Free Crushed by Lauren Layne Page A

shit out.
    And for that, I need Chloe Bellamy.
    Which is why I’m standing outside on the porch of the house where I rent the basement as she pulls up to the curb. She honks, followed by a huge wave and smile that I don’t return.
    The trunk of her silver Audi A4 pops open and I drop my leather duffel bag next to her hot-pink one, and, for the tenth time that morning, consider backing out.
    An entire weekend rubbing elbows with people I work for?
    Pass .
    But then I get in the car anyway.
    “I told you I’d drive,” I say irritably, slamming the door shut.
    “Um, I’ve seen the way you talk about your car. I’d be too scared to eat snacks in there.”
    “Snacks?”
    “It’s a three-hour drive,” she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
    I glance back and see a cooler and a paper bag with Lay’s potato chips perched on top. I can just imagine what other junk-food monstrosities lay beneath.
    “Three hours,” I repeat.
    “Lots of time to get to know each other, Beefcake.”
    “Nope.”
    She grins and pats my leg. “Okay, no problem. How do you feel about Broadway tunes?”
    I turn my head to look out the window, hoping she’s joking.
    An hour later I know she’s not.
    “Okay, I give!” I say, interrupting a very dramatic version of the title song from Phantom of the Opera .
    “I always wanted to see that show on Broadway,” she says dreamily. “I’ve only been to New York once, and my parents dragged us around to all of the boring museums and a dull-ass play instead of the musicals.”
    I say nothing.
    “You ever been?” She asks.
    “To Phantom of the Opera ? No. God, no.”
    “What about other Broadway shows?”
    I remain silent, looking out the window.
    As punishment, she starts belting out the chorus of Mamma Mia, and I lean across the car to put a hand over her mouth. It’s something I find myself doing all too often around her, but you’d understand if you spent more than five minutes in this girl’s company.
    When I remove my hand, she’s silent for all of four seconds before opening her mouth again. “So when are you going to fess up?”
    “About what?” I ask.
    “About what changed your mind. About the party, I mean.”
    I shrug. “Got nothing better to do. A weekend on the lake sounded pretty damn good. Plus, the club is closed for the weekend. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
    “You could hang out with friends?”
    I don’t have any friends. Not anymore. The closest I have is Blake from Pig and Scout, and he’s got his own thing going on every weekend.
    Actually, that’s not true. Blake’s not my closest thing to a friend.
    The closest thing I have to a friend is probably the noisy girl sitting beside me, and doesn’t that just say it all.
    “Did I mention we have to share a room?” she asks.
    I turn my head to stare at her, fully prepared to force her to make a U-turn when she grins. “ Kidding . The house is huge, and a lot of the guests rent or own nearby houses, so there’s not all that many people staying at our place.”
    “What about Devon?” I ask. Once again, I’m grateful for Chloe’s idiotic misplaced crush. It gives me a chance to ask about my half brother and Kristin without seeming interested for the wrong reasons.
    “What about him?” she asks, her voice just a tiny bit testy, the way it always is when I mention her sister’s boyfriend.
    “Does he stay in the house?”
    She turns on her blinker and moves into the left lane to pass a pickup hauling a boat.
    “Nope. The Pattersons have their own place on the lake, a few houses down. Technically he sleeps there.”
    “And non-technically?” I ask.
    She gives me a look. “ Non -technically he and Kristin wait until the parents have had too much wine and have sleepovers.”
    My gut clenches a little, not so much in jealousy as in memory. How many summer nights in the Hamptons had I created a distraction so that Ethan and Olivia could have sleepovers of their own?
    Too many. Too