The Freshman Read online

  Kissable lips.

  “What’s his name?” Palmer asks, her gaze only for her feet as she continues painting her nails.

  “Tony.” He was more than cute. He was drop dead gorgeous. Beautiful. Those eyes. The hair. The cheekbones. The jaw. The lips.

  Oh God, the lips.

  I was fully prepared and ready to ask him out, but then he mentioned he had plans, which reminded me I also have plans, and my entire mood was ruined.

  “Tony what?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “Where did you meet him? Oh shit,” she whispers under her breath as she hurriedly sticks the brush back into the nail polish bottle and starts dabbing at her comforter. “I got polish on it.”

  “Lauri is going to kill you.” That’s Dad’s girlfriend. Since she moved in a few months ago, she’s taken Palmer under her wing and bought her all sorts of new crap to get on her good side. It sort of works. Palmer will gladly allow Lauri to completely redecorate her room with all new stuff, but she’s still not a huge fan of her. We don’t trust her, not yet.

  Well, Dad does, but he’s blinded by love or lust or whatever you want to call it.

  “I know,” she practically wails as she jumps off the bed and heads for her connecting bathroom. I plop down in a white fur covered chair and scroll through my phone, wishing I would’ve gotten Tony’s social media info so I could look up his photos and stare at his face for a while.

  Palmer rummages around in the bathroom before she comes back into her bedroom with a bottle of polish remover and a cotton ball clutched in her hand. “Hopefully this works,” she says.

  I watch as she tries to take out the bright green stain on the pristine white comforter. I don’t know why she’d polish her nails on a white blanket, but when you’re sixteen and everything’s been handed to you your entire life, you don’t think about those sorts of things.

  I know I didn’t. Not until I left for college and was living on my own. I still had an allowance, but I had to learn how to manage my money. At first it was hard. All I wanted to do was go out and spend it because that’s what I was used to.

  Now, I’ve gotten better. I’m still a spoiled rich girl, I can’t deny it. Some people hate me solely for that reason, and there’s nothing I can do to change their minds. But this spoiled rich girl still wants to become a teacher, and someday make a difference. Even if her father laughs at her and tells her she’s wasting her time.

  I love my dad, but sometimes he can be a real asshole.

  “It’s not coming out,” Palmer says, her panicked gaze meeting mine. “Should I get more polish remover? Just dump it all over the stain?”

  “I don’t know.” My sister and I look a lot alike. The only difference is I’m blonder—thanks to Rafael, my hairstylist—and she’s taller. Palmer is an excellent volleyball player who hopes to snag a scholarship for college. Not that she needs the money—she just wants the prestige and glory of state championships and earning that scholarship.

  I can’t blame her. She’s really good at what she does. While I’m over here wanting to change the world by teaching first graders.

  I’m my father’s biggest disgrace. Well, Palmer and I both are since we weren’t born with penises dangling between our legs, but that’s a whole other issue. He’s probably going to have more babies with Lauri. Since the moment I arrived last night, she was talking about the renovations she wants to do to the house, and how she wants a nursery.

  Our dad is fifty-two. I don’t know how he feels about possibly being a father again, but I’m sure if she gives him boys, he won’t complain.

  “Look it up on Google,” I suggest to my sister. She’s still frantically scrubbing at the polish. Looks to me like she’s not making any difference. She might be making it worse by just smearing it into the fabric even deeper.

  She yanks the comforter off her bed, clutching the giant bundle to her chest. “I need to wash it.”

  “I’m sure it’s dry clean only,” I remind her.

  “I don’t care. I need to get this stain out.” She hurries out of her bedroom and I follow after her, pausing in the hallway while she runs down the stairs, her footsteps so heavy and loud she sounds like a herd of elephants.

  I don’t bother stopping her or making another suggestion. Palmer will do whatever she wants because she’s just that way. Same as me. I’m stubborn. So is Palmer. So is our father. One lovely trait we got from him.

  I wander into my bedroom and flop onto the bed, grateful for my old, fluffy comforter Dad got me when I turned sixteen. We didn’t go live with Mom in the divorce. She went back to New York, where she’s from, and Palmer and I both balked when she tried to get us to go with her. We didn’t want to leave our school, our friends. Dad hired a cutthroat attorney when they were fighting over us and money, and Mom didn’t stand a chance. We used to go visit her, but once I graduated high school, I stopped going. So did Palmer. She refused to go if I wouldn’t go with her.

  Now we get Christmas and birthday cards in the mail, but that’s about it. She’s too busy traveling with her various lovers, spending my dad’s money.

  This is why I said ‘love is for pussies’ to Tony. I still can’t believe those words dropped from my mouth to a guy I only just met. And I sort of felt bad for offending that woman sitting in the waiting area with us, but it was also incredibly liberating. To finally admit my feelings about love. Because that’s really how I feel.

  Love sucks.

  My best friend Gracie says this is why I can’t commit to guys. We’ve been in college for two years together, clicking right away when we were roommates in the dorms our freshman year. Talk about getting lucky. We’re also both liberal arts majors, and we have a lot of classes together. We joke how miserable we would be if we hated each other.

  Because we so would be.

  I know Gracie’s right. I don’t like serious relationships because I never believe it’ll work out. Look at my parents. The last three years they were together, they despised each other. The fighting was so out of control. Mom called the cops on Dad three times. Dad put Palmer and I into therapy. It was a mess.

  Life is messy. Love is even messier. I like things clean and orderly. Pretty, even. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to Tony earlier. He is flat-out pretty.

  Not that he’s feminine. He’s just the personification of male beauty. All that unruly black hair that fell into those dark, mysterious eyes. His sculpted lips. If my memory serves, he even had a tiny dent in his chin.

  I bet it’s kissable, that dent.

  Suddenly feeling restless, I head downstairs to talk to Dad about what we’re doing tonight.

  “Country club dinner, Hay,” is what he tells me when I find him in his study, sitting in front of his giant iMac and nursing what looks like a scotch on the rocks. “This evening I want to show off all my girls.”

  I make a face behind him, and somehow, he spots me. “Don’t look like that. It’ll be fun.”

  My gaze drifts, locking on the window where I can see my own reflection. I roll my eyes at myself and Dad smiles. He’s watching the window too.

  “I’m twenty years old,” I remind him. “You don’t need to show me off to your cronies.”

  “I show off Lauri and Palmer all the time. Since you’re never around anymore, you’re the one I want to show off the most.” He smiles. Rattles the ice in his glass before he takes a sip, his gaze locking on mine in the window’s reflection. “Despite the fact that you want to be a teacher.”

  I reach over and tug on the ends of his hair, making him yelp. “Being a teacher is a noble profession.”

  “Being a teacher is a thankless job. Snot-nosed kids hanging all over you all day and ungrateful parents complaining to you how you just don’t understand Johnny when he bullies all the other kids.” Dad shakes his head, setting his glass down before he whirls around in his office chair to face me. “All for approximately fifty thousand dollars a year, and that’s if you’re lucky. How a
re you going to live on a wage like that?”

  “I know I won’t be living around here.” The housing market in San Francisco and the Bay Area is ridiculously expensive. “Besides, I have you to help me,” I say smugly.

  Deep down, I don’t mean it. I want to survive on my own, without Daddy’s money. I want to be independent, unlike my mother, who is still on Dad’s bankroll despite the fact she hasn’t been married to him for years.

  I refuse to live that way. Before I marry a guy—if I ever marry one because my views on love don’t romanticize that situation whatsoever—I want to make sure I’m completely independent and can take care of myself.

  I don’t need a man. Not now.

  Not ever.

  “Looks like I’ll be cutting you off at twenty-one,” he says lightly, but I can tell by the darkness of his eyes that he halfway means it.

  “And I’m totally kidding.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive. I should’ve never said I have him to help me. “I can make my own way.”

  He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure you can. You’ll find some pretty boy at the country club tonight and end up marrying him. He’ll be rich as hell thanks to his father, and you’ll both be set for life. That’s my prediction.”

  Anger makes my blood run hot and I drop my arms, clenching my hands into fists. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to marry some rich, sexist asshole, especially because I don’t plan on ever getting married.”

  “Uh huh.” Dad’s smug expression sort of makes me want to sock him in the face. “Just watch. I know how this goes.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m starting to get offended.

  “Look at you, Hayden. I know plenty of men who have sons around your age. They’ll take one look at you and ask me how we can hook you up with junior,” he says.

  “That’s so gross.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not an animal you can barter with for a deal.”

  “You’d be surprised how many mergers are made through marriage, still to this day.” He raises a brow. “I’ve already got my sights set on someone for Palmer.”

  Yikes. That sounds awful. “Does Palmer know this?”

  “She’s aware.”

  That’s all he says. She’s aware.

  Aware that our father has set her up with someone he hopes she’ll eventually marry? I wonder if he paid off the guy’s dad? So freaking disgusting.

  “I’m not going,” I say firmly. “I’ll head back to Fresno tonight.”

  I turn on my heel, ready to make my escape from his suddenly stifling office when I hear him speak.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I meant what I said about cutting you off.”

  His voice is sharp. A tone I haven’t heard him use on me in a long time. Not since I was sixteen and snuck out of the house to go over to a boy’s house for a party, where I got drunk. Oh, my dad was so pissed at me. I was grounded for weeks.

  Totally worth it, though. I made out with Chad Radwell that night. He was eighteen and on the varsity baseball team.

  I glance over my shoulder, hating how neutral my father’s expression is. Innocent, despite the implied threat in his voice. I’m sure my emotions are written all over my face, because his softens, and his tone changes, turning almost cajoling.

  “Come on, Hay. Do this for your dad. I’m not asking you to accept anyone’s engagement offer tonight. Just—see if any of these boys you meet could have…potential.”

  “I don’t live here.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We live in a modern world. You could have Zoom dates,” he suggests, a chuckle escaping him. “You could come home for the weekend. Lots of sons don’t live here either. They’re scattered all over the country, attending college. Working.”

  “I’m not interested in an old fart,” I warn him, and now he flat out laughs.

  “Of course you’re not. I wouldn’t pair you up with anyone older than…thirty.”

  “Oh. So someone around Lauri’s age then.” That was probably a shitty thing to say, but come on.

  It’s the truth.

  “Yes, exactly.” His expression is now warm and inviting, and I feel myself start to soften as well. He does this sort of thing sometimes. Emotional blackmail. Bargaining chips to get what he wants.

  It’s frustrating.

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” I say, which is the truth. I haven’t been to the country club in a long time. It’s something I avoid as much as possible.

  “Go shopping. Take Palmer,” he suggests, checking his Rolex. “You still have time. We won’t leave for the club until six-thirty. Seven at the latest.”

  I’m not about to turn down a shopping trip. He knows me far too well. “You don’t mind?”

  He rises to his feet and stops directly in front of me, reaching out to gently clasp my upper arms and stare into my eyes. Sincere, warm Dad is replacing mean, cold Dad of a few minutes ago. “Of course, I don’t mind. Get whatever you want. Dress. Shoes. New makeup. Jewelry. Whatever.”

  My mind races at the possibilities. I like to think I want to change the world as a teacher, one six-year-old at a time, but I also know the truth: sometimes, I’m a materialistic bitch who likes shopping at Chanel and Gucci.

  I can’t help it.

  “I’ll go get Palmer then,” I say. He pulls me into a brief hug, and just before I break away, I rise up on my tiptoes and drop a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “You’re welcome, pumpkin.” He smiles, looking pleased. He just got his way.

  But then again, so did I.

  Three

  Tony

  We’re at some fancy country club that is definitely not my scene, but Dad and his wife Helena seem to think this is the place to be on a Saturday night. Somehow they got my sizes right and someone went shopping for me before I arrived. Meaning, I’m entering the clubhouse with them wearing brand new black pants, a white button-down shirt and a black jacket, with a black tie currently strangling my neck.

  “Gucci,” Helena said when I walked out into the living room to meet them before we left the house. Her assessing gaze lingered, making me vaguely uncomfortable. “I picked it out myself.”

  I have the distinct feeling my new stepmom was checking me out.

  I wait as my father talks to someone he knows, lots of fake laughter and hearty back slaps abound between them. Helena stands next to my father clad in a pale pink, sequined gown that seemed a bit over the top to me, but now looks perfectly in place once we got here. She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that.

  But definitely not my type.

  I realize quickly that this is a social event to show off how much money you have. It’s like one giant flex. Women are dripping in diamonds and various other jewels, their perfectly made-up faces making me wonder what they look like when all the makeup’s scrubbed off. The air is clogged with expensive cologne and perfume, practically suffocating me. Everyone is dressed perfectly, and oddly enough—everyone also looks the same.

  It’s kind of boring.

  As we make our way through the room, I let my father introduce me to one guy after the other, and I forget their names as soon as Dad says them, only because there’s so many of them that I can’t keep up. I smile and nod, shake their hands and say repeatedly, “Nice to meet you, sir,” with all the earnestness I can muster.

  Ever the dutiful son to my neglectful dad.

  Many of them ask if I’m going to follow in my father’s footsteps and eventually work for him. He tells every one of them I’m a business major, his voice filled with pride, which seems to appease them. He never mentions where I go to school.

  I suppose that’s his one dirty secret in regards to me. I’m attending a public state university that has no prestige attached to it—at least in his eyes. Even though I play for a D1 football team, he doesn’t mention that either. I suppose it opens him up to too many questions, ones he doesn’t want to answer.

  Like the fact that he doesn’t come to watch the games.
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  So I remain quiet and nod and smile, bored out of my skull. The corners of my mouth actually ache from smiling too much, and my stomach is starting to growl. When I can finally escape, I make an attempt to order a beer from the bar and the bartender hands it over without hesitation.

  I leave him a ten-dollar tip.

  It’s like some sort of meet and greet on steroids before we sit down to dinner and I don’t know a soul in this place, so I find a dark corner to stand in and lean against the wall, checking my phone while I down the beer, finishing it off way too soon.

  I’m going to need a lot of those to get through tonight.

  “Here you go.”

  I glance up to find Helena standing in front of me, a fresh beer clutched in her hand and a smile on her face. She had to be spying on me to know what I was drinking, which is creepy, but I ignore the unease I feel and swipe the beer from her hand, careful not to graze her fingers with mine. “Thank you.”

  Her smile grows, and she shifts closer, her overpowering scent surrounding me. I cannot deny that when I first met Helena, I thought she was pretty. She’s also only in her very early thirties, which probably makes her closer to my age than she is to my dad.

  “Having fun?” She raises her brows, bringing her chilled glass of wine to her lips, carefully sipping it so she doesn’t smear her lipstick.

  I shrug, glancing around, uneasy. I don’t want to make small talk with Helena. I barely know her. “Not really.”

  Her lips curve into a mock frown. “Aw. Why not?”

  “I don’t know anyone.”

  Her face brightens. “You know me.”

  “I guess. Shouldn’t you be with your friends or whatever?” I’m not interested in a conversation with this woman. She’s making me uncomfortable.

  And I don’t need any trouble.

  “Every single one of the women in this room is a calculating bitch, including me.” She takes another step closer, the skirt of her dress brushing against my legs. I’m trapped, the wall directly behind me. I can’t move, and I’m pretty sure she knows it. “Besides, I’d rather try and get to know you better. I still can’t believe we’ve never met until today.”