Bossy(96)

“I told you that was a mistake.”

“Alright, alright.” Sighing, I back off. “So what’s this guy like? Big and buff? Sweeps you off your feet? Makes you feel like a princess?”

She laughs. “What? Jealous? Yeah, he’s good looking. He wants me for me. Not just because I, in a serious lapse of judgement, threw myself into his arms at some scuzzy club.”

“Sounds lame.” We’re back in the living room, but still no sign of our parents. I don’t even want to know. “How’d you meet him?”

Angie’s pale skin flushes. “Actually, it was at a scuzzy club.” She gives me a pointed don’t-you-dare-judge look. “But he stuck out from the crowd. Tall, sexy. Gorgeous green eyes. He’s got a scar down his face, but it only adds to the look, you know. Makes him seem a little dangerous.”

Scar down his face? Paul? Shit. “Paul Cartman?”

Her jaw drops as she stares at me in surprise. “Are you following me around or something? Should I be getting a restraining order?”

“Jesus, no. It’s just that I know him. Well, know of him. That’s all.” I know of him alright. Like how he’s got his nose full of fucking cocaine more often than not. And that he’s got at least one more girl. Violet, I think her name is. He’s fucking scum, and Angie’s too fucking good for him. That makes this easy. I won’t even feel bad when I fuck her right out from under his powdery nose.

My face must have shown something of what I was thinking, since she looks at me curiously. “Why? Something I should know about him?”

“What? Nah, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” My hands are already clenching and unclenching. I’d better get out of here. “Listen, I need to jet. If our parents ever surface, could you tell them I had to go?” I shrug. “Just realized I had somewhere to be.”

She looks at me with suspicion, but seems just as happy to see me leave. “Yeah, okay.”

I feel kind of successful. That’s about the most civil bit of conversation we’ve had so far. “Don’t get too sentimental, now. I’ll be back to feel you up in no time.” Or not.

“I can’t wait.” Her voice could freeze over the Sahara.

“Of course you can’t. I’m irresistible like that.” I get the hell out of there before she can respond. I’ve got a face to pound.





Chapter 6: Angie


It’s almost eight thirty. Where the hell’s Paul? We should be boarding now. I look over at the ticket guy apologetically. Not that he seems to care. I guess it doesn’t matter to him whether we make it onto the boat or not.

An angry roar echoes off the warehouses along the water. Wait, is that him? A motorcycle pulls up, screeching into the parking lot like it’s in a car chase. The rider’s tall, broad and definitely not Paul. He looks like someone else I know, though. I wait impatiently while he locks the bike and pulls his helmet off.

Yep, it’s who I think it is. My step-albatross.

“Hi.” Gavin’s wearing his trademark smirk.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Paul couldn’t make it. So I offered to take his place.” He looks way too satisfied with himself. That can’t be good.

“What did you do?” I step closer, ready to... to do what, exactly? Chew him out, I guess, but somehow I doubt he’ll care.

“Me? Nothing. We just discussed, is all. He realized he had other commitments, and I realized that you wouldn’t be able to get on your cruise without me.” He hefts his suitcase. “So here I am. Ready to do anything to help out family.”

Alright, now I know something’s up. “What do you mean, not able to leave without you?”

“How closely did you look at the tickets?” The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Closely? Depends. What do you mean?” I pull them out of my pocket and look over them. They look identical except different serial numbers. Top deck suite, everything covered, have to be at the dock by 8:45 PM, both tickets in the name of Herbert Caldwell.

Gavin waits while I read, but eventually he runs out of patience. “Red text, just under Dad’s name.”

The red text is in thin print and hard to make out. Whoever thought red as a text color on a dark blue background made sense was an idiot. I peer closely with an impatient sigh.

ID required.

Crap.

I look up at Gavin, wrinkling my nose at the know-it-all look on his face. “So how are you supposed to save the day? Newsflash, you’re not your dad.”

“No, that’s true.” He gets his wallet out of his jeans, tugs out a card and hands it to me. It’s his driver’s license. Gavin Herbert Caldwell. “But I share his name.”