Chapter 7
Callum
Five Years Ago
“So, are you into Clay or what?” Milo asks.
I cruise past the houseboat tilted on a grassy knoll in the center of town, a little display surrounded by park benches and gas lamps. My friend caps his flask next to me, while Vincent Law and Cameron Sable zone out in the back seat.
“I can be into her enough,” I reply.
My eyes aren’t drawn to her—or any other woman—like they are when I see Dallas Jaeger, though. I’ve noticed him and have found myself unable to be anywhere else other than home when I know he’s coming to tend the pool and lawn. Today was the first time I’d spoken to him.
His green eyes, piercing with the contrast of his black T-shirt, look best when they’re looking at me. God, he needed a shower. I wish we’d been alone.
“I don’t think you can get her.” Milo fixes his dark hair in his mirror. “She doesn’t seem to give a shit about you.”
“Is that a challenge?”
I see him smile over at me out of the corner of my eye. “Not really,” he says. “She’ll fold like all of them do. They’ll go to college and come home wanting what they know is right.”
A powerful man. A home. The life.
And we’ll come home from college, full from four years of pussy, and ready to put a ring on someone suitable, which will keep her faithful for a long engagement before we head off to grad school for more fun.
We cross the tracks, wind blowing through the open windows of my M3, a summer storm brewing overhead. My stomach somersaults the closer I get to him.
“Or you could fuck with her,” Vincent chimes in. “Show her who else wants you and rub it in her face.”
I blink slowly, my eyelids feeling heavy with the performance. “What do I care, either way?” I mumble.
Do they think Clay fucking Collins is such a catch and I can’t do better a hundred times over?
“Well, I’m sure you’d like to keep all that blond in the genes,” Milo adds.
I force a laugh and take his flask, uncapping it for a drink.
The truth is, though, I will marry Clay. My father likes what her parents bring to the table in terms of real estate, wealth, reputation, and family pedigree. Her grandmother, Gigi, is damn near the matriarch of St. Carmen.
But my father also hates that her parents don’t participate in the Wolfe Room. They want nothing to do with it, and marrying his son to their daughter would be a great way to make sure they have to endure him for the rest of their lives.
Clay’s not awful, though. I don’t dislike her.
She’s smart and beautiful, and I don’t dread talking to her. We have another year of high school, and she’ll go away to Wake Forest—me to UPenn—and my father wants to make sure I solidify a bond I can rekindle later when we’re ready.
I’m putting it off as long as possible, but this year is my last chance. I’ll have to make it happen. Make sure she understands that I’m going to be her ticket to a great life someday.
Milo shifts in his seat, looking out the window and yawning at the wild landscape. “We should’ve brought your sister.”
I toss the flask back into his lap, making sure it lands right on his dick. He lurches forward, groaning as he lifts it off his groin.
“Stepsister,” I mutter.
“They like our women.” He takes another sip. “She might’ve bought us some time.”
She’s only fifteen. Although that probably wouldn’t have fazed Dallas Jaeger. I saw him looking at her in her bikini today.
My father would never let her come to Sanoa Bay, though, not even for lunch.
The pretty, pretty princess stays home when he’s home, and when he’s not, he sends her shopping, and she makes videos for Daddy, modeling all of her outfits.
I told her it was fucking weird, and she told me I was jealous of their closeness.
Yeah, okay. I’m bitter.
It’s still fucking weird, though.
“She’s not a woman,” I remind Milo.
Thunder rolls across the sky, and I tilt my head out the window, the moon lighting up the clouds. In the distance, the sea stretches out like a vast plain, not a single light from a rig or a cruise ship.
Serene. Untouched. Prime real estate.
And it’s being wasted on people who can’t manage the bare minimum, like cleaning up their yards.
“Macon Jaeger is not going to put up with us coming over here,” Cameron tells us.
“And Army Jaeger does whatever he says,” Milo adds.
“And Iron Jaeger,” Vincent chimes in, “will try to kick our asses before we can even get a slice of pie.”
Olivia Jaeger might welcome us if she wants to keep the peace at school.
Trace Jaeger’s no threat. He doesn’t have an opinion without his brothers’ consent.
And then there’s…
“Dallas Jaeger…” I muse out loud. “He invited us.”
More like “dared,” but I’m not picky.
“For his own entertainment,” Milo points out.
I shrug. “He’s bored.”
Milo chuckles, massaging his crotch as he looks back at the guys. “He’ll be more than entertained when I get a blow job from one of their waitresses right here in about twenty minutes.”
And he slaps the center console in my car, totally ready because his girlfriend will never know.
“Good.” I slide up along the edge of the dirt road where it meets the grass. Mariette’s restaurant glows up ahead. “Because I’m bored, too.”
I climb out of the car, hearing my friends stumble out of the back seat, laughing.
I should’ve brought more people. And Milo’s right. Girls would’ve helped. Wind blows my hair as rain hits my shoulders, my linen button-down sticking to my chest. Scanning the area, I take in the diners on Mariette’s porch amid some empty tables. Good place to be seen, do some flirting…
But I lock in on the music blasting from my left and turn my head.
Light and activity spill out of the large house behind the trees, people talking with drinks in their hands as they loiter just off the porch. Through the windows, the house looks packed on the bottom level, the second floor and attic more somber, only a dim light in a couple of rooms.
I’ve known it was his house for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never been inside.
That’s where he’ll be right now, though. All that liquor. All those bodies.
Gesturing to the house, I grin at my friends. “Hurricane party.”
We’re not expecting a hurricane, but it’s only a matter of time. Southerners party more in bad weather. What else is there to do?
My friends laugh, every muscle in Cameron’s body tensing as if he can’t contain the excitement.
“Oh, shit,” Milo murmurs with a grin.
His blue eyes gleam with anticipation as they follow me.
We traipse across the muddy road, sidestepping puddles as I throw out a text and slip my phone into my back pocket. There’s one cell tower in Sanoa Bay, so my last known location will be logged. Macon Jaeger will know this. I’m sure we’ll be safe. Mostly.
But will they? I guess we’ll see.
Vincent stops as we approach their front yard. “Are we sure about this?”
“Don’t worry,” I reply. “I don’t go anywhere without protection.”
Milo snorts, and all of us turn and look up at the open front door. Some guests make eye contact as they stand in the yard.
Milo rubs his hands together. “First one to fuck someone in this house…” he says, “gets my car for the rest of the month.”
I might like that. He’s got a pristine 1980 Plymouth Volaré Roadrunner—a gift from his dad as long as he doesn’t fail another class.
We tread up the steps and walk into the house, the music hitting my chest like a hammer.
People fill the foyer, the living room, and the dining room to the left, several trailing up the stairs as well.
A few turn, checking us out as we drift in, and even with the lights dimmed, it’s impossible to look like we belong here.
Our shoes are leather; theirs are beat up from working hard.
Their clothes are Walmart; ours are Bal Harbour.
I gather it won’t be long before we’re discovered.
Milo nudges me in the abs, and I follow his gaze to a beautiful brunette.
Aracely Diaz. A real pain in the ass, and I look her up and down as she stands with a group of girls, doing the same to us.
“Go for it,” I tell him. “I’m going to browse.”
It’s what I usually say, albeit in different words. If Milo has caught on that I haven’t fucked anyone yet, he hasn’t said. He probably thinks I’m picky. Or a prude who only does it in private.
He moves toward the girls in the hallway, Vincent and Cameron heading to the kitchen for drinks.
I wander into the living room, locking eyes with a couple of girls, seeing them smile.
They take in my clothes, and I linger on their skintight jean shorts riding up their asses, and tits spilling out of their shirts.
I could have one or both of them tonight, and I wouldn’t even have to talk much.
They’d do it, because I’m something different and maybe I’ll buy them something pretty.
Turning back around, I lock eyes with Dallas as he leans against the wall, next to a window.
I stop.
His arm is wrapped around a girl, her body pressed to him, and I stand there as he makes out with her.
They kiss, his tongue licking her lips, and she’s lost in it—going at him and practically grinding into him, but…
He gazes at me, his mouth devouring her, but it’s like he doesn’t even know she’s there. He bites her bottom lip, dragging it out between his teeth.
As he stares at me.
He flicks her top lip with his tongue. For me.
Head tilted to the side, he peers over, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. He glides his tongue across her bottom lip, slow, and I fucking feel it like he’s doing it to me.
My groin warms as my cock swells, and my breathing turns a little faster.
Letting my eyes fall down his body, I can almost make out the muscles in his legs through his black pants, and I sail my eyes up his bare arms, toned and tanned from laboring outside, in his sleeveless navy T-shirt. The Tryst Six tattoo blazes big across his shoulder where it meets his arm.
When I meet his eyes again, he’s fucking smirking at me.
As he still kisses her.
He knows I’ve been looking at him a lot longer than I’ve looked at a single girl since I walked through the door.
“Fuck,” I grit out under my breath.