Page 18 of You Were Never Not Mine
“Iris. Focus. Tell me everything you know about Sinclair.”
A long-suffering sigh leaves my sister. “Like I told you, I don’t know much beyond how you made her life a living hell your entire senior year for whatever reason, I’m still not sure. After you and your bully ass friends left, some of the youngerguys tried to keep it up, but she’d lost the braces by then and got boobs. Eventually they became bored and left her alone.”
“What happened next?” I sound eager for any morsel of information and I clear my throat, reminding myself that I don’t care that much.
“I don’t know. She kind of faded into the background. I didn’t have any classes with her.”
“What about Rowan? Did he have classes with her?” I mention our cousin who also attended Lancaster Prep around the same time.
“I’m not sure. You should ask him.”
I end the call before she can say anything else and immediately call my cousin. He answers on the first ring.
“What the hell do you want on a Saturday morning?” He sounds grumpy but I’m guessing he’s not. He’s just being a typical Lancaster male.
“Greetings to you too, cousin.” I sound like a formal prick, but he wouldn’t expect anything less. “I have a question for you.”
“Hopefully I have an answer.”
I don’t bother with niceties or asking how he is. Rowan and I are cut from the same cloth and he wouldn’t expect me to ask those questions anyway. “Do you remember a girl at Lancaster Prep named Sinclair Miller? She’d be in the class before you, I think. You would’ve graduated a year after she did.”
“Sinclair Miller? Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Have any classes with her? Any sort of interaction at all?”
“I don’t know…wait a minute. Bells is shouting.” The sound is muffled because I assume Row put his hand over the phone. “You knew her? Yeah?” His voice comes through crystal clear. “Bells remembers her. Wait—hold on.”
Arabella is on the phone in seconds, her sweet voice with the faint British accent making me smile despite my raging hangover and insane curiosity. “Sinclair Miller is a delightfulgirl who graduated the year before we did. I had her in a few classes. She’s very…determined.”
“Determined? How?”
“Intense. Smart. Has goals. I aspired to be her for about a minute my junior year and then realized it was a waste of my time. I’m not built like her. Not even close.” She pauses for only a moment. “Why are you asking anyway? Don’t tell me you’re interested in her.”
“Why do you say it like that?” I’m not interested. Not at all. Just curious. Puzzled by her willingly spending time with me last night. Even telling me about her bully who she said was dead to her—and it was me all along.
That makes no damn sense.
“Oh I know all about your ‘relationship’ with her. She would tell anyone willing to listen how August Lancaster made her freshman year a living hell.” Arabella makes a disgusted noise that has my heart shriveling. “You were cruel, August. I’m disappointed in you.”
Fuck. There’s probably no going back from this.
Chapter Nine
SINCLAIR
Monday morning and I’m walking along the campus trails with determined steps, eager to get to my first class early so I can take a few minutes to go over my notes one more time before our test. The first few weeks of college were fairly easy. A sort of easing into the swing of things, I suppose, and now it’s getting harder. There are more tests, more papers due, more group projects coming together.
I hate group projects. I much prefer working alone so I don’t have to depend on anyone else for my grade. I trust no one and with reason—I’ve been disappointed countless times over the years by various people. Some random person I don’t know that I’m forced to work with will undoubtedly let me down. It’s inevitable.
I pushed all thoughts of August Lancaster out of my mind and focused on studying throughout the weekend. Well, after I slept most of Saturday away because the hangover that I woke up with was horrible. I barely remember getting back to my dorm room, though I know I found Elise with her golden god after I came downstairs from August’s room. I was a raging, drunk mess and dragged her away from the boy who was stillhanging on to her hand. He didn’t want her to leave and we played tug of war with Elise for a second, before she finally jerked her hand out of his and told him to text her.
Ugh, and she tried her best to get information out of me about Friday night all weekend, but I wouldn’t say a word. The entire night feels like a secret that will die with me. Fuck August Lancaster and his tempting ways. He’s the devil.
Despite his Lucifer tendencies, I dreamed about him Friday night. What might’ve happened if I’d let him take it further. If I’d rolled around with him on that big bed of his, our mouths fused and our tongues twisting. His fingers between my legs, stroking roughly. Harder. Stoking the fire that burned inside me. I was so hot. Hotter than I’ve ever been in my life and when I woke up from the dream, it was to find my own hand between my thighs, fingers beneath my panties rubbing my soaked skin.
Elise was snoring—a sure sign she was also drunk—while I touched myself to thoughts of August’s wicked grin and naughty words and perfect, kissable lips.
I hate myself for falling under his spell. He’s not a nice person. And he proved that by admitting he didn’t remember the name of the girl he had sex with approximately twenty-four hours before he dragged me into his bedroom. And then he had that lipstick there. Like it belonged to that poor girl who probably left it behind so he wouldn’t forget her.
