I slap the back of my hand against his upper arm. “Excuse me?”
“Us women?” Willow repeats at the same time. “What the hell, Colt?”
He leans back in his seat to regard the both of us. “Admit it. You ladies only care about what the gossip of the hour is. Your job in this twisted world of ours is to be the eyes and ears, leave the tough stuff for us men to hash out.”
“You’re such a pig,” I half-heartedly complain.
He does have a point.
“There’s a reason there were posters in the second world war that said, Keep mum, she’s not so dumb.”
“Even then, men knew the value of a good woman,” Willow muses.
Interestingly, she shares a smile with me.
“So, what exactly do you think Christian wants from me?” Willow snorts a little laugh. “He hasn’t alluded to the good stuff yet.”
My heart stops for a painful beat. Colt doesn’t know what her and I did.
“Good.” His gaze flickers to mine. “Keep it that way.”
Does he? “Willow. What have you said to Colt?” I refrain from lunging across the table at her.
She has the grace to look remorseful, at least.
“Willow hasn’t said anything,” Colt states evenly.
I tilt my head to look at him beside me. “How do you know about our enterprise, then?”
A sadly amused smile ghosts his lips for a second. “Did you think I wouldn’t be one of your best customers?”
Oh, God. The shame.
“Anyway,” Willow states loudly. “Your pastimes are not why we’re here.” She pins Colt with a hard stare that orders him to let it go. “Back to Christian.”
“I don’t trust him,” Colt states, leaning back in his seat. “He speaks low of you to the others, but that’s nothing new. It’s the way he avoids saying what you two get up to on your trysts that disturbs me.”
Willow huffs. “A lady doesn’t share the details of her private encounters.”
“Christian’s not a lady.”
I catch the apprehension in the stiff way she swallows.
“He’s not shy about sharing his exploits with the world. Especially when it’s with girls.”
I tilt my head to one side and frown at Colt, as does Willow.
“What are you getting at?” She asks the question burning in my mind.
Colt regards each of us in turn before tapping his fingertips on the tabletop and answering. “I think he’s gay. Or bi in the least. Something he doesn’t want his father knowing, anyway.”
“What the hell does that have to do with me?” Willow drops with more sass than I’ve seen from her, ever.
“Secrets such as those get used as currency. He could pick any girl to hide his tastes with, but he chose you. Why?” Colt explains. “You have something he wants.” He turns to look pointedly at me. “Hop up to the counter and order us a drink, would you?”
“Why? Willow and I were friends, Colt. Nothing is a secret between us.”
She gives me a pitying smile. “Actually …”
I want to stamp my foot and demand I stay, but that would only perpetuate Colt’s current belief that his little sister is too naive to be involved in this.
“Sure.” I stand, removing my coat and swiping my Yu Mei cardholder from the pocket. “Can I get you anything, Willow?” Things with her, however, are far from over.
She turns to peruse the glass display cabinet, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips as she does. I note Colt can’t keep his damn eyes off her, hungering to have another taste of the meal he was never allowed to finish.
Her parents saw to that the minute our friendship ended.
“I better not,” she answers. “Need to keep on top of my figure.”
Portside students are predominantly dancers; the establishment is fundamentally a performing arts program masquerading as an elite secondary school for girls. Nobody likes a fat ballerina.
“I’ll see if they have something from yesterday.” I smile sweetly at the girl before moving around Colt’s chair. “Perhaps that way, you can enjoy a sweet treat without worrying about wasting it when you bring it up again later?”
Low, I know. Super low. But the opportunity to establish dominance was there, shining on a goddamn golden platter.
I would have been a fool not to take it.
“Get the darn coffees,” Colt growls, giving me a gentle shove in the hip.
I stride toward the counter sure of two things: one, my brother’s interest in Willow’s welfare extends beyond the realm of mere friends, and two, our friendship is still a thing of the past.
Which sucks.
Because these days, I’m not sure who I can count on.
I’d love to get out of here, but where would I go? I sure as heck don’t want to go home and face the glaring truth that it may be some time before Dad walks back in our door. And I can’t face the thought of stomaching my mother’s blind ignorance to her feelings—if she even has any.
The short line shuffles closer to the server as I pull out my gold-flecked phone and bring up Greer’s number. She answers before I’ve had enough time to peruse the cabinet of pastries before me.
“Girl! Where did you go last night?”
“Ugh.” I lean closer to read the tiny kJ count on a slice of apple pie. “Tell me you saw the way Libby behaved.”
“I don’t think anyone could miss it,” she answers with a little snort. “Don’t sweat it, though. She didn’t mean what she said; it was the champagne talking, not her.”
Really? The protest forms sharp as a tack on my tongue, yet I swallow the word down and offer instead, “Hold there while I order.”
I tuck the phone to my chest and request a drink for Colt and I, as well as a piece of the uber-fattening red velvet cake that I know Willow can’t resist.
“What happened after I left?” I ask Greer once my petty sabotage is underway.
“Arthur took Libby out of the party around one, I think.
