Page 15 of Privilege

Chapter Twelve

Cara

He is beautiful.

It hits harder when you’ve been away from him for a few weeks. Like the first time all over again. Nobody has any business having a face like that. It’s disorienting. Unnatural, even. It’s like I’ve walked onto an alien aircraft and discovered a new, offensively symmetrical race.

I try to ignore the saliva pooling in my mouth when he wobbles to his feet, his open shirt fluttering in the breeze exposing his thickly muscled body and dark smattering of chest hair. It extends down to his abdomen where it disappears beneath his obnoxiously Hawaiian shorts.

“Here,” he says, tossing me something.

The set of keys jingles when I snatch them out of the air. “I have a car,” I say, annoyed.

“Mine’s better,” he says.

He stumbles towards the gangway and I heave myself up and chug my beer. When I finish, I drop it in the box beside the lounger with all the rest of them and turn to follow Dane, but he’s stopped, has casually braced himself against the railing.

“You’re something special, you know.” He’s slurring a little. “You’re going to tear this town up, if you haven’t already.”

“I am pretty sure these people can handle themselves.”

He frowns. “Not all of them.”

I’m not sure what to say, or if he’s talking about Rich.

Who is definitely different here, I’ll give Dane that.

He’s not like this at school. He’s not even like this around his roommates, who he knows from Waldron Prep.

But I would never, ever, question whether or not Rich can handle himself.

Anybody who’s ever seen him play sports would laugh at the concept; he’s a singularly focused monster out on the pitch.

Dane is watching me like he expects a response.

When in doubt, go with honesty. “I guess you don’t know what you can handle until you have to handle it.”

He narrows his eyes. “See? You’re gonna tear them up. None of them will have any clue what to do with you.”

I trail after him as he wobbles off the ostentatious yacht, without question the biggest one in the marina.

I hadn’t even had to ask anyone what boat was theirs; after the past few weeks of parties, social gatherings, dinners out, lunches, and constant never-ending fundraisers, it’s been made clear to me that Mrs. van der Beer is the Queen of the Hamptons.

What has been made equally clear is how deeply unwelcome I am on her turf.

I’d like to say that it doesn’t hurt. The snide comments, the open socials snubs, the looks.

I shouldn’t be bothered by these girls. By their sudden silences when I enter the bathroom.

It’s not like I want to be friends with these people—I’d legitimately rather peel my skin off with a carrot peeler.

But I have a feeling that this game, this chess board that is constantly in play, is closing in on me and closing in fast.

Rich’s mother is a piece of work. I don’t blame him for struggling to navigate the battering ram that is her idea of conversation.

She comes with a broom up her ass, a plethora of anvils ready to tie Rich down by the ankles to a life he clearly doesn’t want, and probably a private investigator with the exact details of the contents of my bank account.

I can’t stand the woman, and am pretty sure her blood-red nails have made their way into my dreams more than once.

But how I feel about her doesn’t really matter right now.

I’m worried about Rich.

Dane scrambles sloppily over the side of an obnoxious convertible.

Before we got here, my jaw would have dropped.

Now I’ve gotten in and out of more luxury cars than I can count as Rich and his friends shuttle us around.

I drove here in Arnold’s Lincoln. Which I don’t think he normally lends out, but for a man of few words he’s observant as hell and handed me the keys this morning before I even asked.

I clear my throat. “Dane, I’m not driving this.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” he says. He raises his sunglasses and perches them on his forehead, waggling his eyebrows so the glasses go up and down.

I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I slip into the driver’s seat.

Dane leans across me and pats the steering wheel lovingly. “Now Pamela, baby,” he says, voice husky. “I know you get jealous, but I need you to be a good girl and behave, okay?”

My cheeks could cause a forest fire. “Pamela?”

He turns his head and we are inches apart. “Anderson.”

Ah.

Ignoring the fact that he’s practically in my lap, I start the car and it rumbles to life. The dash lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s my girl,” he says.

Fuck. I shove him away and he slumps back into his seat. “If you keep talking like that I will wreck this car on purpose,” I mutter.

“If you crash it, I’ve got another one.” He drops his sunglasses back down and lazily waves a hand. “It’s your own fault Cara. If you don’t want to hear me talk like that, don’t wear shorts. ”

I can’t help but smile while I adjust my mirrors. “I didn’t realize you were such a sucker for thighs,” I say.

“I’m a sucker for you.”

Forest. Fire. “You’ve met me one time, Dane.” Why is my voice so high?

“And!” He raises one finger in the air. “Watched you come.”

It’s so unexpected, I snort. “Fair enough, Dane. It’s not like I haven’t seen your dick. Helluva meet-cute.”

The car makes an unhappy grinding noise when I try to shift.

“You’re going to need to learn how to drive properly, woman.”

I scowl at him. “I’m getting used to it! What kind of car is this?”

He looks both perplexed and delighted. “It’s a Huracan.”

I nod like I pretend I know what that means.

“That’s a Lamborghini.”

“I drive a 2008 Ford F150, back at school. In case you were wondering.”

“I can do vintage. I’ve always looked good in those hats. You know the ones, the Charlie Chaplin kind. ”

I pull out of the marina and onto the main road. “A bowler hat? Not even sure you could pull that off.”

“Bingo! That’s the one. In fairness, I look good in everything. Except a graduation cap,” he says. “It’s fundamentally impossible to look good in a graduation cap.”

“I’m going to take a wild leap and say you got laid at graduation anyway,” I say wryly.

The silence speaks volumes.

“You can floor it here, if you want,” he says after a while. The road ahead is straight and flat, and there’s no traffic anywhere to be seen.

“Fuck it,” I say. They can probably buy me out of a ticket if I get one.

Dane’s eyebrows pop up over the rims of his aviators at the same time as I drop the pedal to the floor. The power of it, of the instant response from this chrome missile while we shoot ahead with the wind whipping my hair back, God my body sings with adrenaline. Like being on a roller coaster.

From out of nowhere, my brain conjures up the images of Reese Witherspoon being fingered by Mark Wahlberg in Fear. My pussy spasms unexpectedly.

Shit .

I ease off the gas and chance a glance at Dane. “A girl could get used to this,” I murmur. “But I’m stuck with my truck. Like the rest of us peasants.”

He rolls his head dramatically, and I can tell he’s rolling his eyes too. “Ugh, God, I’m so tired of poor people pretending rich people don’t have problems too. Do you know how hard it is to staff a yacht?”

I smack his arm but his chest is shaking, and soon so is mine.

I hate to admit it, but I’m having a really good fucking time.