Jesus, my vagina really does have way too strong of a hold over me if I’m getting this worked up overhair.
“There’s not much to follow,” he finally says, an edge to his voice that snaps me out of my horny reverie. “It’s quite simple, actually. The reality is, when you come from a rich family like mine, you never know who’s genuine and who’s just trying toget close to you because of your money.” He scoffs, waving a hand toward the jacuzzi where Andie and Eli look one heated glance away from fucking right there in the water. “I’m sure your friend’s boyfriend gets that.”
“Are you implying that Andie is with Eli for his money?” The hair on the back of my neck rises like the hackles on a hissing cat. “Because she isnotlike that?—”
Damian’s eyes blow wide at the ferocity in my voice. “I’m not,” he insists, holding up his hands to placate me. “I…didn’t mean it like that. I just meant thatIfind it difficult to make friends because of my family and who we are. That’s all.”
I scoff, unconvinced. “How do you knowyouaren’t the problem? You say you struggle to make friends, but the common denominator in that equation is you.”
His apologetic expression hardens into something that feels all too close to the anger gripping me. “You know what else is the common denominator?” he seethes, then flings his arms out to the side, gesturing all around us. “My family’s wealth. And every single time without fail, my ‘friends’ would take advantage of me for it. ‘Oh, Damian can get us into this nightclub because he’s on the VIP list,’” he says in a crude imitation of one of these so-called friend’s voices. “‘Damian, take us on your private jet.’” He snorts maliciously. “People are superficial and phony, andthatis why I don’t have friends.”
“What about Mason Harris?” The question comes out more like an accusation. But then, I suppose it is.
Damian bristles. “What about him?”
I hold his unwavering gaze. “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
An excruciating lull passes before he answers, as if he’s searching for the right words to excuse any acquaintance between them…or to try to justify it. “I’ve had the displeasure of going to the same high school and now college as Mason,” he explains. “A coincidence of proximity doesnotmake us friends.”
“Then why did you make the bet?”
His responding laugh is strangled. “Because I was bored, and I like a good challenge.” And yet, there’s something behind his expression that seems to refute that claim. Something that almost looks like pain. Or sadness.
“Is that really why?” I press, because I need to know there’s more to it than that—that the chaos that decision caused didn’t come down to something as fickle as boredom. When he doesn’t say anything more, when he doesn’t contradict himself, I sneer. “Wow. Well, that’s a shitty answer.”
“Welp.” He flings his arms out again, but this time, he lets them fall dramatically to his sides, his palms slapping against his thighs. “I’m sorry to disappoint you?—”
“What are you guys talking about?” a voice interrupts, and my heart jumps into my throat when I wheel around to find Ronnie double-fisting a glass of champagne and a very fancy-looking shrimp cocktail.
“Jesus, Ronnie, you startled me,” I wheeze, pressing a hand to my chest.
How much of our conversation did she hear?I wonder.
Hopefully, none of it,my conscience answers, and I internally nod in agreement. As if Ronnie needs another reason to disapprove of this arrangement.
Her dark eyes swing between my face and Damian’s as she takes a careful sip of her drink. Under the watchful reproach of her gaze, it occurs to me that she asked us a question.
What were we talking about? Nothing I can tell her about, that’s for sure.
“Uh…” I huff out an awkward laugh. “Damian was just telling me why his favorite movie isTwilight,” I say, partly because Bella’s vampire baby is the first thing that pops into my head (for reasons I can’t possibly fathom) and because I feel like getting back at Damian for being such an insufferable chode.
“Wait, seriously?” Ronnie gasps, glancing between us. “No way! Ilovethose movies. What team are you?”
“Yeah, Damian, what team are you?” I ask, smirking.
He makes it a point to ignore me, looking only at Ronnie when he says, “Team Jacob, obviously.”
Her eyes narrow, and her lips push out in an exaggerated pout, like she’s not quite sure she believes him. Crossing her arms, she gives him a dubious look. “Favorite film in the series?”
“New Moon,” he answers without hesitation.
Her eyes glint with determination. “Favorite scene,” she demands.
Damian laughs as if the answer is obvious. “Any time Taylor Lautner takes off his shirt. Oh, and that whole montage of Bella trippin’ adrenaline-fueled balls and seeing those weird hallucinations of Eddie. That was wild.”
Ronnie blinks up at him, her face a mask of surprise and amazement that I’m certain must mirror my own. At first, I genuinely thought he was joking when he said his favorite movie wasTwilight, but his answers to Ronnie’s questions have me second-guessing myself. I remember what part he’s referring to from the time Gina made me binge-watch all five movies with her, and I’m not convinced that answer is something he could’ve magically pulled out of his ass unless he had, in fact, seen them.
Ronnie opens her mouth to speak—either to gush that there’s something she and Damian have in common or to grill him with moreTwilighttrivia—but before she can get a word out, I say, “You were serious?Twilightisactuallyyour favorite movie?”
