Rich Riot Read online

“Did you now?” I lift an eyebrow. “People may assume that we’re on a date, you know.”

  He smirks, reaching up to run his fingertips beneath the loose ends of my silk necktie. “I wouldn’t take issue with that. Would you?”

  I choose not to voice an answer for fear it may come out more truthful than even I can tolerate at this point.

  “Did you do your homework?” Colt slides a hand to my lower back, effortlessly guiding me to turn back the way I came.

  “Of course.”

  I let him lead me from the clean-swept ornate halls of Riverbourne Preparatory to the blossom littered streets of the upper café district. I wait until we’re a safe distance from prying ears to broach the subject with him.

  “Arthur tells me Libby’s lawyer is aiming for an out-of-court settlement.” I study Colt, waiting for his reaction.

  There’s barely any change to his stoic stare. “I’ve heard.”

  My stomach coils, yet I wish the feeling away. I’m not supposed to harbour jealousy toward my best friend’s brother. There’s a moral line you don’t cross when it comes to the kin of your kind.

  “Horse’s mouth?” I ask flippantly, although the waver to my voice gives true intentions away.

  If he cared to notice, that is.

  “I overheard a conversation. Yes.”

  Of which he would have needed to be near Libby or her family. Stop it, Greer. “Care to share?”

  His steely eyes find me hopeful, his brow firm and stance protective as we walk. “Negotiations have failed. Libby’s parents are aiming high today, hoping that greed will outweigh Gayle’s family’s moral compass, yet from what I heard, they’re not overly confident.”

  “Oh.”

  He studies me as we near my favourite French café nestled between two vine-covered alleys. “Say it.”

  “Say what?” I pretend to seek the cash in my bag.

  Colt’s hand falls over mine, and he eases us to a stop on the edge of the footpath. “You want to know why I heard that conversation. How.”

  “It really is none of my business, as long as it helps our cause, right?” My God, I sound like a miffed housewife from the fifties.

  “I didn’t sleep with her.” He coaxes me to look at him; hand cradled to the side of my head.

  I pull away, angered that he condescends me in such a way. “You think I can’t handle it if you did?”

  The barest twitch of his eye. The slightest flare of his nostrils. “We’re both good at reading people, remember?”

  “How could I forget?” If only I had. Then I wouldn’t have recognised the flinch as Colt protested his innocence. The one that told me he wished he had slept with Libby. “Was this last night that you overheard?”

  I have no right to feel this way. This is ridiculous.

  “It was.” More intense study.

  Another degree to my body heat. “Like I said,” I brush off, moving for the café door. “It’s none of my business what you two do.”

  “You want to know where I was?” Colt calls from the spot I left him.

  I turn, horrified to find people curious about our rather public dispute as they move along the footpath.

  “You want to know why I went there?” he asks, lacing his hands behind his neck, elbows wide. “Why I didn’t go through with it?”

  “Not particularly.” I rush indoors before he takes this any further.

  Colt follows, ghosting me to the counter. “You should,” he whispers, lips dangerously close to my ear.

  “What are you having?” I gesture to the selection of pastries. “Something savoury? Or something—”

  “Sweet,” he growls, taking me by the wrist.

  I hastily check the people around us as he less than gently hauls me down the side of the counter, through the narrow walkway, and into a shared bathroom.

  “Talk to me,” he demands, caging me against a panelled timber wall. “Spit it out, Greer. What the hell are you hiding from me? From you?”

  I stare into his blue eyes, lost in the swirling depths of a storm speckled sky, and take a deep breath. Can I voice this? Can I cross the line?

  He doesn’t give me a chance.

  I fail to find my next breath—instead, finding a thousand new questions when Colt’s lips meet mine.

  There’s no going back.

  LACEY

  “That smells so good,” Dad exclaims, dumping his work bag and keys on the kitchen table. “I could get used to this.”

  “It’s honestly nothing special.” I turn away, hoping he can’t read my intent.

  He sweeps past me to lift the lid on the large pot simmering on the stove. “Sweetie. This is more than I’ve been bothered to cook.” He inhales the steam. “Compared to my basic meals, this is gourmet.”

  I lift the empty devilled sausages stir-in sauce packet. “It’s also pre-prepared.”

  “Who cares?” He sets the lid back down and then runs a hand over his head. “Have I got time for a shower?”

  “After?” I tip the water from the rice I’d prepared. “It’s ready to serve.”

  “I’ll wash my hands anyway.”

  Dad disappears down the hall and into the bathroom, leaving me to sweat it out in peace. I wouldn’t say I’m trying to butter him up, but if I want time out this weekend, then I have to show I’m making an effort to change.

  To improve.

  “You need anything from the fridge before I sit down?” Dad reappears as I set the plates on the table.

  “Nope. Should be fine how it is.” He might be enjoying life without Mum’s strict rules, but that doesn’t mean he gets to bachelorise the hell out of my meals with too much tomato sauce.

  “I take it school was okay then?” He tucks his seat in, rubbing his hands together before lifting his fork. “You’re in good spirits, so that’s a good sign. Right?”

  “It wasn’t too bad.” Freaking lucky I don’t have any obvious takeaways from the scrap with Amber, but that’s another thing entirely.

  “How was the bus? Did you reach it on time?” He shoves a forkful into his mouth, promptly huffing to cool it down.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “It’s hot, Dad. Fresh off the stove.”

  He waves a hand in front of his mouth.

  “I um. I actually got a lift with one of the girls from school.”

  “Maggie?” He hesitates before taking another bite.

  I shake my head, staring intently at the rice carefully balanced on my fork. “Cate. She’s sort of friends with Maggie.”

  Dad sighs. “You know I’d rather meet these people first, but if it helps get you to school on time and no harm was done, I guess we can see how it pans out.”

  “Are you sure?” I feed in my mouthful of rice and sauce, watching him closely for an answer.

  He leans back; fork balanced between his fingers over the plate. “Look. We’re going to have to make concessions simply so we can get you to school and the likes. But make no mistake.” His brow furrows. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You had a hard run, sweetheart. I know. But you also did a few questionable things that can’t be overlooked.”

  “Like run off,” I mutter, sure this is the end of any chance I had at going out on Saturday.

  “To name one. Yes.” Dad sighs, moving his food around before sweeping a mouthful onto the fork. “I think that the best approach is to start anew. No punishments, no overbearing rules.” His gaze narrows, and he leans slightly toward me. “Treat this like parole, though, Lacey. If you do anything dubious again; anything that means your mother has grounds to demand you return to her; anything that gets my heart rate unreasonably high, then you will find yourself secluded in your room with extra school work until you get that these games have consequences. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I daren’t eat until he says I can.

  Dad has been this stern on a few occasions. He used to be the one who’d step up when Mum couldn’t be bothered with us. But somehow being on my own against him, without Colt
to spread the heat, makes it twice as intense.

  “So, I’m not grounded?” I whisper.

  The look I receive lets me know that I toe the line. “No.” Dad sighs. “Why?”

  My fork makes rampant crop circles in my rice, the sausage mix heaped like a mountain in the middle of it all. “Maggie wanted to know if I could have some girl time with her on Saturday night.”

  “At her place?” Dad eats unaffected.

  “I’m not sure,” I lie.

  No need to jump in the deep end until I’ve tested how far it goes.

  He eats in silence, ruminating over the proposal. I tentatively take a bite, slowly chewing while I watch him as though any distraction on my part will change the outcome.

  “You can go to Maggie’s,” Dad cedes. “But I’d like you to stay in. No going out. No groups of people just yet. Have some fun with your friend, but stay at her place. Okay?”

  Damn it. “Sure.”

  I haven’t learned my lesson. Not in the slightest. Not when my restless foot taps the duration of the meal, and I barely remember what the conversation I had with Dad over the dishes was about because my mind fixated on getting to my phone to message Mags.

  I dive on my bed, hands before me to collect the neglected device as I land. I’ve barely settled on my stomach when my thumbs slide across the screen, tapping frantically to send a message.

  L: I have permission to go out, Saturday, but only to your house.

  She takes a while to respond—long enough that I forgo waiting on the spots to wiggle, and retreat to the bathroom to wash my face, and brush my teeth.

  The screen lights up when I’m halfway through changing into my pyjamas.

  M: WTF? Not fair.

  M: What are we doing?

  I shrug, even though she can’t see me.

  L: Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t show my face at the party?

  M: Liar. Is Tuck going?

  My stomach clenches, a cool sweat rushing over my skin in a wave. I didn’t even think to ask. We both seemed so content to leave the subject of Amber and anything related to her alone that it didn’t cross my mind once when I saw him briefly after school.

  L: I don’t know. Gimme ten and I’ll come back to you.

  M: I’ll give you lovers twenty ;)

  I snort at her reply and flick through to Tuck’s Messenger thread. My thumb hovers over the keys, ready to type, yet on a whim, I flick it to the top of the screen and hit the green camera icon.

  The familiar trill sounds as the app waits for him to connect.

  “You never told me you were going to call,” he chastises, the video feed blurry while it swirls around what I assume is his room.

  “Surprise.” The image passes over the area beside his bed and then jiggles while he adjusts it to face him properly.

  The guy is shirtless, the ends of his hair wet from a recent shower. Lord, save my soul. The reaction he elicits in my body can’t be legal.

  “You trying to tell me you need me, baby?” Tuck folds one leg in front of him, the other extended past whatever he has his phone propped on.

  “Perhaps.” It dawns on me that this the first time I’ve seen his bedroom properly. The last time we did this, I had a glorious view of his bed, but that was all.

  “You okay?” Tuck grins. “You look stunned.”

  “I haven’t seen your bedroom properly before.”

  His eyes widen, and he crunches his delectable body forward to sweep up the phone. “You ain’t missing much.” The feed flicks from front to back view, cutting in on his set of drawers. “Clothes.” A cream wall with various ribbons stuck in a line. “Awards.” His bed. “And where the magic happens.”

  “You did not just say that,” I groan. “Seriously?”

  He chuckles, flicking the camera back to him. “I didn’t mean it like that, you filthy animal. I meant where I sleep and recharge.”

  “Sure.” I roll my eyes, earning another chuckle.

  “Why the call, though? You miss me that much?”

  It pains me to think that maybe I don’t. I mean, I completely forgot about him until Maggie made mention. “A little. But I wanted to ask you something I forgot after school.”

  “Yeah?” He settles back against the headboard, the phone presumably propped on his legs.

  I have a screen full of muscle, tan and one hell of a cheeky smirk. I almost forget what the heck I’m supposed to ask. Of course, I miss him. I just already taking him for granted, and to me, that seems way worse.

  “Are you going to the party on Saturday?”

  His smile fades, brow pulled in as he tilts his head a little. “You know where it’s held, right?”

  Shoot. “No.”

  “Babe, it’s at Dee’s house.”

  “Damn it.” I bring my finger to my lips, tapping them twice. “Maggie never said.”

  “Is this her doing?” He frowns harder—if that’s even possible. “Did she ask you to go there?”

  “Yeah, but just to have fun.”

  Tuck sighs, running the back of his thumb over one eyebrow. “You’re planning to walk onto your enemy’s property and think that you can simply ‘have fun’?” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you crazy?”

  I fight the urge to end the call out of spite. “No. I just don’t think I should have to cower in the shadows and miss out on half my youth because a bunch of privileged jerks think I don’t belong at their school.”

  His lips press tight, his gaze drifting off to the right.

  “What?” I snap a little harsher than I intended.

  He sighs, throwing his hands up. At least, I presume he does since all I can see is his shoulder muscles jerking with the movement. “Why poke the bear, Lace?”

  “Why not?” I glare. “If I get this beef with them over and done with, then once the dust settles I can move on and enjoy life out here.”

  “And if the dust doesn’t settle?”

  I fold my arms, well aware how pissed I look given how hard my lips turn down at the corners. “You got to try, right?”

  He matches my scowl. “What?”

  “Dragging everyone into Riverbourne to get the truth on the table. You got to have a shot at sorting this mess out your way. Why can’t I do it mine?”

  “Because yours has no logic,” Tuck argues. “You’re not going to the party to try and talk sense into Amber and Dee. You’re going to shove it in their face that you can.”

  “Is that what I said was it?” This call has not gone how I thought it would.

  The phone shifts as Tuck leans forward. “You didn’t say otherwise.”

  “Well,” I snap. “It seems you’ve made your mind up no matter what I say.”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, face twisted with frustration. “I’m not the enemy here.”

  “No, but you’re hardly supporting me, either.”

  “Because I don’t agree with what you’re doing,” Tuck booms. “That bullshit you pulled at school today? That isn’t you.”

  I physically recoil from the phone laid out before me, eyes wide.

  He shoots off the bed, leaving me to stare at his headboard. I catch the muffled huff from where he stands somewhere on the other side of his room.

  I’ve got nothing to say, and yet I don’t want to end the call. I don’t like leaving conversations like this. Arguments need resolution. Hell, I need something resolved for a damn change. I’m tired of everything hanging in the air: Mum, Colt, my future here at Arcadia.

  I need certainty from someone, and I thought with Tuck I had it.

  “Your Dad is worried, you know.”

  Oh, he didn’t. “Don’t you dare pull the parent card with me,” I snap at his bedroom wall. “I know he’s worried, but he also has to learn to trust me, to let me make my own mistakes.”

  Tuck snaps back into view, leaning over the phone from where he stands beside the bed. “He has a valid reason, Lacey. You saw what they did to Colt. Fuck.” He
shakes his head. “Amber ground your face into the dirt by a fistful of your hair. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

  “I need her to cool off,” I whinge. “And I need her to know that she can’t keep doing this to people.”

  “So all of a sudden you’re like, what? Joan of Arc or something? On your selfless crusade for the good of the student body at Arcadia?” He waves his hands around, stepping away from the screen again as sarcasm drips rich and thick from his words.

  “Isn’t that what you did coming to Riverbourne?”

  “No!” The image blurs, whirling until it settles on his face. “I went into the city to fucking get you back, Lace. To get. You. Back.” He huffs heavily from his nose. “The fact I could help my friends while I did that? It seemed like a pretty good bonus.”

  “But you didn’t get me back, did you? You didn’t even get them off your backs.”

  “So I made an error in judgement. I fucked up,” Tuck roars, the phone whirling as his hands fly with frustrated gestures. “I’m not perfect, Lacey. And if that’s what you need, then perhaps you need to go back to the arseholes in the city.”

  For the first time, I take notice of my frantic heart. He ends the call leaving me to stare at the disconnected symbol while my pulse attempts to climb clean out of my throat.

  Tug his rose-tinted shades off, and he still sees me the same as they do: a spoilt princess who doesn’t belong in their rough and tumble world. He hid that from me. He made me feel as though it was okay.

  As though our history doesn’t matter.

  He lied. For us, history is everything.

  COLT

  W: I have some juicy news for you.

  C: Do go on …

  I knew a visit to Portside to see my old flame, Willow, would prove fruitful.

  W: Rumour has it that there’s a girl who got expelled from Arcadia looking to enrol in the city.

  I stare at the perfectly formed letters on my screen for a full minute before I can tap out a reply.

  C: Name?

  W: Nothing yet, hon. I’ll let you know if I hear.

  It wouldn’t be. It couldn’t. She’s only been back a day.

  C: Anything you need to tell me?

  An excruciating fifteen minutes pass before Lacey replies.