It was a scandal of epic proportions, and to say my parents ripped me a new asshole would be putting it lightly. The story graced the pages of tabloids and was a prominent talking pointon social media for weeks, but that was ages ago. The world has long since moved on.
Besides, as I already told my parents, it was Mason who made the list public, not me. I never intended for anyone to find out about it…especially the girls who were on it. Okay, yes, it waskind ofa shitty move to make the list in the first place, I admit that. Though, technically speaking, the list was Mason’s brainchild, not mine. Besides, it wasn’t like my behavior during the bet was any different than how I normally act in my pursuit of the opposite sex. I was simply hooking up with whoever fit the specific criteria instead of anything with a vagina and a pulse. I never led any of my hook-ups into believing we could be something more—by now, everyone at Conwick is aware I don’t date—and I definitely never went into it with the intention of hurting or embarrassing anyone. Again, that was all on Mason.
But then…I should have anticipated his almost impressive inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. And for that, I suppose Iamat fault—not only for trusting him but for thinking it wise to take him up on the bet to begin with. As fun as it was, if I hadn’t agreed to the bucket list, then Mason wouldn’t have livestreamed the outcome…or felt compelled to respond to the comments, revealing the identities of all the women I slept with.
Like Blondie…or my freshman year psych professor, who only kept her job because she was no longer my teacher at the time we had sex.
Dad huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yes, your three-line Instagram apology was very compelling.” Holding my gaze, he leans forward, tapping a finger against the crinkled tabloid cover. “Look at the date,hijo.”
Fisting my hands in my lap, I glance down at the date printed just above the barcode. September 6th.
Wait. That’s today’s date.
Why would tabloids be printing stories about this again? News of it ran dry months ago. The video no longer exists—it was deleted within hours of Mason going live—and we destroyed every shred of evidence related to the list, including the names that were on it. There is quite literally nothing left for anyone to hang over my head.
“Your”—Mom clears her throat, and I glance up, noting how uncomfortable she looks—“wager you made with your friend has certain investors feeling…unconvincedabout your future involvement with the company. At least one has gone on the record about it that we know of. Hence why news of your little stunt has resurfaced despite our best efforts to quash it.”
Okay, I was wrong. My mother’s words don’t just hang over my head. They’re a goddamn guillotine.
“Do you understand the severity of the situation you have put us in, hijo? Without those investors, we could crumble.” My father shakes his head, and for the first time since I sat down at this table, I notice the fresh worry lines creasing his face.
My parents both stare at me in silent anticipation, but I don’t know what they expect me to say or what they want me to do. WhatcanI do? It’s not like I can turn back time. What’s done is done.
“Then find new investors?” I suggest, even though I know it’s the wrong thing to say.
Dad exhales through his nose like an angry bull, while Mom lets out a delicate tut. “It’s not just the investors, Damian,” she says. “The board isn’t convinced either.”
I snort. “Who cares what those dinosaurs think? If it’s mediocre old guys you need, this country is full of them.”
“Damian.” My father’s tone holds a sharp, warning edge.
“What?” I fire back, feeling increasingly defensive with every word out of my parents’ mouths. My patience with thisconversation is exhausted. “Youown the company. Tell them all to take their opinions and go fu?—”
“Enough!” He slams his palm down on the table, and the whole restaurant instantly goes silent.
So much for not making a scene. Dad must be furious to allow his composure to slip like that.
For a moment, he glowers at me, only looking away to cast a knowing glance at Mom. Then, with a deep, calming breath, he drops his voice and growls, “I will do no such thing.”
“Why?” I press, even as my brain tells me to shut the hell up.
His responding glare is scathing. “Because I agree with them.”
This admission takes a few seconds to penetrate my thoughts, during which time I just stare at my dad, open-mouthed. “What?” is all I can manage to say.
A tired sigh escapes him as he rubs a weathered hand across his face. “I’ve had enough, hijo.We’vehad enough.”
A pang strikes me square in the chest, and I swing my startled gaze toward my mother. “Mom?”
But she just shakes her head. “The partying. The bets. The skipping classes… This has gone on long enough. It ends now, Damian.”
Okay, the bet they knew about. Singular. But bets?Plural? Partying? Missing classes? I flash them each a scornful look. “What the fuck? Have you been spying on me?”
Dad rolls his eyes at my offended tone. “We wouldn’t have to spy on you if you would learn to behave.”
I choke out a disdainful laugh. “Well, if you’ve been spying on me then you know I’ve already completed almost every required course for my major and minor, and only have bullshit core curriculum classes this semester—which only started four days ago, I might add. And those lectures are full of useless information I’m never going to actually use, and which donothing but force us to pump out more time and money for a degree. A degree I’m sure Dad can just buy me if need be considering he bought my way into that school.”
I know the exact moment I’ve crossed a line by the way my father’s face scrunches with rage and my mother’s complexion goes from a glowy uses-the-sunbed-at-least-once-a-week beige to owns-every-Celine-Dion-album-in-existence white. At the same instant she says my name, scolding me for my impertinence, Dad hisses, “How ungrateful can you be? I worked hard to get where I am, and we have provided you with every possible opportunity to better yourself and set you up for the future. Agoodfuture. All we have ever asked is that you show a little incentive, but instead, you’ve squandered these past four years with embarrassing behavior befitting a toddler.” He shakes his head, his expression darkening. “The first year we could understand, but the last three?” He clicks his tongue, but doesn’t say anything more, and the lump growing in my throat is too thick for me to find the words to respond.
