I doubt that. Every single one of them will let me in if my family donates a building in our name or whatever the fuck.
“Right,” I tell him, just to get him off my back. “Okay.”
“Go home,” he asserts. “Tomorrow.”
“Will do.” That was always the plan.
“And keep out of trouble.”
“Always.”
He goes silent for a moment. I’m sure I’ve made him angry. “Are you being flippant with me? You should know better, son. I don’t like it when you give me attitude.”
“I’m agreeing with you. That’s all,” I say, my voice hollow.
Kind of like my heart.
“As long as you understand then. Good night.”
“Night,” I say to nothing.
He already ended the call.
Pocketing my phone, I go to the kitchenette and pull out the bottle of vodka from the fridge, then grab a glass from the cabinet. I pour a healthy amount into it and take a deep swig, swallowing hard before I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.
Fuck, I need another.
Talking to my father always leaves me full of doubt, and I hate it. He goes from completely ignoring me to questioning every move I make, and I end up feeling like a complete fuck up.
I’m not. I’ve got my head on straight, and for the first time in my life, I know what I want.
Wren.
I’m falling for her. I’d do anything for her. Does she know that? Does she realize how important she is to me? I should tell her.
I should. Tonight.
I’ve had a couple of glasses by the time I hear Wren’s sweet voice calling from the loft.
“Crew? Where are you?”
Taking one last swallow directly from the bottle, I leave it on the counter and head up the stairs, pushing my father from my mind. My family. All of it.
I want to concentrate on Wren. No one else but her matters.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I come to a stop, watching Wren as she stands by the foot of the bed, wrapped in one of the hotel robes. Her hair is down, falling far past her shoulders, and her face is scrubbed clean save for a shiny red lip-gloss that’s been applied to her lips.
My dick stands at attention.
“Is that what you got at the store?” I tease her.
She glances down at herself, her mouth curved in a smile. “Not quite.”
“Show me what you got then.”
Wren returns her gaze to mine. “You really want to see?”
I nod.
She reaches for the front of her robe, toying with the cloth belt. “It might surprise you.”
“I love a good surprise.”
Her laughter is soft. Sexy as fuck. “I hope you like it.”
“Drop the robe and let me see, Birdy.”
With shaky fingers, she undoes the belt, the white terrycloth parting slightly, giving me a view of sexy legs, a flat stomach and plumped-up tits. She shrugs out of the robe completely, so it falls in a puddle around her feet, and I stare at her, all the air from my lungs sticking in my throat.
The bra she’s wearing is made of the palest, sheerest pink trimmed with red lace. I can see her nipples. The panties match, and I can see her pubic hair too. She may as well be naked, but fuck, she’s not.