Chapter 19
Dad: Call me.
Itap the steering wheel, staring at the open text thread.
I was in an excellent mood up until my phone dinged while I was changing to pick up Rory. Now I’m swamped with uncertainty, wondering what my father has deemed worthy of a conversation after the silence that’s extended since the last time I was at Atlantic Crest Country Club.
I haven’t heard from my mom since that dinner either, which is slightly more unusual because she’s typically pressuring me to attend certain events she considers acceptable. My dad reaches out when he wants something or when he wants to relay his disappointment directly.
I’m still staring at the unanswered message when the passenger door opens. I startle, belatedly realizing I’ve been sitting out here for a while. I was intending to walk up to the front door, continuing to make a good impression on Oliver and—
Holy fuck.
Rory changed too. Her dress earlier was linen and light blue. This one is silky and short. Black, matching the heels she’s wearing and the darker makeup rimming her blue eyes. It rides up her thighs as she climbs in the car, pulling the seat belt across her chest and then staring at me expectantly.
Concern begins to bleed across her face. “Is everything okay?”
I’m not sure anything is okay.
I’ve always thought Rory was beautiful. She is beautiful, by any standard.
Attractive in an ethereal, timeless way.
Her beauty is classic, and I thought I was accustomed to the blonde hair and the blue eyes and the bright smile.
I’m not. I don’t know where to look; I can’t stop staring.
But I should not be looking because she’s in my car, doing me a favor, and making her uncomfortable is the last thing I want.
I blurt the first thing I think of unrelated to her appearance. “My dad texted.”
“What did he say?”
I flash her the screen.
“Ominous.”
I crack a smile. “Yeah.”
“Are you going to call him?”
“Nope.” I drop my phone and shift into drive. “You look hot.”
I attempt to say it casually, but the ensuing silence as I pull out of the driveway makes me think I failed.
“It’s Wren’s,” she says.
“Looks like your body to me.”
Rory huffs a laugh. “I was talking about the dress.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
I didn’t spend the past minute admiring her outfit. I was picturing the dress on the floor of the guest room at my parents’, where I’m planning to sleep tonight. Her, wearing nothing, on the bed.
Rory clears her throat. I watch her cross her legs, flashing another inch of thigh.
I shouldn’t have said that. Not only because of the swelling silence since, but because it sparked a whole bunch of questions I shouldn’t be obsessing over the answers to.
Is Rory attracted to me? Has she been with anyone since Carson?
If I’d made a move in the kitchen, rather than suggest this arrangement, would she have—
“You missed the turn.”
“Shortcut,” I bluff, mentally recalculating a new route.
I take a left, then a right, before Rory speaks again.
“Was Carson invited to this?”
“I don’t know.”
Is the possibility of seeing him tonight why she dressed differently?
I suggested this would benefit Rory because it was a way to erase any relevance Carson gained by dating her, not so she could make him jealous.
She doesn’t need to change a single thing about herself, and I’m pissed she might think differently.
But I can’t think of a great way to say any of that, so I don’t add to my original answer.
Ten minutes later, we reach the Clarences’ new house.
Rhody was right; their summer place stands out from the rest of the neighborhood.
I’ve never subscribed to the snobbery of new versus old money.
But I’m familiar with the sentiment, mostly because my family’s wealth is considered to be in the former category.
So is the Clarences’. The massive mansion they built on a bluff lacks the signature coastal charm overflowing from the surrounding neighborhood—wraparound porches, weathered cedar shingles, clamshell drives—and perpetuates plenty of ostentatious stereotypes about sudden wealth.
Their driveway is a stretch of spotless stone, the front facade a blinding white with massive windows illuminating most of the interior.
The sleek, modern style would look less out of place on a Malibu beach.
I find a spot along the crowded driveway and park. We walk in the direction of the noisy backyard side by side, the silence between us especially evident in contrast to the chatter and music ahead.
Since high school, these parties have served as a means to catch up with childhood acquaintances and former classmates I’m not close enough to see on any regular basis.
There’s probably only a year or two of these left before the majority gets married or starts having kids.
Spend evenings at more structured events, the sort of stuffy ones our parents host and attend.
Last time I showed up with a date, I spent most of the night making introductions while she clung to my arm. This is different. For lots of reasons, starting with our unorthodox arrangement, but mainly because Rory already knows everyone here.
As evidenced by the way a large group of women call her over as soon as we reach the pavers that surround the pool. Rory waves, then heads in that direction without so much as a departing word, leaving me in the unprecedented situation of showing up to a party with a date minus a date.
“Parks!” Rhody is by the bar set up on the opposite side of the pool.
I walk over, clapping him on the back while he does the same to me.
“Was I just fucking hallucinating, or did you show up with Rory Kensington?” He lifts a glass of liquor to his mouth, pausing before sipping to ask, “Is Kit here too?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. Kit isn’t here. But I showed up with Rory. We’re dating.”
Rhody starts coughing mid-sip. “Excuse me?” he croaks.
I frown at him, shaking my head when the bartender comes over to ask if I want a drink. I have a good idea what Rory’s thoughts on drinking and driving are.
“You’re serious.” Rhody sounds amazed.
“Yes,” I snap, unsure why his shock is bothering me so much. But it is.
“You said you were swearing off relationships after Molly.”
“Well, I changed my mind.”
“Also about Rory, apparently.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Rhody swirls the liquid in his glass. “She’s Rory Kensington, Flynn.”
“You call that an explanation?”
He sets his glass down. “One, she’s a Kensington. Two, she’s Kit’s cousin. Three, you guys are total opposites. Four, she just went through a messy breakup. Five—”
“I know all that,” I interrupt.
“Knowing something and thinking it through are two different things.”
“Jesus. I didn’t lecture you when you started dating Claudia.”
“No. You complained about not having a wingman anymore.”
“Well, I’d just lost Kit to fatherhood. It was a sensitive time.”
Rhody scoffs. “Speaking of, you’d better tell him before he hears it from someone here.”
“He already knows.”
His eyebrows lift before he leans closer.
I shove his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for your shiner.”
“He was happy for me—us—actually.”
Rhody groans, then swallows more liquor.
“How is that a bad thing?”
“If Kit approved, you did your Flynn thing.”
I frown. “What thing?”
“You’re a charming motherfucker, Parks. You made Kit think this would end with a white picket fence.”
“There are no white picket fences in Manhattan.”
Rhody sighs.
I glance at the pool, ignoring the brunette in a pink bikini who waves at me. Rory isn’t standing on the other side anymore. I’m not accustomed to keeping track of anyone else at events. I scan the yard, not finding Rory anywhere. She must have gone inside.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I tell Rhody. “I need a drink.”
“There’s a bar right here,” he calls after me.
I continue walking, straight toward the massive glass sliding doors that lead indoors.
A staircase is straight ahead, which leads up into the kitchen and a formal dining area that overlooks the pool and ocean.
Everything is white and modern inside too—cabinets and countertops and furniture.
The appliances are all hidden, so I have no clue where the fridge is.
Another bar has been set up in the corner. I head that way, figuring they’ll have sodas or something nonalcoholic I can grab before continuing to search for my date.
Halfway there, I finally spot Rory. She’s amid a crowd of people I recognize, but I barely give most of them a glance. I’m fixated on Knox Wellington, who is standing right next to her, smiling at whatever she’s saying.
I’m annoyed for about half a second, and then I realize this is a perfect opportunity.
I veer left, not stopping until I’m right behind Rory, seizing the chance to touch the silky dress that would be awfully easy to take off. I slide a hand around her waist and splay my fingers across her stomach in a possessive gesture I’ve never displayed before.
“Hey, baby.”
Sudden tension in her muscles disappears as soon as I speak. It’s supremely satisfying when I feel her relax against me as she recognizes my voice. Her heels place her at the perfect height for the top of her head to fit under my chin.
I focus on Graham, who is standing across the circle from us. He looks stunned, glancing left, then right at everyone else in the immediate vicinity.
“Happy birthday, man.”
“Th-thanks,” he replies.
His eyes are darting around the circle, similarly to several others, in a silent assessment of, Did you know about this?
“I need you for a minute,” I tell Rory at a normal volume, but since no one surrounding us is speaking, I’m sure they can all hear. Knox had better be listening.
Her head tilts back, meeting my gaze. “For what?”
“Something very specific that requires your exact skill set,” I say, tracing lazy circles on her stomach with my thumb.
She swallows, the delicate muscles of her throat briefly contracting. That would feel incredible around my—
Fuck. No. Not thinking about that, especially while she’s wearing this damn dress.