Page 14 of Privilege
Chapter Eleven
Dane
We all manage to stay out of each other’s hair for a while, meaning I spend an inordinate amount of time at the club.
There’s more money than God and more boob jobs than Hollywood in that place, but I need these people.
They’re the whole reason I’m here: the wives and mistresses of the Hampton Yacht Club know more about New York real estate than anyone on earth.
Every time I see their double Ds bouncing in my face all I can think about is Cara’s perfect, surgically unaltered tits in that mirror. I want to scream “CARAAAA!” like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. But whenever I think about Cara naked, I also think about Rich.
And then I get very, very drunk.
It’s useful though, the information I fuck out of them like free chocolate when you kick the vending machine hard enough. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I know this is it for me. This is my last visit to Blackstone. I’m done with all of it, after this. I can walk away for good.
Can you really walk away from Rich, though?
Fuck. That part never seems to get any better, no matter how much time goes by. Or how many beers I consume.
I slump backwards into the striped seat of the yacht and try to stare up at the sky, but there are so many levels that it blocks out the sun. And doesn’t that feel apt.
I crack open another beer and chuck the lid as hard as I can at the box of empties by the gangway.
“Ow!”
I sit up, surprised, and can’t help but wonder if I took a bunch of drugs and forgot. Am I hallucinating? What is Cara doing here?
“Why did you throw a bottle cap at me?”
“I didn’t see you. ”
“Ah yes,” she grumbles. “Because women are obviously invisible to you.” She gestures to the bikini top dangling from the railing while rubbing the red spot on her thigh.
I swallow— don’t picture her naked, don’t picture her naked— and politely remind my cock to chill while my brain takes notice of the pockets sticking out past her ridiculously tiny shorts.
“What are you doing here Cara?”
“It’s the Hamptons. I’ve been told you can’t visit the Hamptons without going for a ride on a yacht.”
I arch an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes.
“Look. Dane. Can we just… be friends?”
I snort. “Doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m picturing you naked.”
She sighs. “I feel like we can move past that, yeah?”
“Have you seen you naked?” Am I slurring? How many beers have I had?
“I was in front of a mirror, you fucking idiot.”
I point my beer bottle at her. “It’s shocking that you can get through the day without fucking yourself. Really.”
“Who says I do? ”
Ooooof.
“And that—” I take a long swig of my drink “—is why we can’t be friends.”
“You seem like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone. What’s the difference with me?”
“I actually like you?” Oh, I’m very drunk.
“Haven’t you ever had sexual tension with friends?”
“None who I wasn’t also fucking.”
She closes her eyes and rubs her forehead like I’m testing her patience. “Dane. Being home, without you there, is hard for Rich, I think. I can’t count the number of times your name has come up in the past two weeks.”
“Trust me, he doesn’t want to see me. It’s better this way.”
“What’s better? That if you’re not at Blackstone, you won’t try to fuck me.”
I stare at her. “If I were trying, it would have been me in that mirror.”
She pauses, a little taken aback, and flushes. “I don’t think you’re trying to get in my pants, Dane. I think you like women. And I think the Hamptons have very little to offer you.”
“Nobody rocks a Brazilian like a Hamptonite. ”
“Brazilians have always confused me. I feel like it would be distracting, going full bare-seal, everything rubbing around down there…”
I am not thinking about her perfect blonde bush. I am not thinking about her perfect blonde bush. I am not thinking about her perfect blonde bush.
She makes a funny face, like she’s swallowed a lemon, or realized she’s talking about her pussy with a stranger. Yeah. Hi. Welcome back to the conversation.
She clears her throat. “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and Jamie—”
“You can leave now, Cara.”
“—but I know it wasn’t whatever Rich thinks it was.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t know shit.”
She throws up her hands. “Neither of you will tell me what happened but I’m not fucking stupid. I’m going to guess he walked in on something that looked like you were hitting on Jamie. Jumped to conclusions. Because you’re…” she waves her hand at me “...you.”
I say nothing. Don’t get into this. Do NOT get into this .
“Anyone who has met Jamie knows she’s a snake, Dane. And it’s clear you love him. I’m willing to bet whatever happened—”
“I initiated it,” I say blandly.
She looks at me for a solid minute, stares at me like I’m a math problem to be solved.
“Maybe,” she says slowly. “But if you did, you had a reason.”
My stomach churns, nerves starting to fire on all cylinders. My face is hot. Nobody has ever given me the benefit of the doubt, before. My whole life, it’s always been Dane the Fuck Up. Nobody ever paid close enough attention to wonder why. Not even Rich.
“Cara, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
She walks forward instead and plonks herself down beside me, reaches into the beer fridge beneath the seat and pulls out a beer. She smacks the lid off on the edge of the table, and flicks it at my chest.
It bounces off my linen shirt and onto the floor, spinning like a top for what feels like forever.
When it finally stops, she raises the bottle to her lips. “It’s time for you to come home,” she says.
I can’t take my eyes off her mouth.
Luckiest beer on the fucking planet.