Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

I shake my head, taking her elbow to stop her. “I’m from Jersey, too.”

Ruby reels a bit, sweeping her eyes up and down my body. “You?”

“Why’d you say it like that? Is there a certain way you have to look to be from Jersey?”

“I mean…you don’t have the accent, for one.”

“We moved to Manhattan when I was ten or eleven. Well, and Ridgefield, Boston…and a few others.” I roll my eyes at the difficulty of explaining to someone where, exactly, I grew up.

“Why so much moving?”

“It wasn’t really moving. Just acquiring more and more houses. Anywhere my dad felt like breaking into the market, he’d buy a house, relocate us, and set up a new office nearby. The Durham Real Estate empire.”

“That’s…impressive.”

“It’s baffling. The man used to be a zoologist with Bergen and Cohanzick, volunteered with all these conservation efforts, advised on exotic care in Barker…. Now he spends his days glued to a phone, selling multi-million dollar mansions.”

Ruby thanks me when we reach the car and I open her door for her. I rush around to my side, get in, and crank the heat. We’re quiet for a while, cupping our hands around the vents and shivering.

“How does someone go from zoology to real estate?” she asks. “Or from what I assume was a regular life in a regular home to...how many houses, spread out all over kingdom come?”

“I’d say it boiled down to the paycheck, initially. My mom always wanted more, and Dad couldn’t say no.” I decide to breeze past this, before she can ask more. My mother’s the last subject I feel like explaining. “As for how many houses we’ve got…. God. Too many.”

“You might be the first person I’ve ever heard say that.” When I look at her, she hesitates and sits back, pulling my jacket shut around herself. “Everyone wants that whole ‘summer house, winter house’ thing. Addresses all over the map. The ability to just pack up and go, whenever you want.”

“Always packing up, never really unpacking,” I correct. I twist in my seat and study the glow of the stereo on her neck, highlighting her cheekbone. “Always going. Never staying long enough.”

Ruby’s eyes dance between mine. “Is that why you stayed this year? You got tired of always moving?”

I nod, then laugh at myself with disgust. “Such a first-world problem, isn’t it?”

“Feeling homeless because you’ve got too many homes,” she mutters, propping the tip of her shoe on the glovebox. “Poor thing.”

“What?”

Instantly, she sits upright again, looking horrified. “Oh, Jesus,” she says, clasping her hands over her mouth, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” I laugh, as entertained as I am confused. “You’re completely right. I was just...taken aback by how you said it, I guess. But in a good way.” Ruby is incredibly sweet, but every so often—like just now—something shifts, and I get a glimpse of a much tougher person than the outside lets on.

I absolutely love it.

“I should be grateful,” I nod, running my hands along the wheel. “And honestly? For a long, long time...I was.” I look out to the water again, pretending we’re sitting here during a July sunset, everything painted in bright orange. “Then something changed.”

Ruby fidgets with her purse strap, I guess still embarrassed about her burst of honesty. “What?”

“Me.”

Her mouth twists again. I get the feeling she just stopped herself from saying something else a little harsh. And totally accurate.

I decide to fill in the blanks for her. “Rich kid stereotype, right? Claims he knows full and well how hollow it is, but keeps using all the perks anyway. Stuck in the world his parents built for him because he’s too chickenshit to leave.”

Ruby gives a smile like I’m spot-on, but agreeing would feel rude.

I buckle up. She does the same before I pull away from the curb, aiming us into the cold, dark night.

“Financial stability would be nice, though,” she adds, seemingly to herself. “Not having to worry if you’ll make rent because your roommate skips town. No choosing between gasoline or groceries.” She pauses. “Being able to help your family, when they don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

The edge has crept back into her voice, laced with a sadness I don’t think she’d believe I understand. I know exactly what it’s like to want to help someone you love, but being powerless to do so.

I think about telling her this, but I don’t like the turn this date has taken. She’s been acting strangely ever since the restaurant.

Not that I would know what is or isn’t strange behavior for her. We met not even twelve hours ago. Somehow, I keep forgetting that I don’t know this girl.

So why the hell does it feel like I do?

Every time I look at her, my stomach floats up into my chest. Getting her to smile makes me happier than my entire summer.

I can’t explain it. All I know is, I hate the thought of tonight ending.

When I pass the restaurant where her car is still parked, she tracks it a moment before she asks where I’m taking her.

“I’m not. You’re taking me somewhere.” I dig a quarter from the cupholder and toss it to her. “Heads, we turn right. Tails, left.”

At the first intersection we hit, I crawl to a stop and nod at her.

She balances the quarter on her thumb inside her fist, then flicks it upward. The slap of her palms as she catches it fills the car.

Slowly, she peeks. “Tails.”

I creep into the intersection and turn left.

We do it over and over again. Ten times, twenty: I lose track.

“How long do we do this?” she asks, laughing when