Treachery

Luca

What is it about certain men that make women lose their minds?

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand it. Perhaps it had something to do with our nature. A biological programming taking over in moments when a woman should cling to her logical mind, should realize that despite a strong, hard body and a face that is chiseled from stone, there are some men who aren’t worth the days, weeks or even years of your life they suck away simply by being present.

I certainly wasn’t one of those stupid girls who lost her grip every time a handsome man looked my direction. I’d worked too hard to get where I was, my high school years spent slaving away so that I could get into Yale and make something of my future.

Yet, in this moment, I stood uncertain in my place in life, one ridiculously arrogant comment tipping me off balance to leave me flailing over questions of whether I was as strong and independent as I wanted to believe I could be.

It was stupid, really, the insecurity I felt, and while I stood waiting beneath the flicker of a gas-flame lantern at my side, I allowed that insecurity to become what it should have been all along: a deep-seated hatred for the asshole who’d believed he could yell at me, and anger at myself for having run.

Clayton had another ten minutes to arrive before I called for a ride to head home. I’d already spent fifteen minutes standing against the wall, my eyes averting every time people arrived to the party or left.

Word must have spread quickly in the house because those leaving stared at me a little too long to be comfortable as they passed, quiet laughter and whispered comments trailing back to me about how I’d been the girl kicked out.

Hating this place now that I’d finally had a taste of it, I stared down the pathway leading to the parking area and noticed the silhouette of a person walking toward me.

Relief flooded my veins to think Clayton had finally arrived, but when a cloud of smoke rose above the person’s head, that relief bled out of me.

I’d met Clayton at the begi

Trying, and failing, to keep from watching the approaching person, I ended up meeting his green gaze with mine as he walked up, blew out another cloud of smoke and leaned against the half-wall opposite me.

“Bad night?”

Not in the mood for a conversation with a stranger, especially after my run in with Ta

Casually dressed in a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark jeans that hung from his tapered waist, he had solid shoulders and muscular forearms, his light green eyes glimmering with warmth as they stared back at me.

He seemed friendly enough for being as handsome as he was, and I felt rude for not answering him.

Rubbing my hands up my arms to chase away the chill still trapped beneath my skin, I answered, “You can say that.”

He smiled and stepped forward, extending an arm to offer me his smoke. “Might help.”

With a shake of my head, I said, “I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

His shoulders jumped with silent laughter. “It’s not a cigarette.”

Understanding hit me. “I don’t smoke pot either, but thanks.”

Holding my stare for another silent second, he shrugged a shoulder and took a hit of the joint before leaning back against the opposite wall.

“Want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He tilted his head, smoke rolling over his lips.

“You sure? To me, it looks like you’re ru

My brows tugged together, but then I assumed he misspoke. I was sure my hair was messy down my back and my cheeks were still flushed from having hauled ass out of the house a few minutes ago.

“I’m just standing here.”

“But the party is inside.”

Half his face was bathed from the exterior gas lamp to his right, the dancing orange glow giving him a sinister edge before he turned just enough to let more of the light illuminate his face.

“Can’t be much fun hanging out here by yourself. Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Huffing out a breath, I snorted. “I’m sure if you go inside, you’ll hear all about it.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“My name’s Gabriel. And yours is?”

Smiling, I answered, “Luca.”

“Luca what?”

“Luca Bailey.”

He returned the grin and relaxed even more, his shoulders rounding back and his elbows holding up his weight on the wall.

“It’s nice to meet you, Luca. But seriously,” taking another hit of the joint, he blew it out. “What happened? Is there somebody’s ass I need to kick?”

Laughing, I relaxed in response to his question. He seemed decent enough. His smile was one that made you want to smile right along with him. Beaming. There was no other word for it.

“I kind of wandered into the wrong room on the third floor and got chased out by Ta

Understanding flowed behind his eyes. “Ah, well that must be why I thought you’re ru

“They’re assholes,” I pointed out, feeling more comfortable to have a person to talk to instead of standing outside by myself. However, realizing what I said, I groaned and covered my mouth as if I could somehow stuff the words back in.

“Sorry, I’m sure you’re friends with them.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up, his brow wrinkling as his green eyes twinkled with humor.

“I won’t say anything. I happen to think all nine of them are dicks.”

Laughter poured out of my mouth.

“Oh my God, it’s good to meet someone who doesn’t worship them like everybody else.”

His laughter joined mine.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

That loosened my lips. It felt good to have someone who could understand.

“My friend is an idiot for getting involved with Jase, and Ta

“Probably because they practically own this school. At least until they graduate and then they’ll own whatever area they happen to live in. Don’t you know anything about what money can buy a person?”

Shaking my head, I toed the ground.

“Not really. I’m here on scholarship. I mean, my family isn’t poor, but we’re not mansion wealthy, you know?”

He nodded. “Smart and humble. Who would have thought there are actually people like you at Yale? What does your dad do for a living?”

I thought it was an odd question, but not completely out of place. Most of the students at Yale came from established backgrounds, their parents typically wealthy and well known.

“He runs a tech firm.”

“Interesting.”

Flicking what was left of the joint onto the ground and smashing it with the toe of his black boot, Gabriel looked at me just as Clayton came strolling up the sidewalk toward us. He reached us and nodded his head at Gabriel before wrapping an arm around my waist.