Luke
It has been about three days since Tori's episode. I shut the entrance door behind me and join Jace on the island in the kitchen. He's swirling juicy, vivid spaghetti unto his fork. He's practically on the level of a professional chef by now. But in Tori's words, I'd rather swallow a fork than tell him that. "Don't gawk at my food, you creep." He narrows his eyes.
"I totally wasn't." I lie.
"You sure? I can give you a dish if you want." He smiles. But it isn't an invitation, no. I It's mockery—like always. "No, I'm good."
"Suit yourself. You're too uptight, you know that?"
"Wonder whose fault that is."
"That has nothing to do with me, bro." He chuckles. Always does. "So, where'd you take Cupcake?"
"She has therapy today. She's at a branch of the HSA." He takes a bite of his pasta. "So, I guess I'm stuck with you today." I get up to search the fridge for some thing to eat. "I know you've been waiting time to adore me, Jace. You don't have to hide it." I pick up the gallon of milk. "You'd get on your knees to pray for something like that, wouldn't you?" His eyes trail down to the gallon in my hand. "You've always loved milk. Like a baby goat." He laughs. "Damn you." I pour it into a cup.
"Anyway, what do you say we go to Bustle and Park? It has been a long time."
"Long time since I beat your ass at spit ball."
"You work with mental health, and you still don't know that exaggerated delusion is a sign of mental illness?" My eyes narrow at his. His lips tug into a smirk. "Into the car, now!" We race to the jeep and strap on. "Be prepared to lose miserably." I start the engine. "Never happened before, so I don't know what's making you so confident." He pulls out his phone. "Tyler says he's free today, so is Trav." His eyes roam about his screen.
"And Xavier?" I start driving.
"I'm trying to reach him, hold on..." He puts the phone to his ear.
"Xavier, down for spit ball today?" Jace asks.
"Bustle and Park?" His familiar voice sounds through.
"Of course. We're teaching Luke to respect his elders today."
"Ha ha, very funny." I laugh sarcastically.
"15 minutes." He replies, and Jace puts his phone down.
Xavier is my best friend, and if you'd ask me, it's one of the wonders of the world that we are. I met him a few years after leaving Russia, and he's a model for designer brands. He doesn't stress over anything, and I mean anything. He could be on a plane with a flaming engine heading straight into the ocean and his reaction will be 'oh, well'. Just last week he was telling me he wanted to shave off his silky jet-black hair that's basically his modelling trademark because caring for it was "too much of a hassle." Being the introvert he is, he'd normally reject an invitation like this, but he never passes up an opportunity to hit me.
I navigate out of the paved forest roads and unto the highway. "Sure you won't get us lost? Your memory has never exactly been..." Jace looks at the road.
"My memory is sharp as ever, and it's only been a year since we were here last." I elbow him. "You know," He stares into space. "Cupcake doesn't talk much, but the summer house has a bit more life than it usually does."
"True, but that's because for some reason, she's nice to you."
"Is she ever not?" He raises an eyebrow. I look at him from the corner of my eye and clear my throat. "No, not to many people."
"And you?"
"Let's just say we have a unique relationship." I clear my throat again. He laughs like he always does. "And this summer has been a bit quieter that it used to be." He adds. "That one's cuz if we fight, she screams like a siren, and you don't want to know what happens if our voices are too loud and we wake her up from a nap." My mind goes back to a time that happened back at the villa.
"She must have a real story behind her."
"What makes you say that?"
"Nothing, that's just what she communicates. The air around her just tells you that there's a pacific under her skin. Deep and cold."
"Look who's going into poetry!" I tease. "You idiot." He smiles. "You know they would much rather throw me on the streets than let me spend time on something like that."
"Something so frivolous is a waste of time." I mimic my aunt Tatiana. "And time will always be money." I continue.
"That's great Uncle Nikolai, right?" He points.
"No, great uncle Nikolai says, 'influence is money'. Time is Grandpa Sanya."
"People with small families are lucky, aren't they?" I sigh.
"No, people with normal families are lucky." He shakes his head. So damn true. We finally see the huge sign accompanied with the varied attractions after it up ahead. We stop in the parking lot to wait for the others to show up. In a little over fifteen minutes, their familiar cars pull up one after another. Tyler's Maybach, Travis' Royce, and finally, Xavier's BMW. We got the same model together last year.
"Y'all ready to beat Luke's ass?" Travis asks. "You haven't seen Jace in a year, and yet you take his side over mine." I punch him playfully on the shoulder. His skin has gone from honey to caramel. Bora bora's sun seems to have done its numbers. His family is into the oil business, or as he calls it, "Black gold."
Tyler on the other hand hasn't changed much. He's Hispanic and goes back to Spain from time to time like me. His father is a real estate tycoon—on an international level. So, I guess you could say my circle is what I'd call comfortable, but what others would call filthy rich.
We go to the battlefield and hold our guns close to our chests. Right now, all of us are spread around the field, desperate to win. For a game that was supposed to be 'everyone against Luke', it turned into an 'every man for himself' in minutes. And all I had to do was remind them that if they all went after me, which of them would win? And being people who were all raised with a 'succeed no matter what' mentality, it wasn't too difficult. I lay low behind the obstacles, looking for prey. Two people have already been eliminated, communicated to us via these wristbands that glow for a bit when someone's been shot.
There's no one in sight, but I can hear footsteps east from me. But they aren't coming in my direction. At least that's what he wants me to think. I smirk. Why don't I pull a stunt for you, stalker?
I stand up and leave myself wide open, prancing around the field like it's a beautiful sunny day. I'm careful to make it look like I'm either arrogant or ignorant, so he doesn't get suspicious. I hear the fallen leaves crackle slightly behind me. He's coming.
In a split second, I turn around and aim my gun, pulling the trigger without a single moment of hesitation.