Page 21 of Privilege

Chapter Seventeen

Dane

Over the years, I’d watched countless girls go up against Jamie and make a run at Rich. Half of them ended up in my bed instead but that’s besides the point. The point is, I’d never seen anyone take the I can make you want it so bad you’ll never be able to look me in the eye again approach.

Not nobody, Dane.

I shake off the thought.

Cara makes me think of this old Italian couple in Siena.

I stayed at an agriturismo outside of town for a couple of weeks, a tiny rundown vineyard with creaky beds and dirty windows.

But the food was killer and the owners were the warmest people I’d ever met despite the fact that they didn’t speak a word of English except you eat more.

They must have been a hundred years old, but every Saturday night they got drunk and had sex, their moans leeching out into the darkness and seeping into the grapevines.

Sometimes one or both of them would wander into the main living area pantless or topless and rummage around for more wine, junk hanging out, grey pubes for days, tits to knees, but they’d be holding hands and laughing and chatting away in Italian.

It made my heart clench. That people could love each other like that.

I see it for them. Rich and Cara. I see them old, and wrinkled, and drunk. And I’m so happy for him that I can’t breathe, because that’s all I ever wanted for my brother. My worst fear was that he’d knock Jamie up and end up like his dad, or worse—mine.

Cara. She’s the only good thing that came out of this whole fucking mess. When I said you don’t belong here, it was the biggest compliment I could ever give.

The girl has edges I wasn’t expecting. Guns hidden in her tits like an Austin Powers fembot.

If I’d thought the image of Rich’s balls slapping against her pussy was burned in my mind forever, the sight of Cara with her hand in Jamie’s pants and Jamie on her proverbial knees was the most satisfying thing I’d ever seen.

She has me on my proverbial knees as well.

Her icy silence has been killing me for days, but I turn back to my computer.

Almost done. It’s almost over, a few more all-nighters like this one, and then I can get the fuck out of here.

You’d think I’d be good at this, what with all the years of liver fermentation and permanent sleep deprivation.

But I’m exhausted. I’ve been working for days straight, trying to keep up with the emails and texts and calls and IMs and fucking carrier pigeons.

I’m not willing to leave this to anyone else. I can’t.

What can I say—I have trust issues. And I guess I’m more like daddy dearest than anybody would have guessed.

I sit on the terrace off the servant’s kitchen, hands wrapped around an enormous mug of caffeinated bean juice. It’s early, and the sun hasn’t even crested the horizon yet. The balcony overlooks the grounds, probably so that the staff can see if anyone needs them, even on their breaks.

When I’m done here, I’m going to take a very, very long break. Maybe in Fiji.

I glance at my laptop, the glaring one hundred and forty-two new emails mocking my lack of sleep. No matter how hard I work, I can’t keep up.

Sometimes I wonder if my punishment for abandoning Rich is having him back now, when I’m so close to being done with this place forever.

There’s a bang behind me and some whispered cursing. I shift in my seat and see Cara, wandering around in the dark in bare feet and one of Rich’s uni shirts, her pale thighs glaring at me in the din like a fucking lighthouse. She’s limping a little and muttering under her breath.

“Lost?” I say.

She purses her lips and wanders towards me, seemingly unconcerned with wielding her legs like the weapons they are, and plunks herself down on the chair beside me.

I want to trace your freckles with my tongue.

She sniffs at my coffee and leans forward, the loose neck of Rich’s tee slipping a little. Her collarbone is exposed, wide open for the taking, and I fight the urge to cover her back up. Or bite it. Either or, really.

“What does a girl have to do to get some of that?” she says.

I lean back in my seat and spread my legs a little. She narrows her eyes but I raise my mug to my lips at the same time as I raise an eyebrow.

“Oh shut up, Dane,” she mutters.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face has fucking subtitles.”

“You’re very cranky today, Cara,” I say sweetly.

“I’m caffeine and sleep deprived. And I’m mad at you.”

She snatches the mug from me without so much as a thank you and starts chugging it like a keg stand on the fourth of July.

Don’t think about her lips touching your spit. Don’t think about your spit on her lips. Don’t think about spitting on—

I shake my head and get up to make another cup. She hands me the now-empty mug and nods at me. Like, make me more Dane. Chop chop.

The involuntary smile playing at my lips would irritate me if she weren’t so fucking adorable, with the pillow mark on her cheek and the rat nest in her blonde hair.

I busy myself with making two more cups of coffee to keep from throwing her down on the terrace tile and fucking her until she screams.

“You look tired too,” she says.

“Mm.”

“What have you been up to?” Her voice is a tad accusatory for my liking.

“This and that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Dane.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“You and your brother,” she grumbles. “Can’t anyone just give a straight answer in your family?”

“Oh sweet summer child. That’s not how it works,” I say.

“It’s very irritating. I would very much like for you both to just stop with the cryptic foreshadowing of a blowout over some dramatized high school bullshit and talk to me.”

“Your directness is… refreshing.” I edit myself from saying ‘borderline sexual’. “Give Rich time. He’ll get used to you.”

“He’s used to me fine. He takes a while, but he gets there. You though?” She looks me up and down and my cock stirs. Not the time, buddy. “I’m not convinced you’ll ever answer me. ”

I shrug. “It’s a boring story. Like watching a teen drama with too many episodes per season.”

Her blue eyes roam all over my face, studying me, taking me in. My skin tightens like shrink wrap under the honest scrutiny; I’m not sure anybody has ever looked at me this long without grabbing my cock or my wallet.

“Tell me about Europe,” she says.

Surprise elbows me hard in the ribs. Of all the things I thought she’d ask me, that isn’t it.

“What about it?” My voice is reluctant. Suspicious.

A dreamy expression settles over her soft, beautiful features. “I’ve always wanted to go,” she says.

I frown. “So go.”

She laughs, a warm gentle sound that reminds me of sleigh bells at Christmas. I make a mental note to take a toaster in the bath later for spewing Hallmark over this girl.

“You know it’s not like that, for normal people, right?” she says. “We have to save. Plan. Take time off from work, for which we need permission.”

“Sounds lame,” I say with a shrug.

More laughter. “It is lame, I guess.”

We sit in silence, sipping our coffee in the servant’s quarters while the sun comes up, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt this calm.

It occurs to me that I could apologize for what I said in the boathouse.

But for some reason, one that is genuinely not driven by my own ego or stubbornness, it feels like she’s forgiven me.

Like she’s decided it’s not worth a grudge, even though I was a fucking prick.

It doesn’t matter whether Rich tells her about the past or not. This girl is his future. And fuck me if it isn’t going to be fucking amazing, for them.

Yep. Definitely need the toaster.

I shake my head; I need to keep my eye on the ball. Home fucking stretch.