Trespassing

Trip's POV

I loosened my tie with another tug. This dress code would be the cause for my expulsion. I was one step away from changing into my regular clothes instead of this white, hot, shirt and navy pants—don't even get me started on the shoes. I felt like I'd stepped into a boarding school. This was my most recent high school, St. Joseph. I got kicked out of two, this year. I broke a window at the first one; I kicked a kid's ass in the other. I didn't even rough him up that badly, he was such a crybaby. Besides, he had it coming after getting me kicked off the lacrosse team. Now they wouldn't let me join, the season was nearly over. I sat quietly at a stone bench, legs spread out in front of me. I'd been here for a month now, everyone knew me when I entered. I didn't know them, frankly I didn't want to. Friends were overrated when you had as much money as my family did or theirs. I wasn't the only rich boy strolling down the halls. My parents insisted in putting me in private schools.

I found my brain straying to what happened a day ago. Ava had caught me in a poor situation, I admitted it. I must have looked… hell she said it to my face, what kind of guy I was. I wasn't that kind of guy—sure I had sex with tons of girls and didn't recall their names, but I wasn't the one using them in the first place. They came to me, they asked me if I could get them five minutes alone with my Mother in hopes they'd convince her they were good enough to be her new models. Weren't they using me to get what they wanted? They didn't like me; they didn't care for my feelings. I didn't tell them to pay me with anything. I didn't need girls dropping at my feet, they never even stopped to think I would do it out of the goodness of my heart—yes, I have one. Sometimes though… sometimes they weren't the ones coming to me—I turned the volume louder as the thoughts from that night crawled in the corners of my mind—sometimes my Mother sent them to me. She told me I had to evaluate them, to see if they were good material. If there was a person who didn't give a crap about feelings and used people like they garbage it wasn't me.

I did my best to relax my body as much as possible, letting the music fill my ears. I wanted to tune out this bratty ambiance. As much as I'd like, I didn't seem to fit in with my so called peers, not with the snob ones which were all of them. I frowned lightly when a kid who couldn't be older than me, trailed behind two others, carrying three bags. One was his surely; the other two probably belonged to the spoiled brats talking avidly ignoring how much the blond kid with the short hair was straining to hold everything. My blue gaze followed them a while longer. A bag fell on Christian Freight's foot. I knew who he was from watching some of our school's lacrosse games. He was on the team. He wasted no time pushing the blond, kid sending him staggering—the poor guy tripped falling into the patio's bushes. I winced, that had to hurt. I thought Christian had his little revenge out of the way, I was wrong. He bent down to grasp the kid's collar, meaning trouble. I slit my eyes unplugging the earphones and throwing the iPod into my open backpack. There was one thing I hated more than paparazzi's—injustice. I strolled to where all the other kids kept staring at.

"Look what you did to my books, you numb-skull moron!" Christian was close to lifting the lanky guy from the ground, by now. "What are you scholarship idiots for if you can't even carry a bag without dropping it?" There were snickers from all around the patio. I resisted the urge to shake my head. So that was why no one was helping the dude out. He wasn't loaded. Christian shook him, not that he needed to do a lot, the kid's eyes were shaking leafs. "Don't you have anything to tell me Matthews?" He gritted angrily enjoying the fear he was inspiring in the blond.

"I… I didn't mean to do that, Christian. It was an accident."

Christian slammed him into the rock wall.

"What was that, wuss? I don't think we all heard it?" The lacrosse player smirked nodding around himself to see his growing audience.

My hand curled up.

"He said it was an accident, back off Freight." I spoke loud enough so everyone would hear. Christian's built shoulders hunched when he heard it; he looked over to where I was standing. "It was an accident let him go." I repeated just as steadily, glaring directly into Christian's enraged eyes.

"What's it to you, Harrington? Go back to your loner corner before I break your nose." He bit out giving me the sense he didn't like me at all. Ooh, I felt so sad and scared, I was going to crawl into my bed and cry—I rolled my eyes. This guy was so full of shit… I would gladly beat it out of him.

"You can't even touch me." I mocked still with both hands in my pockets. I could see his interest shift towards me rather than the defenseless scholar kid. "I can send you crying to your Mommy if you'd like, though. I'll do it for free." I grinned in a last provocation.

The grit of his teeth was the only tip I got—ant the only I needed—to dodge when he came at me for the first time. My fist slammed into the abdomen hitting bullseye. I caught a wheeze. My hand wrapped around the navy jacket—part of our uniforms—lifting him only to push him into the bushes, like he'd done to Matthews before.

"Watch out—"

A dry smack reverberated in my head. Son of a… that fucking hurt! I eased a hand to my eye making sure it was still intact. I swallowed a pained wince, along with a hurt expression. That guy with Christian, I had no idea who he was, but he'd just suckered punched me. I didn't need to know who he was to charge at him, tackling to the ground slamming my fist dead-on into his face. I didn't stop no matter how much my knuckles hurt, I saw blood coming from his nose and that was when I hesitated. My fist hovered, I halted the punching. I didn't want to send him to the hospital in a coma. When I got up from the crouch on top of him, he scurried away cradling his nose. Maybe I broke it. Whoops. I looked over to Christian who was fighting against a branch. I chuckled seeing he'd gotten stuck. My left eye flattered closed a little when the sunlight hit my face.

"I hope you learned not to pick on someone just because they don't have your money." I hissed bending down, offering the blond guy a hand. "You okay?" I helped him to his feet, he stumbled a step nodding dazed.

"Th-thanks…" He managed looking at my sore hand and at the guy with the bleeding nose.

"Whatever," I muttered glancing around. The snitch was already gone from the patio which meant it was time for me to bail. Of all the things I needed right now, getting kicked wasn't one of them. A trip to the Dean's office didn't sound appealing either, it smelled like old people, maybe because the guy was nearing the seventy-years of age… "I gotta go." I mussed, walking with a hurried step to snatch my bag and make a calm run to the gates.

I was heading to my car before remembering there was no car today. I woke up earlier and decided to walk to school. It was good exercise. Call it an accidental contribution to the environment, for its preservation and all. Now I had to get home or away from here fast. Stealing a car didn't seem like the best course of action. I rounded a corner when out the corner of my right eye—the left was stinging like crazy—I caught someone trailing me. I had the person in my grip when he came around.

"No, wait it's me… it's me…" The guy whose ass I'd just saved muttered lifting his hands to protect himself from any harm I could be thinking of causing. "I didn't want to scare you." He breathed softly when my hands released his shoulders.

"What do you want?" I said feeling my eye blinking against my control. "Damn," I muttered inwardly. I did a nice thing and I still got a bad deal out of it. Why did this always happen when I tried to help out?

"Dude, your eye is going to be majorly swollen if you don't put some ice on it presto." I gave him a glare. "Right, there's no ice around since we're in the middle of the street…" He scratched his short hair embarrassed. "Do you want me to drive you home or anywhere…? It doesn't seem too smart driving around with a fluttering eye." Kid was right, about both things, except I didn't have a car to drive here.

"I didn't bring my car." I got my bag to stay perched on my shoulder. I could catch a taxi or ride the subway—

"Oh, well… I can give you a lift if you want." I resisted slitting my eyes; it wasn't going to help my problem.

"And why would you do that?"

"Because you helped me…?" Matthews shrugged like being nice with no ulterior motive was plain in his daily life. "It's the least I can do. You got punched because of me."

I heaved a deep laugh.

"Don't give yourself so much credit, kid. Christian was being a douche bag and I was bored." My hand pushed some tousled hair to the side. "I didn't do it to be nice."

"Fine," He shrugged his gawky shoulders. "You still stopped Christian from beating me up. I still owe you."

Huh… I sighed moving my fingers, stretching them so my knuckles wouldn't feel too raw. I got the sense this brat wasn't going to leave me alone unless I let him repay me. I blinked—ouch. Maybe a fast way home wasn't a bad idea. I was going to need lots of ice and sunglasses for today. I was meeting Ava at Paradox, this time I remembered perfectly. She didn't feel swooned by my looks, now she was going to like staring at me even lesser. What a treat.

"Where's your car?" I caved.

I swear the guy perked like a happy Labrador when, I did.

"Follow me." He spoke like he was leading an expedition through unknown territory. This was one weird kid, this coming from the guy who was in therapy. I tried not to pay attention to some stares as I walked behind the blond kid. "You're Thomas Harrington, aren't you?" He piped when I fastened my pace to keep up rather than follow.

"Yeah,"

I braced myself for whatever question Matthews was about to drop on me, I saw him deliberating the fact, looking around.

"I'm Finn," He said easing into the waters, testing them out before he jumped head first. Smart brat, I thought. "Did you really drive a G-turbo?"

"You mean is it true I crashed on purpose?" I sneered for a second. "I didn't." It was a miss fortune the last thing I wanted was to get caught by the police. It was exactly what ended up happening. I spent about two hours in a prison cell before I was bailed out. "A police car cut off the road." I'd made a wrong turn so I wouldn't crash into the cops car—if I had, it would have been a lot worse—and smacked the Porsche into a wall.

Finn averted his eyes from my face. There wasn't a single person who didn't want to know why the most amazing car I had ever bought got ruined. I didn't hold it against him.

"That car was a bomb, man." He surprised me by smiling sincerely. I felt my shadow crawl with distrust. "Are you going to get it fixed?"

"Eventually," I fessed up not seeing any wrong in that. "What car do you drive?"

"Just a Chevy," Finn muttered loosely, looking elsewhere. That's the problem with being friends with people who had less money. I didn't mind, I even preferred it, but most people felt out of place and… inferior.

"I like Chevys." I stuffed my hands into the navy pockets. "The first car I drove was a Camaro. It wasn't a 68 though. Some senior from St. Louis had just bought the new one—from 2010—I never actually drove a classic."

"Mine's from 68!" Well, that's what I call a turn around. I chuckled in my head. He coughed up covering his impulsive nature. "It was my Dad's, then my brother's, now it's mine. I guess it's kind of family tradition." I laid my eyes on a red Chevrolet Camaro from 68. Two black stripes ran down the hood. It didn't look a day over… yesterday. For all I knew, Finn could just have picked it up from a car dealership.

"It looks great." I bent my head down, peering into the window analyzing the light brown seats. I caught Matthews nodding opening the driver's door. I had to squat a little to get in, the roof was a little short for me.

"My Dad helped me tuning it up. My brother had it all rusted up in his garage. He lives in New Jersey now." If there was one thing I got was auto-shop. I learned it all on my own. When I was fourteen I started to explore my Father's cars. He was constantly in the Bank, or walking in or out of meetings. Having lunch with important assets—bottom line, he didn't even know. I messed around, learning what I could with the help of mechanic books; like I told Ava, I had a lot of times on my hands, always had.

"Nice job," I pulled on the seatbelt, settling my backpack by my feet. I kept quiet until Finn pulled us from the parking spot. "Go down this street and turn at the second right." I began giving him the directions to my house. The skin around my eye was sensitive to the touch, I guess I shouldn't have touched it. I tried not to close it knowing it would be painful when I wanted to open it; my mind drifted with the quiet sounds Manhattan had to offer, the world around me blurred, though I kept telling Finn where to turn and stop, it came as an automatic mechanism—my mind knew the path back and forth. "Stop at that next one." I nodded my head to the upcoming, large, residence.

Finn didn't breathe a word about it, he didn't need to, his gaze and expression said it all too well. He was impressed. Was Ava impressed when she saw my house? I frowned—damn it, why did I have to frown? It fucking hurt. But I couldn't help it, why did I care what that model-perfect-girl thought? I didn't care what anyone thought. If I did, I'd be in an asylum, seeing a shrink was enough. I grasped the straps of bag pulling to my shoulder.

"Thanks for the lift, Matthews." I lowered my head while hopping off. I was already spinning on my heal—

"You can call me Finn," I wanted the perk my eyebrows but had the good sense not to. He'd snapped from dream-land really quick. That wasn't usual. "And you're welcome."

There was something on my face—it was weird... it felt good, natural but strange. I pushed down an agitation in my chest. I didn't turn around, I kept walking to the metal gates. I had to look decent for my meeting with Ava, and I couldn't be late. I got the impression she would skin me if I was a minute late.

Ava's POV

I made it. The Universe could throw me a freaking parade because I had made it through a whole day of high-school-celebrity-hell. I had to tell Marcy about my success and of course the whole school knew when I walked in. I never wanted to crawl into a hole so badly. I'd kept my cool when I heard the little whispers behind my back, some were flattering—or I should take them as flattery—others consisted of jealousy—well, guess what, if you wanted my shitty life you could have it—others made steaming vapor exit from my ears, then my face flashed red. The last ones could only come from guys. Unfortunately, I'd caught some of them. While on the outside I had seemed ecstatic, on the inside my soul was crying itself into oblivion. Living up to other people's image was a horrible way to live. If I had a choice... but I didn't.

I sighed parking my car in a free spot, one block away from Paradox. I chucked the magazine into the backseat. I shouldn't be surprised Mom told me to take with me. She wanted me to prance it around my so-called friends. Huh, I was tired of all the charades. I slammed the door clicking the car's key. When I looked up the bar, like Thomas ordered, I got immediate results on Google Maps. The directions led me near the Central Park's west entrance. I didn't know why he came up with that location, I only hoped there wouldn't be people buzzing all over—then again, it was a bar.

I walked for seven minutes, maybe ten, until I saw the trees from Central Park and on the other sidewalk I saw a sign, the neon lights weren't working yet, not that they should, it was the middle of the afternoon. I waited for the light to turn green until I crossed to the other side. When I approached the window, I made sure to be cautious, though I looked more like a peeping-tom... I was being a creep gazing through the thick windows. But could you blame me? I didn't want to go into a deserted bar—at least God heard my prayers on that—all by myself. If Trip wasn't inside I wouldn't set foot in there—I found my eyes blinking with the sudden realization that I'd been caught spying by the guy I was supposed to meet up with. Thomas lifted a cup with some colorful drink... Really, he was drinking?

"I just hope he doesn't make me drive him home..." I grumbled, thinking if that was his idea I would leave five seconds later. Finally strolling in, I noticed the turned-off lights, the overturned chairs neatly arranged on top of the tables—and then my eyes wandered to the counter where Thomas sat on a bar stool. His jacket was laid out further down the wooden counter. I hesitated taking a step forward. The curve of his shoulders could be made out perfectly under the dim lights—they were broad and narrow—the shirt was massively tight on his back and chest, I could foretell. Before I salivated over him like a mentally ill-teen, I saw we were the only ones here. I frowned. "We're alone...?" I set my Mom's latest buy at Mulberry on the counter.

Trip's head moved the tiniest bit to where my brown Alexa bag was.

"That's not a fake." He stated taking a gulp from the brown beverage—maybe it was whiskey.

"I know." I sounded insulted—sure I didn't care for the brands or whatever, but why would it be a fake? Just because he was rich and I wasn't didn't mean I couldn't have nice things, too.

A snarky smile crept over his lips.

"Your clothes aren't half as expensive."

I had just gotten here and already my patience felt abused. What did it matter to him if my clothes weren't vintage like most of his, if not all, were? What a spoiled brat. No wonder his parents didn't want to waste time with him, they had probably had enough.

"I was wearing Prada at school—not that it's any of your business—I changed clothes before coming here. But if your highness wants, I can come dressed in expensive brands next time." By now I was wondering if I wanted it to be a next time...

"No," I took a step back from the line of rage I'd been about to cross. "I meant it in a good way. Seeing girls dressed in those gets boring. It's like they always need to be somewhere important." My hands relaxed on top of the counter, my eyes were glued to the board. "Why did you change?" I bit down my lip. I wasn't ready to talk about my reasons for detesting fine clothing. A minute went by, two, three—he moved. "Okay."

My eyes lifted from the faint circles marked into the wooden counter.

"How come we're here alone?"

"Would you believe me if I said I bribed the owner?"

"Huh... yeah?" I heard him chuckle.

"Well, I didn't. But yeah, I would do it if it was necessary, nice guess." My chocolate eyes couldn't count how many different types of liquor adorned the shelves in front of us—so many colors. "I know the owner and he didn't mind us sneaking in for... tutoring." I could picture the waggling of his eyebrows.

"Ew..." I grimaced.

"Ew?" He sounded surprised, not as much as I expected a playboy like him to be, but he was. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No—" I turned towards Thomas for the first time today. I leaned forward on the counter so I wouldn't fall over laughing. I knew celebrities tended to cover up their faces, they wore hoodies, hats, sunglasses—Trip wasn't a movie star, but he was famous, here in New York at least, so I didn't blame him for putting on a pair of RayBan's but... inside the bar? I muffled a giggle, was this kid for real? "You know you're not Brad Pitt, don't you? No one's going to follow you in here and harass you for a photograph." He gave one shoulder shrug not taking off the glasses. "Take them off, Thomas, you look ridiculous." I said with honesty not able to keep my laughter down. He didn't move them an inch from the perch on his nose. "I'm serious, take them off."

"If I take off my sunglasses you have to take off your scrunchy." My hand travelled to the back of my head, feeling the flowered-patterned hair thingy.

"Why would I do that? It's just an accessory." And I didn't have time to straighten my hair today, so it would be all wavy from the morning shower. I had to make into into a ponytail before descending for breakfast or heads would've roll.

"So are my RayBan's. Your scrunchy stays on then so do my sunglasses."

"Please, it's so not the same." I shook my head at his superstar antics. "Seriously…" I muttered snatching them leaving him dazzled, wide eyed… Oh. "What—what happened to you?" My hold on the glasses' rod slipped. I felt a light weight on my lap, they'd landed there.

My breath was taken away by the striking skin around Trip's left eye. It was turning purplish, coloring his olive skin in a very ugly way.

"Does it matter?" He grunted pushing hair to the left side of his face.

"Yes?" I asked unsure.

"No," Thomas reached out for the golden RayBan's on my lap. I grasped them pulling them away. He made a face, tired if I had to say. "Come on, don't play keep away with that…" His mutter was sour, his gaze fell to the glasses.

"If I break them it's your fault." I did feel like I was acting like a brat. "Why wouldn't it matter?"

"It was just a random fight." He shrugged. That was easy enough to believe, him being who he was. The publicity surrounding Thomas Harrington wasn't good. Sure he was charming, handsome—that wasn't everything, though.

I glanced down the cup filled with two inches of beverage and two, melting, ice cubes.

"That ice should be on your eye, not in..." My nose scrunched up. "Whatever it is you're drinking,"

"I've used ice. It doesn't take the pain away, just stops some of the swelling." He tilted his head, shielding the left eye from the light. "I thought about stealing some morphine—"

"Okaaay," I dragged lifting my hands. "I've heard enough, and I get it, it hurts." He lowered his head in an affirmative nod, his face telling me ' I told you so'. "Here," I handed the RayBan's back. Thomas took them but hung them on the hem of his T-shirt.

"They were supposed to hide it. The gig's up, there's no use in wearing them." With a prominent smirk he slid from the seat towering over me. I watched as he didn't bother going around the counter—instead, he jumped skillfully over it, landing on the inside gaining access to the drinking goods.

"Thomas?" I asked when he slid a cup towards me. He lifted his head softly; I did my best not to grimace at how bad it looked. "Huh, what's this for?"

Trip pulled that mocking front from one day ago. I could already feel rage wanting to break from the gates.

"It's a cup, dear Ava. You use it to drink liquid things, like water, cola, booze." He shook a bottle of Jack Daniels in front of me. I saw it was already open, meaning I just found out what he was having. The bottle was nearly full. Thank you Lord…

"I know what a cup is, jackass. I don't know why you're giving one to me since I'm not drinking anything. It's the middle of the afternoon."

"Aw, come on, don't spoil this." He grinned setting his elbow on the counter, leaning his head on the palm. "I'm sure it's five in the morning somewhere if that makes it any better." No, it really didn't. It wasn't like I wasn't allowed to drink; I was, only not on a school night—or afternoon. At least my parents had normal rules about that.

"I'm not here to drink and neither are you. We're supposed to be talking, if Ms. Coleman finds out we're not living up to our deal she'll tell our parents we don't want to collaborate with her." My life would take another spin; maybe this time I ended up in solitary, my parents would put bars on my window and lock my door so I couldn't get out. They thought I was sharing and telling in therapy it was the only reason they were acting like they did before I trashed Mia's room.

"Hey," my brown eyes moved up from the bottle sitting on top of the wooden counter. "Sorry." What…? The lightest of smiles crossed his face. "About what you saw the other day, that… that was bad and you shouldn't have seen it—I shouldn't have done it." There was something more than regret to his tone, I could tell there was honesty… still there was something more. For now, I would take that as a sign.

"I think you should be apologizing to those girls, not me." I told him, holding his gaze steadily. His Adam's apple bobbed—he nodded not looking me in the eyes this time. Something nagged me in the back of my mind and I softened the glare. I admit it was like I was staring him down for murder. "Do you want to talk or did you just bring me here so you could get drunk?"

Thomas sapphire eyes returned to my face.

"I thought of way we could talk."

"What, we can't just use the normal highway?" I joked.

"Think about how your sessions with Lydia went, think about our conversation in my room, and then tell me if you think normal will work." I stared blankly for a minute. Once he made an expressive 'so?' with his eyes—flinching—I woke up. "Exactly," Trip said reading my face. "It's not going to work, not right now." He whispered the last part like a hopeful chant.

"You're right," something in me cringed when I admitted it. Thomas smiled further. "What did you think of?"

"It's a game." He glanced down, I followed the gaze. "It involves drinking," of course it did… "A stack of cards," I placed my chin atop my hands. "And truth."

"Ooh, I'm on pins and needles to hear how it works." I made a comical widening of eyes, he shook his head and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was hiding from me.

Trip walked to his jacket pulling from a pocket a stack of cards. He placed it in front of me after returning to his seat, this time like a civilized person.

"The game's simple," he started mixing the deck. "We'll each take a turn to take a card from the deck, before turning it around we have to try and guess if its red or black. If we get it right we get to ask a question, if we get it wrong we drink—and it has to be answered truthfully."

"On both sides?" I teased.

"Yes, on both sides." Thomas sounded a little anxious. "What do you say?"

My parents were going to kill me. What if I was no good at guessing? It was a game of luck, I wasn't very lucky. Not lately, not ever. I couldn't get home drunk; I couldn't be drunk because there was school tomorrow. I think there was a quiz in English, oh man…

"It's not going to kill you, Ava. It's not poison." His eyes shone with amusement. "Unless your big, bad secret is being an alcoholic?" I rolled my eyes giving a light push to his leg, the light grin got brighter.

"You're like a shoulder-devil aren't you?" My voice sounded a little strained at the same time I found it in me to slip a real smile across my features. Thomas' expression only made it harder to resist the urge of breaking out of my comfort zone. "That's a bad thing." I pointed out. The extreme reckless façade didn't go away. Geez, I was so going to get busted for this—or not. Tonight was date-night for my parents. Every week my Dad took my Mom out for dinner, this week that was today. "You're manipulative." I dragged the whisky bottle to me, uncapping it and pouring half the glass full.

"When you have persuasion you have it." He placed the deck between us. "You can draw the first one."

This was a simple game. My hand was still nervous when I pulled out the card. Red or black, which one was it? I heard him snicker, I couldn't blame him. My face reeked of concentration to guess the color of a stupid card.

"Red," I whispered before turning it over. My eyes twinkled as a red Queen of hearts stared back at me. "I get one question." I waved the card out with a very victorious air.

Thomas chuckled stirring his newly filled cup, watching as the remainder of his ice swam about.

"Shoot,"

Okay so things I didn't know about Thomas Harrington… hmm, this list was small. What didn't the media print about him? Trip did say I shouldn't believe everything I read and I didn't. I didn't want to start too deep, though. Or else he'd make those kinds of questions too, and I couldn't handle it.

"What's your middle name?" There was a dubious glare directed my way. I shrugged lightly. "I'm starting off easy."

"I wouldn't," Trip made an amazing thing with his eyes—he beamed potently, making them pop in beauty capturing mine… then he ended up covering the left one with a hiss. It served him right for picking fights. "I really have to stop doing that." After muttering he shook off the pain, facing me once more. "Charles, my middle name is Charles."

I thought I'd get an opportunity to laugh, maybe it was embarrassing, but it wasn't. It was actually a pretty nice name—filled with classy taste and all. It was better than Ava Rosalie Wellington. I almost made a green face at echoing my middle name in my own brain.

When I got back to reality, Trip was about to withdraw a card.

"Red," he called just as soon as his fingers caught it. After turning it, he let it fall to the counter reaching out for his cup. He took one, short, gulp before nodding for me to go on.

I did, I guessed red again… With numb fingers, I took my own whisky glass—I swear I made a puppy dog face at him, it didn't work. Maybe I needed to perfect it. With some hesitance I took a swig, short and fast before slamming the cup back down.

"I never drank whisky before…" I said trying to get acquainted with the dry, raw taste of it.

"It grows on you… after a few times." Thomas called 'black' before touching the card, this time, though, luck was on his side. With a pirate smile he regarded me curtly. "Why don't you like expensive things?"

My heart rate picked up, my eyes couldn't help themselves. They fell on my Alexa bag. He wasn't starting off easy, just like he said.

"Why would you think that?" I tried to ditch the subject.

"Remember back in Ms. Coleman's waiting room and, her office, when you had the GUCCI bag?" I had to nod. "You were twisting that thing like you wanted to rip it apart. All the girls I know—who have bags like that and these," he jerked his chin to the brown mallet. "They would rather sell their souls to the Devil before destroying those things." Who was to say they didn't sell their souls? I thought grimly on the sidelines. "It's obvious you don't feel comfortable having them, or wearing famous brands, either. I just want to know why."

He'd picked up on all that? I thought he was only paying attention to himself. Guess there was more to Thomas Harrington then his looks and self-centered ego.

"Those clothes are… stuffy." He laughed—really laughed. It wasn't at all a forced sound, I knew about those, I used it all day long, and this wasn't it. Still, I couldn't see what was so funny. "And if they get ruined my Mom nearly has a seizure, so I try not to move around much when I'm wearing them. It makes me feel like a sardine in a can."

Thomas' eyes were sparkling with rich entertainment. It was like he was having the time of his life hearing me talk, like he hadn't talked to anyone this way for a long time. It didn't make sense of course, wasn't he always surrounded by stuck up friends like him?

"What about the bags? What's the excuse for that?"

"Well," the GUCCI bag had a special meaning, a special story—I wasn't about to tell him that. "I'm always expecting to be robbed when I'm using them." I delivered an easy enough half-lie, because I was afraid of being robbed.

Trip scratched his hazel hair. It was tousled and shaggy but he still made it seem elegant and artistic. Four card-withdrawals later, I got to ask another question.

"How many girlfriends have you had?" I blinked my eyes continuously, my head started to feel heavy.

Thomas was still. Perfectly in charge of his body. He wasn't swaying on his stool or anything. When he began getting up, I thought it was time to leave. He finished his drink quickly and took the deck.

"Come with me somewhere." He held out his hand. I glared at it—he reached for mine when I showed no inclination to do it. "One girlfriend," he made me stumble to my feet, my other hand grasped the bag. "At least I think she counted as a girlfriend. Hard to say," I tilted my head when Thomas kept pulling me along, our hands together. "She was older than me."

The cold spring air greeted my face nicely. Noticing we were out on the sidewalk I lifted my head to see him—and wondered when it had gotten so dark. The sun had nearly vanished.

"What are you doing?" I felt my body all mushy allowing Trip to maneuver me.

"We're going to the Park." He pointed at the entrance across from us.

"I can't—" I shook my head the world spinning in swirls of colors and lights. My lower back was held by a strong, steady arm. "I can't..." I continued when I was steady on my feet. "I have to get home before my parents do."

"Why?"

"Because," I broke my serious expression—I had no idea what was so funny. I just let out a laugh. "Because." I repeated lifting a finger to his face. He smiled down at me and my stomach felt wild—it was like I had something fluttering inside it... butterflies? Oh crap, no, those weren't butterflies. They felt bigger than them, more like little shocks of electricity were jumbling my insides. The even weirder part... it felt pleasant. It must be from all the booze.

"That's not a reason."

"I'll get into trouble," I managed a little more stable. "You'll... you'll get me in trouble."

His eyebrow perked, the wince came along shortly. He had to stop doing that. He should try using the right eyebrow probably.

"What's life without a little trouble? No fun that's what it is." By the time I was able to focus my eyes, we were already walking into the green area. "Just let yourself go... forget responsibility, rules, and punishments—just let it go." He slurred and it didn't sound drunk at all, it bridged charming. "It's easy," he placed a hand on the side of my neck keeping my face up. "Let it all go, everyone. You're the only thing that matters, there's nothing else. Just you—"

"And you?" I poked his chest tripping face-first into him. Something rippled below my cheek.

"Yeah," Thomas pulled my shoulders. "You, me and nothing else—you're a serious light weight, by the way." Thomas pulled me down. The grass tickled my hands when we sat there. "I didn't think you'd get so tipsy."

I should be insulted. Right now, I didn't care. My head felt heavy so I leaned to the side. Warmth radiated from him in waves. He wasn't tipsy, not even buzzed. It made me wonder how much training he had in this matter.

"My head's going to hurt tomorrow." I mumbled feeling everything slipping into the back of my mind. An arm kept me pressed into his side, I gazed up to him. He was looking up—

"Hey—!" He yelled when I tackled him falling right beside his side, laughing. "Funny," he said shaking his head, there was a faint smirk. My breathing got quieter as the minutes and hours ticked by. I forgot everything about modeling, my sister, my parents—my non-existing life. When my head turned our eyes met, we didn't blink once.

"What happened to your eye?" I whispered in the quiet we were dwelling in.

Thomas licked his lips for a second.

"There was a guy in school beating a kid because he's a scholar. I helped the kid out." For a heartbeat I believed him—the next I laughed rolling to my side.

"You don't have to lie, just say you don't want to talk about it." The laughter began losing its edge when I was reminded of another thing. "I can't drive…" Trip sat up looking away for a while. "I can't leave my car here," or else I would catch a cab.

"I'll drive your car, drop you off and I'll catch a taxi then." I shouldn't take this, but there didn't seem to be another option. My parents weren't at home yet, so the danger wasn't high. "Do you still know where you parked it?"

I made a face, of course I did. I was tipsy, not utterly drunk.