Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4) Read online

  He shrugs sliding a gallon of milk into the refrigerator. “I’m comfortable in my masculinity. I’d tell you if he was a horse face.”

  How the male species has survived this long I’ll never understand. “Number two, I’m in control of my vagina. She doesn’t get to sleep with random people without my permission.” I take a deep breath and carry on so I can get my third point out before he makes a comment about the word vagina. “And number three, Grant is like a hemorrhoid. You think you’ve taken care of the problem, but then it flares up again. The last thing I’m going to do is sleep with him. That would aggravate the situation.”

  “But he’s a hot and rich hemorrhoid. And what do you know about hemorrhoids, anyway?” Drew leans on his elbows over the wall divide between us. With his light blue eyes and long thick dark eyelashes, he should’ve been born a girl. I told him that once…it didn’t go over well. He must not have been comfortable in his masculinity at age sixteen.

  “I read things on the Internet.” I shrug and open the carton of ice cream. “Pass me a spoon, would ya?”

  He rolls his eyes before I lose sight of him in the kitchen. “You don’t even like Chunky Monkey.”

  Hmm. He’s right. I’m not a fan of the banana flavor. “It’s more about punishing you for thinking badly of my vagina.”

  He groans from the other room and then tosses a spoon at my head. “Can we not discuss your girly bits, please?”

  I catch it just in time. “Dork.”

  “Seriously, in my mind you have a penis. Best brother I’ve ever had. Don’t ruin it for me.”

  “You brought it up first.”

  Drew walks around the kitchen wall and stops next to me at the table. “Grow up, Clare,” he says snatching the carton of ice cream away.

  I give up on the ice cream — Yup, still hate this banana crap — and follow him to the living room. “What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  “Murder, mayhem, all the usual.” He props up one of the couch pillows and then sits down leaning against it.

  “So basically what you’re saying is there’s a game on and you plan to spend tonight on the couch watching?”

  He nods his head. His lips pucker like there’s nothing wrong. “Yeah. Want to join me?”

  “Sure.” I sit on the opposite side of the couch. It’s not like I have anything else going on for me tonight.

  Believe it or not we were a much more adventurous crew at one point in our lives. But I’ve spent the last two months in hiding from Grant, and Drew was dumped by his long-term girlfriend, Cassie, two weeks ago. Well long-term for him being shy of six months. He’ll never admit it bothers him more than he lets on. Life for him has been nothing but sweat pants and ESPN since she packed her bags and moved out.

  “Isn’t it early for football?” A replay of a jersey-clad player kicking a football through the goal posts lights up our television. “I thought we were in baseball season?”

  Drew gives me the side-eye. “It is baseball season. That’s a replay of the big game-winning play from this year’s Super Bowl.”

  “Oh. Can I use your laptop while we watch since we know the score of this exciting match?”

  He smirks, kicking his feet up on our rectangular coffee table. “Sure, if you tell me why you need it.”

  “I have important things to do.” Heavy emphasis on things.

  “I’m sure you do. Lots of crap to move around in your inventory in Dragons Reborn?”

  “It’s not as easy to do from my phone.” I’ve been playing Dragons Reborn for the last two years, but Drew never caught the hype. Since it’s possible my personal laptop is older than I am, he lets me borrow his to play from time to time.

  Drew and I have been BFFs since we met ten years ago. I attached myself to his side after he punched Brad Metzer — another foster kid — when he tried to steal my winter coat. Being friends with and protected by Drew is half the reason I made it out of foster care mostly unscathed. I haven’t regretted having him for a best friend once.

  “So you’ll play his video game but won’t suck his dick?”

  Okay, I’ve regretted it a few times.

  “Oh my God.” I reach across the space and hit him in the arm. “It’s not his game and you’re so crass.”

  “I might be crass,” he repeats the word in this fake “Clare” voice he likes to mimic me with on occasion, “but you’re being daft. You won’t fuck Grant because you’re worried you’ll turn out like your mother, but you, Clare Cunningham, are too smart for that.”

  “Don’t say fuck.” I mumble unintelligibly about my mother being smart as well and let the subject drop. Drew and I both have our reasons for ending up in foster care. His involved an alcoholic father with a mean left hook and mine a mother with a long prison term for drug distribution.

  My prison visits with my mother contain some of our best memories. Mainly because she’s sober. Theresa wasn’t a terrible mom and there were times she tried, but the heartache of my father leaving her when I was a baby became too much. It wasn’t always drugs, but one thing has a way of leading to another and none of it leads uphill.

  Drew is right though, I’m smarter than my mom because I will never allow a man to break my heart.

  The big game goes to a commercial and Drew’s attention returns to me. “Fine. Ignore your Grant problem, but eventually we will need to deal with the roommate situation.”

  My nose crinkles at the thought of what is to come. Searching for a roommate sucks donkey ass. Drew’s girlfriend was our fourth roommate, and while she paid rent a month in advance, we need to fill her space quickly or we’ll be screwed.

  “Yuck.” I cringe at the thought. “Did you put a new ad on Craigslist?”

  Cassie’s departure is the second time we’ve had to find a replacement because Drew slept with a housemate.

  “And remember it must be a guy this time because you are not allowed to date the roommates anymore.”

  “I posted the ad, but you need to focus on being less picky this time if you want to find someone suitable. It will be hard to find one that can meet your ridiculous demands.”

  “My demands are not ridiculous.” I don’t want to live with a creeper. It’s not too much to ask, is it?

  “Clare,” he pauses long enough to give me a drawn-out expression. “You wouldn’t let Cassie cook fish.”

  “And…” I stand by the decision. The whole house smelled of ocean for a week.

  “We are never going to find another roommate like Blake, so you need to stop looking.”

  Blake. I sigh and tilt my head at the ceiling pretending I can see him on the third floor.

  Blake is the best roommate ever. He lives on the top floor of the house with a private entrance and never uses the house besides his room and the private third floor bathroom. He has a mini fridge up there so we don’t have to share fridge shelf space. We’ve seen him less than five times in the last three years. Each sighting was unexpected, causing us to react like he’s Bigfoot. His rent checks mysteriously appear on the kitchen counter every month and we don’t ask questions. It’s a perfect arrangement.

  The other three bedrooms are on the second floor with one shared bath. They require much more interaction between us. That’s why picking a new roommate for the second floor is such a delicate balance. We have to get it exactly right.

  “You should let me pick the roommate on my own this time.” Drew suggests as if it’s the best idea ever.

  “What? I don’t think so. Are you on drugs?” Drew would find someone to sit around and watch football with all day and then I’d be surrounded by men.

  “I’ll let you use the laptop whenever you want without making fun or calling you a nerd.”

  I roll my eyes at his offer. We both know that’s a promise he could never keep.

  “You’re so busy, Clare. At least let me do the grunt work of whittling our choices.”

  “Fine.” Last time we had hundreds of people email expressing their interest. “B
ut I at least get to meet them before you say yes and someone starts moving their shit in here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The couch bounces once as my ass hits it, the front door closing behind me. There’s a faint odor of smoke on this side of the hallway, but I choose not to question it. Upstairs roommate must have his hotplate on again.

  “Rough day?” Drew asks muting the baseball game on the TV.

  I blow air out my pinched lips, sounding like a distressed motorboat. “I’m having the worst Monday.”

  Rather than sympathize with me, Drew laughs. “That’s what you said last Monday.”

  “Okay fine. It’s the worst Monday since last Monday.” I steal the remote from his outstretched hand and start flicking through channels. I cannot handle another baseball game, but there is always a mind-numbing show on Bravo. I stop flipping channels on a Kardashian commercial.

  “I am not watching any more of your Kardashian shit.” Drew tries to wrestle the remote back from me.

  I hit him with it in the arm. “It’s a commercial, dumbass.”

  With school officially out for the summer the center’s hours change, adding more in the morning and evenings so we are available when the youth need a place. The days are long, but I try to make it home for dinner. We do everything we can to keep the kids busy. Busy kids don’t have time to get themselves in trouble. At least that’s the motto I work on.

  I pick up the channel flipping again, stopping as I circle around and we’re back to the baseball game. “What are your plans for the evening?” Here’s hoping he planned to cook me an awesome dinner with chocolate for dessert.

  “You’re looking at them.” His arms stretch out showcasing the TV and his lazy ass on the couch.

  “Have I ever mentioned how exciting it is to live with you? Who needs the doctor and his TARDIS? I have Drew and his Big Blue Couch.”

  The rant I’m nowhere near ready to end comes to a screeching halt with a pounding on our door.

  Drew’s finger flies to his nose, the tip touching the end. “Not it!”

  “I told you we stopped playing that game ten years ago,” I say, but I stand up ready to open the door.

  Drew laughs turning his attention back to the TV, unconcerned if it’s someone here to stab me. “If we stopped playing then why am I always winning?”

  Men.

  I don’t take the time to check the peephole. It will serve Drew right if I get stabbed.

  Turns out I’m right. On the other side of the door stands a truly dangerous man. This guy is hazardous, but in an entirely different way. Now I wish it was a kidnapper. There’s a big white pizza box in his arms. He hurries, pushing it forward into the space created by the open door or else I’d close it on him.

  Worst Monday ever.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Grant grins. “I brought pizza.”

  “Why?”

  His smile fades, and his eyes drop to the pizza box held out in front of him. “To eat.”

  “We don’t do that,” I spit out quickly. My words are ridiculous, but they have their intended effect. Grant takes a step back in his puzzled state and I try to close the door on him.

  My forward momentum is halted. “Clare, we don’t talk to our guests that way. Especially those who come bearing gifts.” Drew reaches out and snatches the pizza box from Grant without taking two seconds to ask what he’s doing here.

  He walks it to the dining room table not bothering to open the top. “What kind is it?” Drew asks opening cupboards in the kitchen.

  I follow him stopping at the end of the table. “It doesn’t matter what kind.”

  “Double meat,” Grant says right behind me.

  Who let him in the house?

  “How do you know if we eat that kind? Maybe we’re vegetarians.” I walk to the opposite side of the table from Grant and push the pizza box toward him. It’s a big hint he should take.

  “He’s a man. Of course he wants the meat lovers special.” He pushes the box to my side.

  I pinch my lips together so I won’t make the reference to his mention of Drew loving meat. I don’t want Grant to think we’re friends who banter.

  Drew sits, pulling the pizza box toward him. I glare in his direction silently threatening roommate murder if he opens the box.

  He opens the box. The bastard.

  Grant’s eyes lock on me, his lips turning into a smile. “Don’t worry. If you’re vegetarian, I’ll get you a pizza too.”

  Both palms pressed flat against the table, I lean into the space. “I definitely don’t eat meat.”

  I totally do.

  Grant’s mouth opens slowly, like a fish taking a breath. I can practically see the words forming. He wants to make a comment regarding our one-night stand, but then Drew moves and Grant’s eyes flick in his direction. Just for a second, but it’s enough. His mouth closes.

  I smirk and take a step back from the table.

  Grant: Zero

  Clare: One

  Drew lifts his head, finally acknowledging the standoff taking place in our dining room. With a mouth full of pizza, he says, “You two go have fun. The TV and I have big plans tonight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with him.” My eyes don’t leave Grant’s light blue ones.

  “A simple walk around the block. We’ll get you a meal without meat on it and then come right back here.”

  I eye him suspiciously. My anger and irritation helped keep the delicious smell of Giorgio’s pizza from distracting me, but now it steals my focus. Lunch was six hours ago. Six long hours ago.

  “Fine. One time around the block and you buy me pizza.” It’s not my fault food is the quickest way to my heart. I grew up on a steady diet of SpaghettiOs and peanut butter sandwiches. I still get excited over food that tastes good. Especially when I’m not the one paying.

  “Take a sweatshirt. It might be cold,” Drew yells as I’m about to open the door.

  “I won’t be gone long enough to get cold.”

  “Don’t worry. If she gets cold I’ll keep her warm.” Grant waves a goodbye to Drew like they became best friends in the last five minutes.

  I’m so glad my best friend is super protective of me hanging out with random guys. I even think the words sarcastically.

  I turn around and stop fully at the bottom of the front porch. “We are not touching each other.”

  Grant continues down the steps until he’s standing next to me. “I meant you could borrow my jacket if you need it.” He pulls on the collar of his black Columbia jacket.

  Oh.

  We pass the first three houses in silence. I make each stride as long as my short legs will allow, but it doesn’t hurry Grant any. He strolls along behind me without a care in the world. Like he’s enjoying this.

  “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” I fall in step with him. Giorgio’s is only around the corner. I’ll play nice for that long since it involves pizza. “Are you still living in the hotel?”

  When I met Grant two months ago, he was living in a swanky hotel in the Financial District of the city.

  “Yup. The houseboat still makes me seasick, but I put it on the market last month and she sold fast.”

  Only a wealthy person with no concept of money buys a houseboat before figuring out if they get seasick.

  “What’s your long-term plan?” I don’t care what Grant does, but it’s an easy topic. And a good reminder of why we could never work together.

  “The paperwork should be final in the next few days and then I’ll search for a decently priced house in the area, maybe a rental.”

  I can’t imagine what his idea of “decently priced” is. Most of the houses in the Bay are easily hundreds of thousands. I almost open my mouth to mention we’re missing a roommate. Grant could surely make the rent each month and I wouldn’t have to worry he’d sleep with Drew. But Grant would never want to live in a turn-of-the-century house with a leaky faucet, squeaky steps, and outdated heating system. For a mom
ent shame weighs on me, but then I remember how much I love the arches, original woodwork, and our huge front porch.

  It’s not that Grant Moore is too good for our house, but we’re too good for him. He’ll probably end up in a modern, bland, featureless place. It will have smooth walls and straight floors, and it’ll lack character.

  “Well I hope you’re able to find a place up to your standards soon.”

  “Yeah me too, but let’s talk about much more important topics. Why you weren’t at brunch yesterday.”

  “It’s personal,” I’m quick to retort. Who the hell is he to question where I am or am not?

  Grant slows his steps and glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Aspen said you were sick.”

  I must come up with new stack of excuses. “Women problems.” That should shut him up and stop the twenty questions I expect he’ll start any second.

  “Oh…” His eyebrows shoot up and he becomes interested in the architecture of the surrounding buildings.

  We turn the corner and my sympathy overcomes my annoyance, so I pick up the conversation again. “How was Aspen?” I’m sure she’s the same as she was when I saw her on Saturday, but it’s something to talk about that isn’t me.

  “Good. I think she and Simone are both getting antsy waiting for a ring now that Marissa is married. And who in their right mind would have ever guessed Ryland would be the first of our group to tie the knot, huh?”

  I’ve only ever seen Ryland while he’s been with Marissa, but apparently before they met the media portrayed the soccer superstar as a big playboy. Even if he says it was never true.

  Aspen and Finn were the first to get together, merging the two groups of friends. Aspen calls it a turbulent time, but frankly I don’t get how anyone could date Finnegan McRyan and not figure out he’s a video game gazillionaire. He has a driver for fuck’s sake. That’s not a normal thing even for the wealthy. For as nice as Aspen has proven herself, she’s a bit naïve and overly trusting at times. I mean she befriended me. It’s obvious she grew up in a nice house with a family that cared for her, but it left her lacking street smarts.