Lexi

Now that the day is officially shot to hell, there’s only one way I can think to salvage it. Heading out the French doors to the patio, I trudge across the backyard barefoot. Along the way, I shed the white polo-style shirt with a red ‘Cypress PointeLanes’ logo on the pocket. It slips off the tip of my finger and into the pool on my way to the edge of the lawn.

Gripping the rough slats of the rope ladder, I climb into the practically ancient treehouse before drawing the rungs in behind me. These four walls are haunted by the memories of my childhood, reminding me of the hours me and Amelia spent here. Back before she got mixed up with the wrong crowd and left me behind. Back when the dream was still to stick together no matter what. Now, I come here when I need to clear my head, when I need to feel close to her.

Sometimes, I catch myself believing she’s gone forever, only to remember that it just feels that way. It’s been a lifetime since we really talked. I mean, just the two of us—no guards supervising, no clock winding down on our visit. But there’s no sense crying about it. Crying doesn’t draw people back into your life. I should know.

In nothing but khaki shorts and my bra, I stretch out on the floor, feeling around for the small tin beneath the window. When I find it, I reach inside and pull out the joint and lighter stashed there. I blaze up while staring out through the missing patch of roof above. It offers a clear view of tonight’s full moon as I inhale, then exhale a ring of smoke.

I’m in no rush to leave my little treetop shack, because what the fuck would I be rushing back to? According to Benny, I’m no longer welcome, and I’ve got exactly thirty days to get my shit and get lost.

Fuck my life.

His words echo in my thoughts, how he’d be impressed to see me make it six months without fucking up a good thing.

Well, fuck him and his ideals. I’m just me. Not his precious darling, Louisa, with the perfect job, perfect house, perfect kid, and tolerable husband.

My phone’s still going off like crazy with texts from my girls, but all I want is this. The nothingness.

Another puff of smoke bellows from my nostrils and out comes the stress of the day with it. Hell, I even manage to laugh a little when I think about how Cole screamed like a bitch when I slammed his knuckles.

Asshole had it coming to him.

I’m nearly relaxed and in the zone when a sound outside the window has me propped up on one elbow, leaning in to listen more closely. I strain my eyes to see across the neighbor’s yard when I realize the rustling’s coming from that general direction. But it’s almost pitch black out, so I can’t see shit.

I know the couple who live there pretty well. Or at least I knew one of them pretty well. He was the overseer of my former prep-school, Headmaster Harrison. He’s long gone now, seeing as how the marriage ended in a nasty divorce several months ago. But his stuck-up Barbie of an ex, Gina, still lives there, alone in their McMansion.

I move a little closer to the cutout in the wall and even set my joint aside to get a better look. I swear there’s a figure slipping out of an upstairs window of the Harrison’s, creeping along the edge of the roofline now. This must be some damn good weed, because my mind’s already playing tricks on me, making me hallucinate weird shit that’s not really there.

But suddenly, I’m not so sure about that last part.

A tall, muscular figure drops down from the overhang superhero-style, and I’m starting to get the full scope of what’s happening. Especially once the security lights are triggered and the guy’s half-naked body becomes completely visible.

“What the fuck?”

I choke on the question as a quiet laugh slips out. All at the realization of what I’ve just witnessed—some frazzled dickhead in boxer-briefs, clearly making a run for it.

What the hell does this woman do to men that sends them screaming for the hills?

I watch him scramble, looking for the best point to scale the fence until he spots one of Ms. Harrison’s expensive topiaries. He uses it for leverage and, clutching his clothes beneath his arm, proceeds to hurdle himself into our yard. I’m on all fours now, watching him run this way, straight for the treehouse. And it isn’t until then, when I get a better glimpse of his dark hair, the inked images staining his shoulders and arms that I have a revelation.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I whisper, scrambling toward the treehouse opening just as he approaches. Panting, he peers up from the base of the tree, searching for a way to get in, but I’ve got the ladder beside me.

He has no clue this space is already occupied. I could just stay quiet, could let him move on to take cover elsewhere, but… where would the fun be in that?

“Well, look who it is,” I croon, hovering over the entrance. The greeting makes him stop dead in his tracks as he squints.

I’m aware of the moment he figures it out, recognizes my voice, maybe even sees my face despite my hair covering it. It’s enough that he must at least know he’s hopped the wrong fence and stumbled into the wrong yard.

Because I hate his guts.

“Sterling-fucking-Golden,” I say to myself, muttering his name like some evil comic book villain.

“Rodriguez?”

That’s right, dick. It’s me.

There’s no containing my smile as I stare down on him. My path’s been entangled with this guy’s nearly all our lives, no matter how we try to avoid it. No matter how much our encounter at the Monster Bash years ago solidified neither of us wanting anything to do with the other. I swear the universe hates me or has an incredibly warped sense of humor, though. I figured that out in recent months. First, when his brother West hooked up with Blue, a new girl in town who ended up growing on me. Then hisbrother, Dane, settled down with Joss, who I friended by default when she and Blue got cool.

Apparently, all four of these selfish assholes thought it’d be cute to fall in love and make things awkward as hell for numero uno. Me.

Update: It wasn’t even a little cute.

Now, when we hang, it’s usually in a group. And that means I’m stuck tolerating this cocky piece of shit on a fairly regular basis. And, yes, even with all the unavoidable crossover, that’s as far as we’ve come.

Tolerance.

For whatever reason, Parker’s pic of us never got posted that night, but the select few who stood near that well outside the barn will always know what went down. Because of this, the animosity between Sterling and I hasn’t faded over the years, and I don’t imagine it ever will. Guess he’s getting a fresh reminder of that tonight—as I grin at him in his undies, lingering at the base of the tree.

“Where’s the damn ladder?” he growls through gritted teeth, right before passing another frantic look toward the Harrison residence.

“Do you mean… this ladder?” I tease, dangling the bottom rung just out of his reach.

His teeth sink into his lip, and I know there’s an insult brewing inside him.

“If you want in, you’ve gotta entertain me first.”

His scowl deepens and I’m certain he’d strangle me if he could reach. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

A laugh slips out when I think of something, and I can practically feel Sterling’s anger brimming over.

“Scale the tree Spiderman-style and I’ll let you in.”

The request earns me a deadly glare. “Does it look like I’ve got time to fuck around?” he snaps. “Lower. The fucking. Ladder.”

His blistering words are wasted on me. I’m one of the few he doesn’t intimidate. One of the few not moved by his money, his status, nor his foreboding football physique. He’s twice the size he was back in the day, but I’d deck his ass all over again.

The triplets evolved to be every girl’s worst nightmare—thoughtless, self-absorbed players who use their looks to talk woman out of their panties. Then, they’d inevitably break their hearts. They were a true pack of fuck-boys loose in the wild, following their dicks to and fro. Only, West and Dane managed to change. Or maybe it was love that helped them pull their heads out their asses.

But Sterling? Not so much.

He’s worked up, doing another of those quick glances toward the Harrison’s house. Meanwhile, I feel nothing but joy in this moment, watching him squirm. It’s been rumored that he and Ms. Harrison are screwing around, but I honestly thought the guy was smarter than that. Guess I was wrong, considering the evidence.

It only makes him more of an idiot that Ms. Harrison is also the dean of the university he attends on a full scholarship.

Like I said… total fuck-boy.

“Lower the damn ladder, Rodriguez, or I swear I’ll fucking—”

“You’ll fucking what? Might want to choose your words wisely, seeing as how you kind of need my help right now.”

He hates this. It’s clear from the way he’s aiming that wicked scowl at me, clear from the way his typically bright-green irises look like two dark wells of hatred right now. He’s handsome, yes, but some say the devil is, too.

“Fine, come on,” I sigh, finally lowering the ladder for him to get a grip on it.

I let him get about halfway up when I share another tidbit of information.

“Oh, shoot! So, on a scale of one to ten, how bad a time is this to mention that you dropped your wallet in the middle of the Harrisons’ yard?”

The question has him giving me that death stare again. But when he untucks his jeans from beneath his arm and checks the pockets, a long stream of curse words leaves his mouth before he dismounts the ladder.

“You fucking bitch,” he grumbles, drawing another smile out of me.

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He sprints back toward the fence, and I post in the window to watch.

It wasn’t a lie when I said his physique is the gold-standard for football players everywhere. He and his brothers piled on muscle throughout high school, managing to not get outrageously bulky, but becoming as solid as brick walls. They didn’t stop until they reached the epitome of physical perfection, and it’s paid off I suppose, earning all three spots playing for the university. In this city, they’re revered as deities on the football field. I should know, Benny was practically salivating when the trio all committed to playing locally for his school—NCU.

It’s adrenaline and that hard-earned strength that has Sterling pulling his weight to the apex of the fence again, then catapulting over it. My eyes stay glued to him, feeling my heart race with anticipation. He stoops to retrieve the wallet from the grass and doubles back this way and I’m admittedly torn, wavering between letting him up and letting his ass get caught.

However, when the French doors to the Harrison’s patio swing open, the choice is no longer mine.

“Oh, shit! Busted!” I whisper as a long, airy laugh leaves me. I cover my mouth to quiet it, imagining Sterling’s heart racing ten times faster than mine right now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gina asks.

I pop my head up just a bit, wanting to make sure I don’t miss a single word.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here. I can’t do this. This shit isn’t who I am.” Sterling squares his massive shoulders after speaking, not wavering as Gina glares.

I lift my head just a little higher when she opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Instead, her gaze darts this way and I realize I’m caught. It’s too late, but I drop beneath the sill anyway.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

I peek between the slats to be a bit more discreet this time, but she’s still staring at the treehouse while Sterling waits out the awkwardness.

“I’m calling the police,” she says clear as day, confusing the hell out of me.

“Are you fucking serious?” Sterling’s deep voice booms through the dense, night air. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re calling the cops because I snuck out of your window?”

“You’re on my property without permission,” Gina concludes, and it isn’t lost on me that she’s spoken those words louder than any others, which means she’s projecting, putting on a show.

“You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re going to jail for trespassing, and possibly breaking and entering,” she counters.

The argument continues and, seeing as how things have suddenly gone to hell, I don’t bother hiding anymore. Instead, I peer out over the ledge again, observing that Harrison has already dialed the cops and is now pacing beside her rose bushes. Meanwhile, Sterling puts the rest of his clothes on, and I don’t miss when he tosses a wicked look my way. Maybe wanting me to know he at least blames me in part for how shit played out. I mean, I suppose I could’ve let him know he dropped his wallet before he climbed the fence, but you might say I’m not one who often takes the high road.

“Thank you.” With those words, Ms. Harrison ends her call and informs Sterling that the cops are on their way, adding that it’d be in his best interest not to run.

He shoots me another look and I give him the only thing I owe him.

The finger.

I can practically hear his thoughts, hear him calling me a bitch again, and he wouldn’t be wrong about that.

As the pair linger in the yard, waiting for officers to arrive and sort shit out, their drama is already a thing of the past for me. In fact, I’m so over it I settle back on the floor and grab my joint again.

I take a puff and don’t fight the smile that curves my lips.

All those years ago, it would’ve been nice if Sterling had stood up for me, told those girls the truth about what they saw, or even just told them to fuck off. But he didn’t. Instead, he went along with their bullshit and never even had the balls to own up to what went down. Never had the balls to apologize for making an awkward fifteen-year-old girl feel even more out of place, even more unwanted. Nope, instead he took the easy way out and ignored me and the whole incident like it never even happened. His inaction made it easy for us to lapse into this dark space, somewhere between indifference and hatred.

So, tonight, I won’t feel guilty for not being more helpful. I’m gonna chill and smoke my weed while Sterling gets whatever the hell he has coming to him.

It boils down to a simple motto that’s served me well through the years—not my friend, not my problem.

Whatever happens to him, I’m good either way.