“Well you look very pretty young lady!” Aunt Kelly can’t help herself as she snaps another couple of pictures, the flashes making me turn away and shield my eyes.
“Well I look stupid, stop it.” I groan, pushing her fussing hands away from the dress; “Why do I have to wear this dumb thing?”
“Because it’s my graduation, that’s why, Ray-Ray.” Quinn giggles and sticks her tongue out as I make a lunge at her, only to be held back by Aunt Kelly.
“Reagan!” She scolds, looking at my firmly. Aunt Kelly is one of those sweet motherly types who is incapable of looking mad no matter how hard she tries, and even at thirteen, I think I’m aware of this fact and impressed with her attempt anyways.
“She started it! I hate that name!”
Aunt Kelly turns and gives Quinn another equally as unimposing stern look; “Be nice to your sister, she is wearing the dress after all.”
“What’s the point? It’s not like Dad’s going to show up anyways.”
The silence that descends over the bottom of the stairs is palpable, and I instantly regret opening my mouth as Chelsea’s face falls and the tears start to well up in her eyes. Even always-cool Quinn looks like I slapped her in the face, and my Aunt’s face goes a shade whiter; “Now Reag-”
“Fuck you, Reagan.” Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.
I don’t know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.
P R E S E N T
Hudson gets weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge that’s already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn’t know my own father half as well as he did.
“Look, let’s go get a drink or something and I’ll explain.”
He can not be serious.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I remember the last time with him when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face grow hot.
“Will you fucking relax?” He snaps, looking irritated and still holding out his jacket to me even though we both know I’m not going to take it. “Look, this isn’t about us-”
“There is no ‘us’, Hudson,” I sneer. I know I’m covering for my own embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?
“Yeah, no shit, babe.”
I glare at him.
“Listen, Red,” He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even hotter when they’re fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look at his chin instead.
“Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are actually interested in seeing work out for you.” He shakes his head at me, as if I’m some petulant child. “Get over it being your father’s compan-”
“Are you shitting me?” I can feel the fury rising inside as I cut him off and stare at him in disbelief. “You think this is just about me trying to act out or snub my Dad? Do I look like I’m fucking twelve years old?”
“Twelve year olds are better behaved, Princess.” He grins at me.
“Don’t call me that!” I snap shrilly. “I don’t want the money because I am not taking campaign donations from a gun manufacturer!” Half my damn platform is about cleaning up the streets and keeping firearms out of the hands of kids; how the hell did Donald OK this?
Hudson purses his lips - those perfect, totally kissable-
“We got out of all that, it’s nothing we do anymore.” He says evenly, his eyes staring into mine.
“Sure.”
He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes at me. “Jesus, have you always been this ridiculous? Look, just come have a fucking drink with me and I’ll explain everything.”
I know the sneering face I make at him plays entirely into his calling me childish but I just don’t care. I turn back to the doors and see Donald standing behind them back inside the museum, giving me a scowl and shaking his head, and I can practically feel his disapproval from here.
“Fine; let’s go.”
“This is your car?”
He looks up from the passenger door he’s opened for me with a smug expression. “Yep.”
Of course it is. I roll my eyes, wondering for the ninth time since we walked out of my own fundraising event why on earth I said yes to this.
The sleek black vintage Charger is sexy as hell, but it’s just so overtly masculine and absurdly macho that I just shake my head as I slide into the passenger side of the bench seat. A car like this, of course, usually says that you’re making up for something else. I instantly feel my face flush scarlet with the memory of that one moment and the size of that thickness pressing against me as he kissed me.