Pretty Boy D: Chapter 1

Joss

The loud thud that likely just startled Dane’s new neighbors was all me—the result of stumbling into the wall, making a less-than-graceful entrance.

A jolt of pain shoots through my shoulder, but it’s a small price to pay for not hitting the floor. Had I fallen, I would’ve landed right on the box in my hands. One that happens to hold thousands of dollars’ worth of camera equipment.

Oh, the shit he would’ve talked if I’d done that.

These cameras are his life.

Speaking of lives, mine just flashed before my eyes. Meanwhile, Dane manages to hold back a smile for all of three seconds.

I shoot him a look when his lips start curving upward. “Not even gonna ask if I’m okay first?”

My question is apparently the straw that breaks the camel’s back because it’s followed by his deep laugh echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

“Dick.”

He ignores the insult and finally relieves my hands of the box. “Next time, leave the heavy stuff to us guys,” he teases.

“Or maybe, you know, stop leaving your ginormous shoes right in the doorway,” I shoot back, shoving his shoulder.

I put all my strength into that push, but you’d never know it. He’s freakishly solid, so I moved myself more than I moved him.

Trailing behind, I stare at the definition in his back through the ribbed tee he stripped down to about an hour ago. I’m reminded of how much more time he’s spent at the gym since graduation. He says it fills the empty hours, but I think it’s a distraction.

Namely, from the media circus that’s taken a sudden interest in his family.

Having a father who’s been named the city’s most heinous criminal to ever walk the streets of Cypress Pointe could have that effect, I suppose. It’s not every day a father attempts to murder one of his own sons, but it’s all true. Including the part where Vin’s only motivation was to conceal the many, many horrific acts he’d committed. Needless to say, while my homelife’s sucked lately, it’s nothing compared to what Dane and his brothers have lived through these past months. For instance, my dad isn’t facing years in prison. The only punishment for his transgression is having to endure the wrath of the two women scorned by his affair.

Me and Mom.

Despite mine and Dane’s fathers’ indiscretions being vastly different, Pandora—our city’s anonymous gossip reporter—has had a field day flaying both in the public eye. Granted, whoever hacked her several months ago is the one responsible for outing my father’s behavior, but Pandora has certainly contributed to the fallout. If Dane and I weren’t already close, this might’ve been the thing that brought us together.

We turn into a room stacked high with boxes and he sets down the one I brought up from the rental truck. While he shuffles things around a bit, my fingertips trace the mortar between the exposed bricks in the wall. My vision’s drawn out through the tall window, watching the sun set. From this high up, Dane’s view of the city is a work of art—silhouetted buildings against the backdrop of a peach and lavender-colored sky.

A loft apartment in the heart of downtown Cypress Pointe isn’t so bad for this being the first place he’s had on his own. As a triplet, I used to think the three of them would live together until one married, but I was wrong about that.

West—the oldest by mere minutes—recently settled into the family’s second property in nearby Bellvue. It’s halfway between the campuses where he and his girlfriend, Blue, are starting college this fall. Sterling—younger than Dane by thirty seconds—wants the full campus experience, so he’ll be moving into the dorm by summer’s end.

Which brings me to Dane and this bad-ass loft I fell in love with the first time he brought me to see it. It’s so huge our voices echo into the rafters, making it perfect for him—a guy who enjoys throwing the occasional party. Plus, it has this extra bedroom he plans to make his studio.

“Decide how you’re gonna set up in here yet?” I ask, zoning out while I stare at traffic on the grid of streets below.

“Nah, I’m not in a rush,” he answers. “Call me crazy, but I’m still holding out hope my best friend will change her mind and room here for a bit. In which case, I’ll set up shop in the great room.”

He smirks at me from over his shoulder, knowing I haven’t changed my mind. We’re friends, yes, but I’m exceptionally cautious when it comes to getting ‘too close’. Most days, our friendship is the most solid thing I have, which is why I protect it with my life. So, if that means turning down his offer for a place to lay my head at night, rent-free, then that’s what I’ll do.

He only stops glaring at me to check the notification on his phone. Saved by the bell. With any luck, it’s not more of Pandora’s B.S.

“Anything good?” I ask.

He shakes his head and leans against the wall. “Just a message from Rose.”

I suppress an eyeroll, which has one of my lids twitching. Rose—brand manager extraordinaire—doesn’t let up. She popped into Dane’s life at the height of his family drama, hoping to capitalize on his father’s infamy, no doubt. She’s the ultimate opportunist, and I get pissed every time I think about her only seeing dollar signs when she looks at him.

Dane’s done well on his own, managing to garner a few million followers without help. Rose’s goal, though, is to turn him into an icon with endorsements and several streams of income linked to his growing platform and football prowess. The sports-related endorsements will have to wait until after college, per the NCAA’s guidelines, but that hasn’t stopped Rose from getting a head start. She’s got a whole plan laid out for how he can make the most of this summer before classes start in fall. Hopefully, none of which require the selling of his soul.

“She’s been on me about hiring a social media manager,” he elaborates with a sigh.

“To do what, exactly?”

He peers up and the last ray of sunlight peeks between buildings, hitting him in just the right way, brightening his eyes like emeralds.

“She thinks I need a gatekeeper, someone to weed through the comments and messages that hit my accounts.”

“And… she doesn’t trust you to do this yourself?” A laugh slips out when I ask.

He shrugs. “She asked for access to see what goes on behind the scenes and I guess she saw a few things she thinks could mar my image.”

Translation: there were chicks laying thirst traps in his DMs, and he likely fell victim to them.

Men.

I’ll admit, the tribe of women who follow him are ravenous. One or two have literally sent their panties to his P.O. Box, so this comes as no surprise.

“You should take the job,” he blurts out.

I do a doubletake. “Me? Dane, I—”

“Come on, Joss,” he cuts in, rasping my name. “It’d look good in your portfolio. Plus, Rose said to find someone I trust, and you know all my login info already.”

Listen to him, appealing to my sensible side. That’s the problem when debating with someone who knows me so well. He isn’t wrong, though. Being able to stack my portfolio with experience now will only help. Marketing is a tough industry to break into. Even with upcoming plans to intern at my uncle’s firm—an internship Dane and I were supposed to undertake together until my father put a stop to that—I’m not guaranteed I’ll get my foot in the door after graduation.

Still, this feels like a bad idea.

“You do know I’ve never actually logged into your accounts,” I say, trying to deflect.

“Doesn’t matter,” he reasons, pushing off from the wall to come closer.

He works a hand through his dark hair and, for a second, I forget who he is, forget who we are. I’m not allowed to see him the way other women do, so I’ve become a pro at this now—refocusing my attention quickly, being sure to stare only at his eyes.

Not… everything else.

“I know you don’t need the money, but the job does pay,” he adds, taking both my hands when his gaze slips over me. I think he meant for the look to come across as innocent, but coming from him, it’s anything but.

He’s so persistent.

“I’ll think about it,” I concede, but in my heart, I’m firm on the answer I’ve already given.

“I’ll take that. For now,” he adds with a smirk.

He blinks into the fading sunlight and that’s when I realize we’re still holding hands. It isn’t until a sound from the other room brings us back to our senses that we let go, mere seconds before two whose features mirror Dane’s to a T bound into the room. Both have boxes in hand. Both seemingly unaware of whatever weirdness just took place before they stormed in.

Thank goodness for that. We’d never live it down if they’d seen.

“I’m expecting pizza for moving all this shit,” West grumbles.

“And wings,” Sterling adds.

We’ve been at this all day and we’re all exhausted, but years of football conditioning have the guys still going at full steam. My gaze slips to Dane again when I think I feel him watching and, sure enough, I have his attention.

“One with pineapple for me, please,” Blue announces when she bounces in, setting down the lamp she likely grabbed just to give the appearance of helping.

I smile when her stare persists, but when her brow twitches, I’m certain she’s read the room just that quickly, noticing the energy is off balance.

She’s an intuitive girl by nature, which comes from growing up much faster than anyone should have to. We’ve also gotten to know each other pretty well these past few months, so I’m not at all surprised she senses that something’s up.

“I, um, think I saw some junk mail on the kitchen counter. Maybe I’ll find coupons with it,” I say distractedly, having no clue if that’s true. Honestly, I just need to make a clean exit before my expression gives too much away.

Without looking, I know Dane’s gaze follows me out of the room. Which is why I don’t breathe until I clear the hallway, making it to the wide-open area where the great room, kitchen, and dining room all bleed into one grand space. There, my phone sounds off and I take a detour to the couch—which will also dub as Dane’s bed until the real one comes.

My eyes settle on my phone screen and there’s a name displayed across it. One I’ve seen more in this past month than I have in the entire year since we met in Cuba, visiting Mom’s side of the family. I don’t know why I always feel super uncomfortable when he messages or calls when I’m near Dane, but like usual, my stomach twists.

Carlos: You free to facetime? I’d love to actually see you for a change.

I sit up a bit straighter, trying to determine how to word my response. On one hand, I’ve got no reason to turn him down. After all, I’m completely single, completely unattached. But on the other, the idea of Dane walking in on a conversation between Carlos and me has my anxiety spiking.

I stare at my phone a moment, then decide I’m not feeling quite brave enough.

Joss: Maybe later tonight. Helping a friend move.

I hit send, resenting the hell out of this knot in my gut. It’s one of the reasons me living here would never work. I go through these bouts of not quite knowing how to define my feelings while in Dane’s company. I know it’s probably just because we’ve cared about each other so long that the lines get blurred, but still. I don’t need any more confusion in my life than I already have.

Standing, I’ve decided to call it a night. The four of them can eat without me and I’ll catch them later, but before I make it back to the hall to say my goodbyes, my phone’s going off again.

I expect it to be Carlos replying to the text, but I’m wrong. Instead, what I see has me feeling sick to my stomach because nothing good ever follows these four words.

Dad: We need to talk.

Shit. That sounds serious.

My gut sinks and I’m certain my night’s about to take a turn, but I can’t even begin to guess what this could be about. As if things aren’t bad enough already, judging by the tone of my father’s text, it’s about to get worse.

That’s great.

More drama.

Just what I fucking need.