Chapter 25
“Hey BB, want to go to the park with me?”
There’s currently a heatwave in Massachusetts and going to the park seems like a terrible idea. “JuJu, it’s like, a million degrees outside.”
Really I should be glad Jules wants to hang out with me. He and Ben have finally “come into their own” as Mom says. Which I’ve learned means my friends think they’re hot now. Which is gross. And also makes it incredibly difficult to tell who wants to be my friend for me and who is just trying to get close to one of my brothers.
“C’mon, Bex. You’ve been in your cave all weekend—let’s go enjoy the sun. We can dip our toes in the creek.”
“What’s gotten into you? You’re usually the one who will crawl into my cave with me.”
Jules’ sigh is heavy. “Ben and Gabe are driving me crazy. I just need to get out of the house, okay?”
“Okay, JuJu. Let’s go.”
I’ve had to be “on” my whole life. As the only girl in my family, I’ve felt a pressure to be a certain way. Look a certain way. I don’t think anyone ever really pushed that on me, more so that I pushed it on myself after looking around and deciding who my family needed me to be, who my friends needed me to be. Where I fit in, in the world.
That same feeling crawls its way up my spine as Anders pulls up in his forest green Jeep Cherokee that has to be at least twenty years old. I’ve always thought his choice of car was interesting, but we’ve never really had a reason to talk about it.
I’m nervous to meet his parents, especially knowing he doesn’t have a great relationship with them. My mind is flooded with thoughts of how to impress them, to show that I’m worthy of their son.
I might have done a little googling after we got home from Margarita Monday and Anders’ family is loaded. Like, not just they have some money, but they have hosting galas at The Plaza kind of money. From what I can tell, it’s old money. Generational wealth. Wealth that Anders is probably supposed to inherit.
All the more reason for me to be confused about his choice of car. And another tick in my running column of reasons Anders might change his mind about us.
My family definitely never lacked in anything, but I realize that having four kids so close in age must have been a strain on the purse strings. I worry I won’t be able to measure up to the imaginary woman Anders’ parents have in mind for him. Someone who also grew up in New York society—who went to private school and was a debutante, or whatever the hell people with this much money do.
Jolting me out of my thoughts, Anders puts the car in park and hops out. “Sorry I’m late! It took me twenty minutes to find my car keys. They were in the pocket of the pants I wore yesterday, in case you were wondering.”
I snort as Anders rounds the front of the car, grabbing my things and placing them in the trunk before opening the passenger door for me.
“Your chariot, my passenger princess.”
“Hey! I resent that. I’m a great driver! I just… prefer not to if there are other options.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of a passenger princess,” he chuckles as he slides into the driver”s seat, his hand sliding across my thigh. “Plus, I like having you here like this. I’ll even give you control of the music.”
We have about a three hour drive into the city so I plug my phone into the cord that is attached to an honest to God cassette tape to play my road trip playlist.
“So, what’s with the ancient car? I’m guessing you could afford something else if you wanted it,” I say, testing the waters as Ben Rector starts to serenade us through the speakers.
He immediately bristles, as if this is one of his least favorite topics.
“I bought this car when I was seventeen with my own money. It’s been with me for almost ten years,” he rubs the dashboard affectionately.
“You actually had a job as a teenager?” I bump him lightly with my elbow to show him that I’m teasing and he relaxes slightly with the movement.
“I’m guessing you looked up the gala?” he asks instead.
My cheeks heat. “I might have. I just wanted an idea of what to wear. And imagine my surprise when I saw the ‘hotel’ we have a room at is none other than The freaking Plaza. Like I’m Eloise for goodness sake. And after a little more scrolling, I realized that a striking redheaded woman named Alice Olsson was not only on the board of Kids in the City, but that she and her husband fund the entire gala each year.”
“Ah yes, that’s mother and father dearest.”
“How did I not know this?! You don’t act like you are worth millions of dollars.”
“Because I’m not. My parents are. And it’s billions, actually.”
Holy shit.
“I ran from that life a long time ago, Bex. And confirmed what a great choice that was two years ago when I left home for good. I don’t see them often, but I do understand there are certain… obligations that come with our family name. So I go to this gala each year, because it is actually a good cause. But I haven’t taken a dime from them in years. And this car is the first big purchase I made on my own, without my father breathing down my neck, and I’m proud of it. If you are looking for the ritzy life that comes with being an Olsson, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
His words sting like a slap. I can tell there’s obvious resentment here, so I try not to take it personally, but damn. “You know that’s not why we’re… friends.” I whisper, feeling freshly chastened.
He takes a deep inhale and slows the car to pull over on a side street. He parks and then turns completely to me.
“God, I know. I’m sorry.” He scrubs his hand down his face before hooking both hands behind his neck. “I spent years around people who knew my family. They looked at me and saw dollar signs. But my parents, they—” He hesitates. “They’re not good people, Bex. And I don’t want that life. And yes, I did have an actual job as a teenager. My theater teacher worked at an after school program, bringing the arts to local New York public schools. He wrangled me into helping with a production one time, and then I was hooked. I had so much fun with these kids who had nothing. Who had parents that were trying so hard to keep food on the table and the lights on in their apartment. It was such a stark contrast to the life I was living.”
He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up in a way that makes him look even more adorable.
“Can I touch you?” he asks suddenly.
I nod, and grab his hand, bringing it up to my heart. He leans his forehead against mine before nuzzling his cheek against my cheek. The rough scrape of his beard sends a tingling feeling right between my thighs, just like it always does.
“I’m sorry for bringing up a tough topic, but you can talk to me about it, you know?”
I can feel him smile as he presses his lips against my neck. “I know,” he says right into the sensitive skin.
“Look, I’m terribly nervous about introducing you to my parents this weekend, but I selfishly want you by my side because you make things easier, lighter somehow. You need to know that my family is nothing like your family. My parents are not warm and inviting like Elaine and Hugo. I am terrified that my dad will say something to scare you away. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you, it’s normal for you to have questions, and I should have been upfront from the beginning about this weekend.”
I nod, unsure of how to respond to that.
“What I really want is to get dressed up with you, dance the night away, and enjoy a weekend where we can just be with each other without worrying about someone seeing us. Can we do that, Baby Bardot?”
“Whatever you want, killer.” And I mean that.
We pull up in front of The Plaza a few hours later, looking wildly out of place in the worn down Jeep, both of us sporting some variation of loungewear; in fact, my sweatshirt says “Villain Era” in all caps across my chest, and we’re both carrying overnight bags that have seen better days.
There isn’t anyone I’d rather be out of place with, though.
Anders walks in like he owns the place, which he probably could if he wanted to. The concierge doesn’t even look up from the desk as we walk in, and I notice that not a single bellhop offers to take our bags.
I self-consciously touch the messy bun on top of my head and run my hands under my eyes, trying to remove any mascara splotches left after passing the fuck out in the car.
“Name?” the concierge, Jessica, based on her name tag, asks.
“It’s under Erik Olsson,” Anders replies gruffly.
Jessica’s head immediately snaps up. “Oh, Mr. Olsson! I didn’t realize you’d be joining us this evening.” She eyes the bags still slung over our arms and the large garment bags with our outfits for tonight. Snapping her fingers, she calls over our shoulders, “Kenneth! The luggage for Mr. Olsson and his… guest.”
Message heard loud and clear, Jessica. I roll my eyes, but Anders just slides his hand around my waist and squeezes.
“You’re in the Carnegie Suite on the eighteenth floor. Will that suit your needs, Mr. Olsson?” she asks in a voice that sounds a little too sultry to me.
“That will be just fine, Jessica. Thank you,” Anders replies and I have to bite my lip to stop my giggle at seeing this side of him.
We walk over to the elevator and are blissfully alone as we ride up to the eighteenth floor. Anders doesn’t say anything, but he does grab my hand, lacing our fingers together before pulling it up to his mouth to kiss each one individually.
When we get to the door of our room, Anders unlocks it and holds it open for me to walk past him. “Damn. This is the nicest hotel room I’ve ever seen.” I walk over to the window, moving the heavy, and probably extremely expensive, curtains out of the way. “Holy shit! You can see Central Park from here!”
I feel Anders come up behind me, wrapping his hands around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Will this suit your needs, Mr. Olsson?” I tease as I turn and drape my arms over his shoulders.
He growls before picking me up, walking me into the bedroom—because there is a separate bedroom and living room in this fancy ass hotel room—and throwing me onto the bed. Slowly, he crawls up over me, and whispers into my ear, “I’ll suit your needs, you brat.”
And suit my needs, he does.
With his tongue, in the comfiest bed I’ve ever laid in.
As we dry hump on the velvet couch.
In the bathtub big enough for two, while I’m nuzzled between his thick thighs and his hand works me like I’m his favorite instrument.
Yeah, he suits my needs, alright.