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Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I hate you,” I hiss at him through clenched teeth.

“I know.” His grin doesn’t falter. “It’s kind of fun, right? This whole enemies thing we’ve got going on?”

Enemies? We’re enemies? He’s got to be kidding me.

“You’re a dick.” I turn and walk away, and this time he doesn’t chase after me or call my name or even call me by a name. He remains eerily quiet and I’d never admit this out loud, but…

I’m disappointed.

Chapter Eight

AUGUST

My head is pounding when I crack open my eyes and I immediately close them, pissed that the curtains somehow got left open last night and now all of this fucking sunlight is spilling into the room. My eyelids ache as I try and keep my eyes shut, and with a groan I roll over on my side, everything from last night coming at me all at once.

The party. The scotch. The fucking girl. The puking.

Not my best moment.

I haven’t lost control over myself like that in a long time, if ever. I blame the woman. She had me thinking crazy shit. Like she was the love of my life. Please. No more indulging in thirty-year-old scotch for me.

Eventually I pull myself out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom. Take a piss and then wash my hands, peering at my reflection in the mirror. I look like absolute shit. Bloodshot eyes, and scruff covering my cheeks and jaw. My hair is a nightmare and I push it away from my face, leaning over the counter to examine myself even closer. I swear my skin is a little greenand I rub at my cheek. Slap it a little even but I remain as pale as a ghost. A ghost with a hint of green.

My stomach roils and I rest my hand over it, worried I might throw up again, but the moment passes. I strip off my clothes and take a long shower, standing under the hot spray of water for far too long. Once I’m dried off and I’ve brushed my teeth, I’m back in the bedroom, standing in front of my dresser about to grab a pair of boxer briefs when I realize there’s a message written on my mirror in lipstick. Yolanda’s lipstick.

Fuck right off, August Lancaster! You’re a complete dick!

xo,

Sin

I can’t help it—I start to laugh. What kind of message is that? I thought she liked me? Though she did have a touch of hostility to her there at the end. Was she pissed because I was drunk? She had to be too.

Standing in my room naked, I swear I can still smell her. That sweet, rich scent of her perfume. I can see her too. Her beautiful face and that infuriated expression on it when she out of nowhere hurled that fucking lipstick straight at me. What if it had hit me in the face? She could’ve done some real damage because she threw that thing hard.

Once I’m dressed, I grab my phone and start a simple search, entering her name. I’ve got far more extensive programs and apps on my laptop that can dig up information on pretty much anyone in the entire world, but as Sin said last night, I do like the mystery of it all. The mystery of her.

The information pops up quickly, but it’s not much. There is one thing that shocks me though, and it’s the words, Sinclair Miller graduated Lancaster Prep…

What the hell?

I immediately call my sister who is the biggest gossip in the land and also two years younger than me and with a better memory. And it’s not that I have a bad memory about high school. It’s more that I choose to remember certain things and forget everything else because those things—people, moments, etc.—aren’t worth storing in my memory banks for later.

“Augie! How are you?” Iris picks up on the fourth ring, right as I’m about to end the call and I can hear her baby screaming in the background.

“What the hell is wrong with that child?” I mutter, wincing at the piercing wails coming from my niece.

“She’s hungry and you’re interrupting us,” Iris explains. The baby’s crying gets louder and Iris is shushing her as she fumbles around with something—God, is she going to drop her own daughter? Until finally the baby goes completely silent and Iris sighs in relief. “Ah, now we can talk in peace.”

“Are you feeding her with a bottle?” I ask hopefully. I don’t like the thought of my sister with her tits out, nursing the monster known as Astrid because that is an image I don’t ever need in my brain.

“No, silly. I’m doing it like the cavewomen did back in the Stone Age. It’s free milk, why wouldn’t I feed my baby with it?” Iris laughs, knowing just how to get under my skin and it works.

“Heathen.”