“And I don’t like him,” he says simply. Sebastian is egocentric, self-centered and self-absorbed. I suppose Connor has taken his place in Rose’s life. Sebastian no longer gets to attend all the lavish parties hosted by the Calloways and peers. She brings Connor instead.
“Their relationship isn’t about what you want,” I say.
Sebastian snubs his cigarette on a magazine. “Rose is my best friend. I’m just saving her from the heartbreak.” He lights another. But his words sound incredibly fake. I don’t believe him one bit.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, crossing my arms. I want to warn Connor about Sebastian’s determination to break them up. Hell, I’m going to tell Rose what a horrible friend she has. And she would believe me. I’m her sister.
“You can’t say a word,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, I can.”
He shakes his head, taps some ash right on the carpet. “No you can’t.” He nods to the stack of papers on my textbook. “Rose will not condone your new studying tactics. And Connor Cobalt would be even more displeased.” He sucks on the cigarette.
Oh…shit.
He’s trapped me so quickly. I slump back, winded as though he spun me through a washing machine.
I can’t tell my sister that her friend is planning on ruining her life. I should do the right thing and come clean, not be an awful human being.
But I need those tests.
And Rose can take care of herself. She’s the strongest girl I know.
But as Sebastian tosses that ballerina figurine in his hand, I wonder how she’s been blinded by someone like him for all these years. It can happen again.
My only hope lies in Connor.
He’ll have to foil Sebastian’s plans. He’ll have to prove to Rose that he’s the best man for her. I can’t warn him, but if I had to put money on a match between these two, I’d always bet on Connor Cobalt.
{ 8 }
LOREN HALE
After spending lunch with my brother, I end up in Rose Calloway’s Escalade. She conveniently showed up at the café. They acted all surprised about it—like she just happened to spot us, driving past Rocco’s Deli on her way home.
But I figured out quickly that Ryke called her to cart me to our house while he went back to Philly for college. Like I have to be equipped with a twenty-four-seven babysitter, like I can’t be trusted in a cab or for a brief stroll down the sidewalk alone. I am the equivalent of a ninety-year-old lady needing a person as a crutch to cross the street.
It’s ridiculous. And even if I do want to talk to Rose about my plan to earn some cash—I would never volunteer to be alone with the girl. She hates me. And Lily may not see it like that, but Rose and I have an understanding that we’re never going to be best friends. We withstand each other for Lily, and that has to be enough. Growing up, Lily would choose me—a boy—over Rose, her sister, and that type of jealousy accumulates over the years into something deep and raw. No apology will matter.
And I get it. I would be resentful too. I’ve never wanted Rose to cut me slack, which must be why I poke the coals, stirring the flames and provoking her temper. I deserve every cold look, every biting comment. I deserve that fucking pain.
I get it.
“You look loads of fun today, Rose,” I say as she clenches the steering wheel, spine straight and eyes focused on the street. I should be a good person and ask what’s bothering her, but I can’t form the words. Caring—that’s Ryke’s thing.
“Look in the mirror,” she says icily.
I do. Just to humor her. And what stares back at me is a scowl that could shatter the reflection. Sharpened jaw and dark circles beneath my amber eyes, showing everyone how fucking tired I actually am.
There’s no sleep for the wicked.
“I grow more beautiful with age,” I deadpan. “Must be the alcohol.”
“That’s not even a little amusing.”
“Maybe because you lost your funny bone in your Gucci handbag.”
She glares and then drives up to our gate.
My phone buzzes, and I check the text with a palm over the screen so Rose doesn’t catch a glimpse.
Your girlfriend is a whore. – Unknown
I clench my teeth, my insides broiling. I want to find this bastard more than anything, but I’m running out of options. I can’t knock on the door of every enemy that I remember. There are too many. And I’ve already poked one burning coal that may have been simmering down. Since I threatened him, Aaron Wells could be reinvigorated to come after me even more—or he could be ready to bury his head in a hole. That’s the chance I took by visiting his house and assuming he was the texter. （He still could be for all I know.）