I’m guessing the first beer at a party is an auspicious offering in these parts, so I don’t refuse. Instead, I deliver it to Cyrus.
“Very impressive.” He sizes me up for the hundredth time since I met him on my first day. I can never quite tell what he thinks of me. I don’t fit with his usual crowd, but he keeps inviting me to these things anyway. “We have to keep you around. Where’s yours?”
I guess I’ve proven myself useful again. “Not my thing.”
Cyrus arches an eyebrow like he can’t make sense of this answer but doesn’t press me on it. A second passes before his face splits into a grin. “You can DD then.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I force a smile that I’m guessing comes off as a grimace. He doesn’t notice. I’d said no when he first asked, agreeing only after he promised it wasn’t another frat thing. Then he’d used the magic word: Adair. She’s going to be here along with the rest of his group. It’s been a month since her mother’s funeral. Maybe she’s pulled her head out of her ass by now. I suspect not, considering Cyrus told me she dropped out of Valmont. It’s not like she needs or even deserves my pity. She’s been a bitch at every opportunity—a bitch who can’t take it when I dish out exactly what she’s been serving. But I got a front row seat to the shitshow she calls her friends the last time I saw her. I doubt any of them have been checking up on her. Not genuinely, at least.
There’s no sign of her, though, which means I’m stuck with Cy. I have no idea if I’m expected to play wing man or babysitter. “So, what’s the plan?”
“For tonight? College?” He responds seriously like he’s considered both.
Curiosity gets the better of me. Cyrus Eaton, who I’ve come to find out is the heir to a fucking hotel empire, doesn’t need to think too far ahead. Given that every morning he wakes up he’s surprised that he has classes, it shocks me to consider he might have done exactly that. “College, I guess.”
“New one every night,” he informs me with a grin that might suggest he’s joking. I know he isn’t. I’ve already come home to a sock on the door a couple times. He’s been kind enough to drive them down to his family’s hotel in Nashville since I complained about sleeping on the common room couch.
“That’s ambitious, mate.” I follow his eyes to the throng of people, wondering if he already spotted his prey for the night.
“Not up for the challenge, Ford?”
His words ricochet off me without hitting their mark. It’s not the first comment he’s made about my lack of bunk buddies since school started. He suspects I’m gay. I’m not, but it amuses me to let him wonder. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. Still, he tests me every chance he gets.
“Look, I know these girls. Half of them are still in prep.” Cyrus moves closer to me as if anyone could hear us in here.
“For fuck’s sake, Cy. Did you drag me to a high school party?” I thought I’d left that particular brand of drama in New York. It’s one of the few things I don’t miss about my hometown. I have friends there, but my school didn’t cater to the likes of people like Cyrus and his crew.
“They’re legal, and half of them go to school with us. Beer doesn’t discriminate, my friend,” he advises me, dropping an arm around my shoulder. “The best part is that they’re all looking to screw their daddies.”
“I think we’re a little young to be their daddies.” I’ll play along with his game for now. I don’t have anything else to do at the moment.
“Metaphorically speaking,” he clarifies, spreading his hands in surrender. “They’ve been told their whole lives that they have to marry up, marry well, marry rich, and then they’ve been forced to attend the same polo matches and charity fundraisers and schools with the same rich assholes for years. It’s their own incestuous mating ritual.”
“Aren’t you one of those rich assholes?” I can’t help but point out the obvious. Cyrus Eaton was born and bred in Valmont on a family estate to parents who inherited one of the world’s largest luxury hospitality chains. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t so much as washed a dish in his life. Cyrus was born with an inheritance larger than any income I’ll ever make even if I had started knocking off banks from the cradle.
“Unfortunately, I am,” he says. “But you aren’t. This time of year new guys are like blood in the water. They can smell you.”
I’ve met a few of these girls he’s talking about. I have no doubt that they could rip me to shreds.
“That simple, huh?” I ask.
“You don’t even have to try.” He tips his head to the side and I look over in time to catch a few girls gawking at us. “First of all, you’re fresh meat and every woman here knows it, and you look like you could rip someone’s fucking arms off.”
“That’s a turn on?” I’ve known men who could do just that. I didn’t see them as role models.
“To a girl who’s spent half her life at country clubs and debutante balls, it is,” Cyrus explains. “It’s unfair. The rest of us have to rely on our charm.”
“You’re in serious trouble then.”
“Come on,” Cy prods me. He is not letting this go. “Call one or they’re all mine.”
I’m not here for that, but there’s no way I’m going to explain to Cyrus why I came. He’s not gonna back off until I’ve made a match and what else do I have to do with Adair a no-show? I scan the room, stopping when my eyes lock with a pretty black girl who looks familiar. It takes me a second to place her. We’d met at the funeral, but I
