Chapter 32
five cents
Dolly Beckett
As I shower off again, I try to clear my head.
First things first—I shouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of pregnancy, since I just finished my period.
Preston may be a dick to most everyone in the world, but he’d never endanger my health, so I know he’s telling the truth about being clean, too.
With those most pressing concerns out of the way, I turn to the next thing on my plate—how the hell I’m going to get him to leave me alone now that he’s here.
I can’t just pick up and move. Now that I think of it, I never told him how to get here last night. He drove me home without asking, like he already knew.
I shiver and shut off the water. How long has he been in California? Has he been watching me?
I climb out of the shower and towel off, feeling cold all over.
Glancing around my bathroom, I search for cameras, wondering what they’d even look like.
Preston’s seen me naked, but a camera is a violation that I could never forgive.
In high school, a rumor went around that there was a hole into the girls’ locker room where boys would watch us.
I never found out if it was true, but I never showered or changed in there again.
I try to own who I am, but I’ve always been self-conscious about my body.
It’s hard not to when you’re taller and weigh more than most men, not to mention getting boobs in fourth grade.
My body has been under scrutiny since my age was in single digits, when Preston used to get in fights with anyone on the playground who dared to comment on my boobs.
It seems to be on everyone’s mind when they meet me, so how could it not be at the forefront of mine?
I think of Nash’s comment last night, that I could be tall and lean.
He obviously doesn’t understand body types.
I haven’t been a size three since I was a 3T when I was three years old.
I could be a walking skeleton, and my hips would be wider than that.
A tingling heat works its way through me when I remember Preston picking me up, carrying me to the table and laying me down to fuck me on it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man who could do that—not that anyone ever has before.
Of course, Nash is six inches shorter than me and twice as old.
I can’t expect him to lift me without throwing out his back.
And we meet in hotel rooms, where the tables are too small for that kind of thing.
Even when I was with Devlin, who was young and strong enough to pick me up, we never did anything like that.
We were proper and did it in bed or maybe, if our parents were waiting up at home, in the car.
Devlin wasn’t the kitchen table kind of guy, anyway.
After doing my hair and makeup and dressing in a navy skirt, flats, and the yellow polo shirt with the café logo on the breast, I leave my bedroom.
The apartment is empty. I call out, but it’s quiet.
A silly little flip happens in my tummy, a twinge of disappointment.
I shove the thought away and grab my purse.
He even washed up in the kitchen before he left, setting the dishes neatly in the rack.
I remind myself that doesn’t change anything.
Sure, the guy made me breakfast—a damn good one, too.
But that was after completely violating my privacy by finding my home, pushing my boundaries and getting me to sleep with him while I was intoxicated, and refusing to take no for an answer when I told him we couldn’t be together and that he should leave.
I know better than to believe that’s the last I’ll see of him.
I walk out, locking the door and heading downstairs into the glaring sunshine.
For once, I’m on time for work. Halfway through my shift, I look up and see a man moving through my section, his strong, graceful stride making my heart sink even as I admire it.
I’d know the Darling gait anywhere. When I was a kid with a dream of being a ballerina, before anyone had the heart to burst my bubble with a dose of reality, I would have killed to have that natural grace.
Without awareness, my fingers move to the daisy charm on my necklace.
“You got a weirdo at table eight,” says Maria. “He asked to be seated in your section.”
“Thanks,” I say with a sigh. “I see him.”
“Between the mask and the lazy eye, I would have seated him in the corner by the kitchen where he wouldn’t scare away customers,” she mutters, stifling a giggle as she walks away.
I bite my tongue and calm the urge to go after her and give her a piece of my mind.
Preston’s been through hell, and the last thing he deserves is some catty bitch making fun of him.
She’d be lucky to get a second glance from a Darling boy.
My heart hurts when I think of how other people see him, how much of this bullshit he’s had to deal with for the past three years.
I march over to his table, pad in hand, and give him my brightest smile. “What can I get for you?” I ask.
I’m tempted to add the word “handsome” at the end just to show the other girls how shallow they’re being, but I know he’d see it as a mockery—and so would they. They don’t see him like I do. Even he doesn’t see himself that way.
When I get back with his avocado toast and sun tea, he has his phone out on the table, the texts open.
He quickly closes the screen, but not before I see the name at the top of the message—Miss A.
I hope it’s a maid and not a code name for a girl, but jealousy flares anyway.
He’s texting her while he sits in my section, at my workplace, after following me to California and apparently stalking where I live and work.
“Can you sit a minute?” he asks. “I have to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Your dad’s friends with Tony Dolce, right?” he says, though he probably knows how close they are better than I do.
“Yes,” I say. “I already told you, I’ve got nothing to do with that. You know I’m not on board with it, that I think the Dolces are all straight psycho, but I can’t pick my parents’ friends or who they do business with.”
“Tony Dolce’s dead,” he says flatly.
“What?” I ask, taking a step back, my eyes going wide.
It doesn’t seem possible. That man is a force of nature—coming in with his family and shaking up our sleepy little town, starting up a branch of his candy business and bringing in new money, getting a long-time judge thrown off the bench and replaced with one of his cronies, threatening and bribing Faulkner’s founding families to turn against the Darlings and dismantle their entire family legacy, instating his own children as the rulers of the most prestigious prep school in the state so he’s got even the younger generation locked down.
The guy’s a total creep who openly leered at my chest every time we met, so I have no fondness for the guy. Still, he seems invincible, a one-man empire. His complete domination of our town is hard not to admire, albeit begrudgingly.
“He’s dead,” Preston says again. “He died in some drug lab explosion.”
“No way,” I say, giving him an incredulous look. “That guy wouldn’t set foot in a meth lab for a million bucks. I know you hate the guy, but have you seen him? I can’t imagine anyone who looks less like a meth addict.”
Preston scowls, but hey, the guy was hot and suave, even if he was a total crook.
“It wasn’t meth,” Preston says. “It’s that Alice in Wonderland drug.”
I shrug. “Never heard of it.”
“Maybe it hasn’t made it out here,” he says. “Or maybe they call it something different in California. Doesn’t really matter. The guy was drug trafficking in Faulkner. There’ll be investigations into his connections. I’m sure your father will be under scrutiny as one of his closest associates.”
“No way,” I say again. “My dad would never be involved in something like that.”
Preston shrugs. “I’m just telling you. It might be a good time to come home.”
I sigh. “I’m not going home, Preston. Who are you getting this information from, anyway? The Tea app? I’m not sure I’d believe some internet gossip.”
“Harper told me,” he says, not flinching.
“Who’s Harper?”
“The girl I told you about,” he says. “The one I was seeing.”
The one I didn’t want to know about, but now I do know, and all I can think about is how he said he had sex with her without a condom.
That’s not something you do with just anyone.
At least I don’t. I don’t know if Preston did that shit in high school, but he doesn’t anymore.
Like he said, he’s only been with one girl in the past two years.
It must have been pretty serious if they stopped using protection, and they must have been pretty close if they’re still talking.
I clear my throat after an awkward pause. “Y’all still text?”
“We’re friends,” he says with a shrug.
“None of my business,” I say, holding up my hands. “I have other tables.”
“Dolly…”
I turn and walk away before I can say anything stupid. It doesn’t matter. He’s not my boyfriend. He can do whatever he pleases. Besides, I still talked to Devlin after we broke up.
But that was different. I still loved him, and I wanted him back.
Does Preston want Harper back? Does he still love her?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s going back to Faulkner, and I’m staying here. I have Nash, and my job here, and my music. Maybe I’ll even get an acting job soon.
I force a big smile as I bring drinks to another table, but I can’t help my gaze from finding Preston. He’s on his damn phone again, probably texting Miss Harper A.