“I’m fine. It’s a special occasion. It’s prom!”
“You might not say that when you’re out of it and your boyfriend takes advantage of you and starts feeling you up.”
“Eww, Carly—he is not my boyfriend and that is too sick to even think about!” Jessica declared.
“What? That’s probably the only way he’ll get anything. You’d have to be passed out.”
Jessica laughed. “Or maybe be totally stoned.”
Everyone laughed.
I thought my cheeks couldn’t burn any hotter, but they did.
Someone asked, “So that weird rich kid is your boyfriend?”
“Hell no.”
“But you went to prom with him,” Carly pointed out.
“So? Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do anything else with him. Yuck. I don’t even like him. But I knew since he’d never had a girlfriend and he’s rich that he’d go all out for prom to try and make me think he was cool.”
“So, are you gonna be his girlfriend now?” some dude said and made kissing noises.
“Fuck off, Tyler. No. Gross. I can’t imagine rubbing against his zitty face if he kissed me.”
“Hey, he’s rich. Maybe he can get plastic surgery to fix his face.”
More laughter.
I’d had enough. I cut through the grounds and ran the half mile to my house. Once I was in the sanctity of my room, I ditched the tux. Then I dialed 911 and reported a break-in on the Lund property.
I finished out the last two weeks of school at home. I changed to an all-boys prep school for my senior year.
So over the years I’d learned to be more cautious, but rejection still had the power to send me spiraling back to that awful night.
“Mr. Brady!”
The doors to the box were open and our regular security guy manned the door. “Burt. Are we over capacity in the suite yet?”
“Not even close. Miss Annika didn’t arrive with her usual entourage today. And I believe Mr. Archer isn’t here because his wife is feeling poorly.”
I walked into the private box. Game day meant the Lund jerseys came out. No one in the family was exempt from wearing them. Not only were we a supportive bunch, we were suspicious too.
My mother was the first one to greet me. And by her somber look and long hug, I knew Maggie had filled my parents in on last night’s events. I didn’t blame her; Siobhan hadn’t considered that her actions might put her aunt’s job in jeopardy. Not that it would—my dad wouldn’t survive a day without Maggie running his daily affairs—but it’d been a poor decision on Siobhan’s part, especially after Maggie had gone out of her way for the thankless girl.
“Brady,” my uncle Monte boomed. “Come and meet some associates from Texas.”
Warily, I eyed their Texans jerseys. At least they weren’t Cowboys fans. We exchanged pleasantries and Monte let me drift away because I could tell he was in business mode.
I snagged a beer and wandered over to the window, watching as the stadium filled in with a sea of purple and gold.
Only a few minutes passed before my brother Walker stood next to me. “Oddsmakers are saying this game will be too close to call.”
“It’ll be interesting to see if Jensen plays.”
“Second half, I’m betting.”
“Did you talk to him this morning?”
“Briefly. He said they’re confident they’ll win this one.”
I snorted. “PR. He always says that. Their record of one and three doesn’t back up that statement.”
“No shit.”
An arm snaked around my waist. Another one snaked around Walker as our sister Annika inserted herself between us. “Hey, thing one. Hey, thing two.”
“Hey, brat. What’s up? Where are all your hangers-on?”
“Why is everyone saying that? I don’t always surround myself with a million people.”
Walker and I exchanged a look over her blond head and we both laughed. “Right.”
“Can’t a girl just spend quality time with her family without being grilled about it?”
“In this family? No.”
She faced us, putting her back to the window.
Our little sister took after Mom—she was undeniably gorgeous. Annika had done some modeling in the Twin Cities, mostly to appease our mother. For being raised the daughter of a fashionista, Annika didn’t always present a flawless appearance. Oh, she could. When she was on, the girl was on fire. But when she wasn’t running PR for Lund Industries, she took the term “dressing down” farther than our flannel-shirt-and-faded-jeans-loving brother Walker did.
Walker said, “Want a beer, sis?”
“Sure. Leinie Bock if there are any left.”