Chapter 3 #2
Looking behind me, I see Silas Kenzington and my brother Jace standing at the top of the hill, near the tattooed God.
My brother shifts and steps in front of Silas, pushing him back up the incline.
I don’t know how he manages it, seeing as how Silas Kenzington is fucking huge.
I mean, over 6 feet of thickly muscled, gorgeous man.
Jace is taller, but Silas has at least 50 pounds on him, and for a second, it looks as though he and Silas may come to blows with the way Silas is pushing at my brother’s arms, forcing him back.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Silas points at us, well, at Dru.
What is going on with them? I know Dru works for him, but jeez, Silas is giving off crazy boss vibes right now.
I turn to my new friend, and she doesn’t react, but I can tell that Silas being here bothers her. Her relaxed posture is now tight, and Ben, her and Sophia’s new best friend, whispers to her. She nods, her face tense.
Silas walks to us, and the moment he says her name, Dru ignores him, sliding into the water, swimming to the other side of the pool. Ben follows her. Silas curses, stalking to the other side of the pool, following them.
“What was that about?” I ask Sophia since she’s the only one left.
Sophia takes off her shades and places them on her head. “I hope he falls in the water and drowns.”
“What did he do?”
“Enough,” is Sophia’s cryptic reply.
“That bad?”
“That bad. He fucked her over and I’m mad as hell.”
“Wait? Dru and Silas?” My mouth drops open. Dru is sleeping with her boss?
“Yup.”
Despite my shock, I can see it. Dru is a badass nurse working for Silas’s grandmother.
I’ve known Silas Kenzington for years. Now that I think about it, I can see how he would fall for Dru.
She’s sweet and funny, but doesn’t take shit.
The way she keeps swimming away from him, though, he must have done some terrible shit.
She’s definitely hurting. And he looks pissed because she’s not giving him the time of day.
When she sits on the edge of the pool a few feet away, Silas tells her he wants to talk to her.
Her response is clear. “Send me a text.”
Ouch. I turn away from eavesdropping on their exchange to find that my sexy tattooed man is still watching me.
I swallow, looking away. I pick up my drink and take a sip, suddenly parched.
For some reason, a picture of Reed comes to mind, and I feel a moment of guilt.
I shouldn’t be looking at him because technically I’m in a relationship.
My inner slut shouts in laughter. A relationship?
Get real. A relationship with a man whom you haven’t slept with in almost a year?
The same man who you think is sleeping with other women?
The man who gave me an STD? I know I need to leave, but with medical school giving me hives and the pressure from my father, I just can’t deal with another upheaval like ending things permanently with Reed and having to move out of the apartment we share.
Reed Spencer is an associate professor whom I met when I started taking free art history classes offered at City College.
No one knew about it, not even Jace. Did I have time to take extra courses that weren’t about anatomy or physiology?
No, I didn’t, but I needed a creative outlet, and those once-a-week night classes kept me sane.
I kept taking classes, and one day Reed asked me out.
I was hesitant. In my experience, men weren’t great.
Most of them wanted to date me because it was financially beneficial.
Marriages between men and women in our set were common.
I was expected to marry well. So dating was tricky.
Most of the boys I knew through my father’s friends were entitled assholes.
When I went to college, it was more of the same, but I pretended to date two college guys and have sex with them because I wanted to fit in.
They made the experiences boring and over too quickly.
So when I met Reed, it felt good. He was so different from any of those All-American preppy college boys I grew up around.
It felt rebellious. He was cool, artsy. He loved discussing art history and visiting museums. He listened to jazz music and had a ’60s retro style.
He was the antithesis of everything I knew.
After a month of dating, we moved in together, signing both our names on a lease for a swanky apartment in the West Village.
Reflecting on it now, I have no idea why I did it, but it felt liberating at the time.
I wasn’t living somewhere that my father paid for.
It was a regular apartment with no doorman, slightly warped floors, and neighbors who played loud Spanish music on the weekends.
It was great for a few months. I was living a colorful life.
Going to med school during the week, but hitting up bars and events with Reed, feeling like I was finally moving away from how I was raised.
Cold. Sterile. Unfeeling. But living didn’t help our relationship, which had grown stale.
I discovered that while Reed had an artsy vibe, he was also a major flirt, and after six months of living with him, I knew something was going on, but I didn’t have concrete evidence.
And when he found inconsistencies, Reed explained them away.
The earrings under the radiator? They must have been there before we moved in.
The tube of vanilla lip gloss is in his car. He’d let a friend from work borrow his car.
The thong that wasn’t mine was in our laundry. It must have belonged to a stranger who used the dryer last at the laundromat.
Gripping the edge of the pool, I sigh at my own stupidity. For months, I put my head in the sand, convincing myself that it was in my head, until my visit to the clinic made it clear that I couldn’t pretend any more. I couldn’t ignore the burning, discolored discharge in my panties.
The confirmation from my gynecology appointment that I had chlamydia was all I needed to stop having sex with Reed.
He was the only guy I was sleeping with since I met him, but the look on my doctor’s face let me know I wasn’t the only one he was sleeping with.
Confronting him was a nightmare. He denied it and then threw it at me, saying that I must be the one cheating.
Fed up and at a loss, I moved into the second bedroom, not wanting to deal with him anymore.
After a few days of silence, he apologized, swearing that he wasn’t cheating and that the results must be wrong.
I didn’t believe him, but I was too exhausted to think more about it.
That was four months ago, and I still haven’t moved out.
So, for me to be salivating after a stranger I don’t know is sheer lunacy. I’ve sworn off men. I don’t need another thorn in my side. I just need more time to figure out my shit. Find a new place to live. Figure out if I want to be the surgeon my father demands of me.
For so long, I’ve followed the rules and stayed on the path that was laid out for me as the only daughter of billionaire businessman Tae Park.
The Park Heiress. I’ve heard it all my life, and I’ve hated it just as long.
It’s one of the reasons that I prefer to use my mother’s maiden name, Whitter.
To most of the world, Camryn Park is a mystery.
A woman who is rarely seen, except at a few social events.
I don’t participate in the scene. The paparazzi mostly leave me alone.
I’m not fun anymore. I wear clothing that is simple and not a name brand.
I don’t drive a luxury car. I don’t attend lavish parties.
I’m ‘boring’ according to the blogs and influencers.
I’ll take it if it means that I’m left alone to live my life in peace.
I lift my head to find him still watching, studying me.
This time, I don’t look away because I’m not going to pursue anything with him.
Looking is harmless. He knows my brother, that’s it, and after today, I probably won’t see him again.
I covertly study him, paying attention to pulling out a brown cigarette. Never seen that before.
When Jace calls his name, he breaks our stare and walks to my brother.
Damn, the back is just as sexy as the front.
His firm ass looks fantastic in his jeans.
And his back? It’s insane how wide it is.
A moment later, he turns around, and I suck in a lungful of air because he and my brother are heading for me.
I sit up taller, watching him stalk toward me, his powerful stride making my body scream.
I cross my legs, hoping I don’t stutter like a fool.