The Golden Boys: Chapter 1

BLUE

Crumpling her written words lifts a weight.

It’s something I should’ve done the morning I found this very sheet of coffee-stained paper taped to my door. Instead, I’d folded it neatly and placed it inside my wallet, like a tiny shrine I carry with me wherever I go.

I’ve always pined over the scraps of love she leaves behind, littered throughout my life. Then, at the worst possible times, I stumble across them again. Like now, while an epic party rages all around me and I forego a perfectly good opportunity to just be young and free. Why? Because rummaging through my clutch for a stick of gum led me to this note and I’m suddenly stuck, contemplating Mom’s twisted version of love. I should be chatting up some cute guy, or dancing like the world is ending tomorrow, but nope.

“Found you! Looks like my hoe-bag radar is still spot on,” Jules slurs.

A smile replaces my true expression so quickly it’s scary.

“You say such sweet things,” I tease back, smoothing both palms down the white, linen shorts she insisted I borrow. They were part of a package deal—black tank, black heels and silver hoops included. The only visible article that actually does belong to me is my clutch.

More playful than usual, Jules gently tugs the blonde, fishtail braid on my shoulder. She’d styled it for me while we waited for our ride a few hours ago. Could’ve done it myself, but this stupid splint on my finger makes the simple things practically impossible.

For future reference, the downside of punching someone in the face is the fractured knuckle that comes along with it. But I gotta be honest; it was so worth it. Even if it did result in an end-of-year expulsion and nearly cost me my impending shot at Cypress Prep.

It isn’t something I’d do again, but also isn’t something I regret.

Taking note of Jules’ glassy eyes, her intoxication means I’ve failed. It was on me to make sure she didn’t get out of hand tonight, but finding the letter served as the perfect distraction.

“Whoa! Where’d you come from?” she hiccups, speaking directly to the brick wall she’s clumsily stumbled into.

My hand shoots out to steady the klutzy red-head now leaning beside me. She’s lucky I have quick reflexes.

“Enjoying yourself yet?” she asks reluctantly. “I know you’d rather be at the court or something, instead of hanging on the north side, but I think tonight’s important.”

“So you keep telling me,” I murmur.

Her eyes dart to the back of her head when she rolls them. “Because Jules knows best,” she so readily reminds me.

This—the party scene, these clothes, the lashes and makeup—it’s all her thing, not mine. Especially in this part of town.

As if cued by the universe, sharp screams pierce the air. I look left, toward a trio of girls cannonballing into a well-lit, turquoise-colored pool.

North Cypress is home to the wealthy, the elite. Southsiders like Jules and me stick out like a couple sore thumbs. I can feel it. Standing here—on the lawn of some privileged, rich dick’s sprawling estate—I’m more than aware that we’re out of our element. Yet, I kept my word and came.

Sure, the lure of free drinks and an overabundance of eye candy played a part in Jules insisting I be dragged here against my will, but it’s more than that. This is her way of helping me get acclimated to this world, before I’m shoved into it without a harness at the start of the coming school year.

Starting early September, I’d be at their mercy Monday through Friday. Only to make the trek back to reality at the end of the day, back to my side of town where every night ends the same. With me being serenaded to sleep by the only tune South Cypress has ever known—police sirens and barking dogs.

Home sweet home.

“Do you even know anyone here?” As soon as I ask, my eyes follow a couple who pass by without even noticing us. Mostly because they’re tearing at one another’s clothes like animals, before slipping into the guesthouse through the side door.

“Nope,” Jules answers. “Pandora mentioned the party would be wild, dropped the address here in Bellvue Hills, and I decided we had to crash. Don’t even know whose pad this is.”

I love that she decided my fate before I was even made aware.

“Pandora?

Jules nods. “Mystery girl who tells everyone’s business on all her social accounts.”

“Is—” Before I can ask for clarification about this Pandora chick, I’m cut off abruptly.

“There have to be at least a few hundred people here, don’t you think?” Jules’ words are muffled because she’s speaking them down the neck of a bottle.

She finishes the sip and her head hits my shoulder as I shrug. “Somewhere in the ballpark.”

“Took me forever to find you. I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” There’s an added layer of emotion beneath the statement because she’s more drunk than I realized.

“Never from you, beautiful,” I tease. “I always stand near vomit-filled trashcans at parties. It’s kind of my thing.”

A man-sized burp slips from between her lips and she hardly notices.

“I know you’re being sarcastic,” she observes, “and if I remember in the morning, I’m sure I’ll be offended. So, be ready for an earful.”

Even drunk, she can draw a laugh out of me.

The sound of my ringtone has Jules’ attention before mine. She’s surprisingly alert, considering the state she’s in. Or just plain nosey.

“Him again?”

“Yep.” I barely glance at the screen before pressing ‘ignore’.

“You know you can’t dodge his calls forever, right?”

When I shrug again, her head lifts with the movement. “It’s been working out great so far.”

“Keyword: so far.” The booze-infused breath that wafts past my nose with the comment has me turning my head in the other direction before she continues. “He’s pigheaded. You know that better than anyone.”

Unfortunately, I do know that better than anyone.

“Maybe you should call back? Maybe he’s heard from Hunter and—”

“And, truth be told, I’m good either way,” I cut her off. “Hunter did what he did, and now he’s right where he belongs. End of story.”

Her glassy stare doesn’t let up. I feel it.

“Fine,” she concedes, “I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

Wild, red curls bob when she lifts her head to nod, but she’s suddenly focused on my hand. Or, rather, what I’m holding.

“What’s this?”

I miss the chance to withdraw the letter I’m clutching and it’s hers now. She’s managed to uncrumple it some before I snatch it back, but not without tearing the small corner she gripped.

“It’s nothing important.”

Which is true. My mother’s words aren’t important. Lies never are.

“Geez! Could’ve fooled me,” Jules scoffs, speaking to my back now because I’ve started toward the bonfire.

People dance around the flames, screaming the lyrics to Ice Cube’s ‘Today Was a Good Day’, and it looks like they’re taking part in some kind of new-age mating ritual. Hell, that might be a pretty accurate conclusion.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I straighten the letter and hold it to the flames, letting it catch. I wait until the last possible second to finally release it, nearly burning my fingertips when I stall. This seems fitting, though. That’s me in a nutshell; never quite sure when I’ve had enough.

A family curse, in fact.

A beer is slipped into my hand half a second before Jules steps into my peripheral. Momentarily, I’m fixated on the fire through the tinted brown glass of the bottle when I bring it to my lips for a drink.

There’s a strange tug in my heart as the last visible fragment of paper disintegrates into nothing. Unlike most girls, I don’t own trinkets or mementos passed down from my mother. The only gift either of my parents ever gave me was a list of vices longer than my arm.

“You good? We can take off if you want.”

Jules’ hand settles on my shoulder, and I don’t miss that she’s trying to be thoughtful. However, I know this girl like the back of my hand, and her heart is nowhere in the offer.

“I’m fine. We can hang out a couple more hours if you want.”

I barely have the words out before she floats off again, finding some rando to grind all over. It’s cool, though. There’s a brick wall near a vomit-filled trashcan with my name on it.

I glance toward the flames one last time, knowing what they’ve just burned out of my life. However, the aching grip of sentiment fades quickly. All because my attention is drawn above the blaze, lured higher by an invisible force to meet three matching stares already fixed on me. Beneath half-mast lids, their brooding eyes—close-set like a pack of marauding predators—have me feeling soul-obsessed and I can’t turn away. Their physical features are too similar, which is why I draw the conclusion that they must be brothers.

These raven-haired deities have definitely noticed me, and now I even think they might be talking about me. Two lean in to speak closely to the one in the middle. Like some beautiful huddle of hotness.

Seriously? A ‘huddle of hotness’? That’s the best you can come up with, Blue?

Clearly, my brain is fried. Only becoming more frazzled by the second.

There they sit, perched on chairs identical to the others scattered across the yard. Only, beneath them, I’m convinced they’re thrones. It’s their presence that makes the difference, sets them apart from all the other guys I noticed tonight.

They’re large, broad in all the right places—across the shoulders and their chests. The effects of this are emphasized by the tapering of tight, athletically lean torsos. I’ve met people who command a room, but never anyone so formidable in the wide-open space, as these three are.

Where have they been hiding all night?

Even when the two at either side become distracted by the pair of wet, bikini-clad robots who bounce over to vie for their attention, the one in the middle stays focused. Firelight burns in his eyes like hellfire, this creature I swear emits sex like trees give oxygen. Completely gone on him, I swear his soul moves right across this yard, steps through the flames, and breathes the heat of a million suns over my skin. He’s all I see, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Simply because I’m not sure he’s deserving of that.

Don’t overthink it, stupid.

Black images slink upward, wrapping around the length of his arm. From the diamond-studded watch that gleams in the light, until they disappear beneath the sleeve of the white-tee squeezing his dense biceps. He sits there, like a god watching over his people, frozen in time while the world moves around him. Actually, it isn’t hard to imagine he plays that role well.

The steady surge of bass pulsating from tall speakers ends and a new song starts—something deep and evocative, fitting the ambiance perfectly. Suddenly, I have Jules back, marginally more sober than when she’d run off to dance. I’m aware of her huffing breathlessly at my side, and I totally mean to pay her the attention she deserves, but I can’t. Because the Greek statue cloaked in flesh has risen from his throne and, if I’m not completely insane … I think he’s coming my way.

Ho-ly crap.

His height is as staggering as I imagined, and I’m transfixed as the crowd parts in anticipation of his every step. The sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones would make any model lose all hope of ever reaching this new bar he’s set for perfection. Not a single feature is average. Not a single one possibly measured on anyone’s scale of beauty.

Broad shoulders roll and dip beneath his t-shirt with the slow, intentional gait that practically has me melting in my heels. I more than appreciate how the fabric hugs his frame to his waist, where only the front of the shirt disappears behind the designer belt looped through his dark jeans.

His stare is set on me and I swallow hard, only remembering I’m not alone when Jules speaks.

“Oh, my gosh, girl… Do you have any clue who that is?”

I don’t turn, but know Jules must have followed my gaze. The only response I give is an embarrassingly distracted shake of my head.

“King Midas himself.”

She says that as if I know what it means. However, I’m not coherent enough to seek clarity.

“This must be their place,” she adds. “Well, one of their places, anyway. Their family’s main spot is downtown, the penthouse in one of their dad’s hotels or some shit. I think the boys actually have their own floor, but that could be a rumor. All jokes aside, though, I’d trample my own grandmother to tap that. Hell, I’d do it just for a lick,” she adds cheekily. “Not even kidding.”

There was a moment of silence where I didn’t speak, and neither did she.

Then, suddenly, “Is he coming over here?” she screeches.

Right away, she moves to fix her hair in my peripheral. I’m not offended by her assumption that she’s the one he noticed. It has nothing to do with her vanity, or her seeing me as some kind of ugly duckling. This is just kind of the order of things in our friendship. I’m the tomboy who cursed the day she got boobs. Meanwhile, Jules had been stuffing since fifth grade, because she lacked the patience to wait for Mother Nature to give her a rack of her own.

Flirting and dating, her thing. Work and ball, mine. It’s only due to a grueling weekend of practice freshman year that I know how to walk in these shoes. Jules wouldn’t stand by while I rolled into the ninth-grade Homecoming dance wearing high-tops.

I, on the other hand, saw no problem with that at all.

“Please let me get lucky tonight,” I think she means to whisper to herself, but instead repeats it three times like a chant.

He’s closer now, just on the other side of the bonfire. But before he can even round the flames…

Intercepted.

Hardcore.

By a busty cheerleader-type, no less, with brown hair stretching to her waist. I stare as she bounces into the picture, blocking my view. At first, she’s not much of a threat, because there are only whispers exchanged between them, but my heart sinks when she slides her tiny, manicured fingers down his stomach. They don’t stop until they reach the front of his jeans. And I’m not just talking some casual caress, either. I mean, this chick grabs a whole handful of him. Like there’s no one else around.

It’s then that his gaze leaves me, slowly tearing his eyes from mine down to hers. She whispers something else and it brings a telling smile to his fleshy lips. At this point, I realize there’s no chance of stealing his attention back from her. No guy would ever pass up a sure thing for a maybe.

He doesn’t resist when Do-Me-Barbie takes his hand to lead him off toward the main house, and likely toward a bedroom.

I realize my stare still lingers in the direction where they’ve just disappeared, and I probably look like a helpless puppy. But that’s what I feel like. A puppy who’s just been shoved backwards off the porch, into the freezing snow.

“Oof,” Jules sighs. “Well, that sucks a little. Talk about anticlimactic.”

Despite disappointment twisting in my chest like a knife, I laugh. “Story of my life.”

She turns abruptly when my comment seems to register.

“Wait a freakin’ minute!” she says, drawing the syllables out for dramatic effect. “You … the ice queen herself … were interested in him?”

A sigh rushes from my lips. “Don’t get too excited. The moment didn’t exactly end with a bang.”

“Maybe not, but this breakthrough still deserves a moment of recognition. Has there even been anyone since—”

“Don’t … say his name,” I warn sharply, which has her hands shooting toward the sky in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” she concedes. “Well, as fun as this is, I think I’m over this little soiree,” she announces. I’m surprised, but too happy at the prospect of leaving to question what changed her mind.

“I should get home to check on Scar anyway. She’s always trying to sneak Shane in when I leave my post.”

Clutching my arm as we cross the lawn, Jules laughs. “Lighten up, BJ! They’re just friends. Despite being brothers, Shane’s nothing like—”

“Don’t … say his name!” I interject again. “If you say his name, you’ll summon him like some kind of … I don’t know … wickedly persistent demon.”

“Wickedly hot demon,” she mumbles, which prompts me to nudge her ribs.

She rolls her eyes with a smile. “Fine. Whatever you say. I won’t say his name.”

My heart relaxes a bit as we stumble through the grass arm-in-arm. “Thank you.”

She’s eyeing me, and it’s when she bites the side of her lip that I know what she’s about to do. I’m too late to stop her.

“Ricky Ruiz!” She blurts it out to the universe and there’s no taking it back. Not even when she clamps a hand over her own lips. The big, dumb grin she’s hiding behind it makes me want to arrange a meeting between my fist and her nose.

“See?” she beams. “I said it, and nothing happened.”

I hear her loud and clear, but she knows why I keep distance between Ricky and me. Because rules equal order—no unsolicited visits, no casual phone calls.

Not that he’s respected either boundary in recent months.

I’m hit with a barrage of memories, reminders of how he morphed from being my big brother’s best friend, into… it honestly doesn’t even matter.

Water under the bridge.

“The sky didn’t fall,” Jules’ continues, trying to push her agenda. “The Earth didn’t open up and swallow us whole. You were worried for absolutely—”

The phone sounds off and I’m speechless for a few seconds, in shock by how accurately I called it.

“Looook what you’ve done, Jules!” I scream toward the sky, unable to hold in a smile when she belts out a laugh.

“But wait, you seriously have this dude saved in your contacts as ‘The Mistake’?” She’d seen that before I hit ‘ignore’.

I decide not to answer her or him. Meanwhile, her red mane quivers with a head shake.

“A little harsh, don’t you think, BJ?”

“About as harsh as you continuing to call me that, after I’ve asked you not to on countless occasions.” I conveniently ignore the rest of her comment.

“Yes, we’ve discussed it, but after over a decade of friendship, I think I’ve earned the right to discreetly call you ‘Blow Job’ for a cheap laugh,” she argues. “Now, stop trying to change the subject.”

Busted.

“You know from the bazillion texts he’s sent he’s not calling about a you-and-him thing, so why not pick up? Put him out of his misery, maybe?”

In theory, Jules is one-hundred percent right, but she’s forgetting something. I have no interest in speaking to or about Hunter. He’s made his bed, now he’ll lie in it.

Alone.

“How far is the Uber?” I ask, instead of continuing this conversation.

Jules clearly doesn’t want to drop it, but she knows I’m stubborn, hard to push once I plant my feet.

“Five minutes away.”

Cool. Pretty sure I can avoid a resurgence of that conversation for five measly minutes.

We stand at the edge of the road in silence, which is unlike us. Her stare is burning a hole through the side of my face, now that she’s frustrated I’ve shut down.

“Fine, we’ll talk about something else,” she concedes, and then releases my arm to cross both hers over her chest. “Tell me what you thought of tonight.”

I’m not quite sure what she’s getting at, so I shrug. “It was fine, I guess. Bunch of spoiled rich kids smoking weed and drinking. Just like the south side, there’s just bigger houses and money.”

She rolls her eyes, which means that isn’t the answer she was looking for.

“Do you think you’ll, you know, be okay?” I don’t miss the genuine concern in her tone when asking. “Most of these people will be your classmates at Cypress Prep. Guess I just need to know you’re cool with the change.”

“CP is a means to an end,” I answer with a sigh. “It’s an opportunity, and I don’t get many of those, so … carpe diem and whatnot.”

I fall silent when my thoughts shift to how I lucked up on said opportunity. As much as I don’t want to think about my brother right now, I have Hunter to thank.

“You’re always so evasive,” Jules accuses, which isn’t a lie.

“And you love me just as I am.”

“Mmm … more like I tolerate you just as you are. Big difference, BJ.”

The set of headlights heading our way brings a sigh of relief to my lips. It’s the first step to there being an end to this night. I’ve had my fill of pretending I fit in here, had my fill of pretending my life hadn’t been turned upside down this year.

In so many ways.

All I want is to go home, enjoy summer break, and revel in the last stretch of normalcy I’ll have for a while.

With the clock winding down, I better enjoy it while I can.