Lanie Bross: Fates

Jas, of course, still refused to go to Karen’s with him. She had said she was going to stay home, bum out on the couch, and eat the Twix he gave her. He’d reminded her: Absolutely no going out. No T.J. No parties.

Definitely no parties.

The Mission Creek Yacht Club had rules against boat parties, noise levels, and maximum capacity—but Karen’s parents were founding members, and exceptions were made.

The brightly lit houseboat was moored at the end of a private pier, and it was bigger than most people’s real houses. It had three decks and a hull of gleaming chrome. Even though he was late, Luc walked slowly, enjoying the feel of the ocean breeze on his skin, the view of the thousands of stars glittering in the night sky like shattered bits of ice.

Cassiopeia, Centaurus, Corona Borealis.

Voices and bursts of laughter punctuated the night air. A strong hip-hop beat vibrated through the wooden gangway, buzzing up through Luc’s feet as he crossed onto the boat from the pier.

Heat lamps had been arranged all around the deck, and the air was artificially warm, despite the breeze coming off the bay.

“Ahoy, matey!” someone called out from the roof deck as Luc shouldered his way through the crowd.

He looked up and saw a very drunk guy in a captain’s hat leaning way too far over the deck. Just when it looked like he might tumble over, several hands pulled him back and he disappeared into the crowd. Saul Tompson. Life of the party. Total dumbass.

“The Duke is in the house!” Tyler shouted, appearing out of nowhere. He gripped Luc’s hand and bumped his shoulder. “You ready for our five a.m. weight-training session on Monday, Your Highness?”

After Luc led the soccer team to their first shutout victory last year, the guys had started calling him Luc the Duke. The nickname stuck, and when he made captain this year, Luc found he liked being held up on that royal pedestal. It kept his head in the game—helped him to focus. Most of the time, anyway.

“Hell no.” Luc took the beer Ty offered. He could use a bit of a buzz tonight. “This is why I hate losing.”

“Well, maybe if our star forward actually kicked the ball into the goal … ,” Tyler said, grinning.

“And maybe if our star goalie actually stopped one once in a while … ,” Luc fired back. The truth was, he had been distracted. He had missed an easy goal and his shot had gone way wide to the left, not even tempting the keeper to make a save. Everyone on the field had actually stopped and stared. Luc rarely missed—he couldn’t afford to miss, not when there were always college scouts dropping by practice.

Not when he was already in the doghouse with Coach.

Two weeks ago, Luc had pushed a member of a rival soccer team. Coach wouldn’t listen when Luc argued that the guy had gone straight for his ankle, not the ball, when Luc was about to take a shot. Coach had simply been pissed that Luc lost his cool and had benched him for the rest of the game.

No more fighting, no more screwups, or else Luc would get booted off the team for good.

He needed to play soccer.

A soccer scholarship was his best hope of actually getting into—and being able to pay for—college. Plus, it was the only part of school he was actually good at.

“Duke! Duke! Duke!” a chorus of voices yelled, and three more players from the team pushed their way over.

“Hey, man, Karen was looking around for you about a half hour ago,” Jake said. He was the closest thing to a best friend Luc had. “She didn’t look too happy.”

Luc heaved a sigh. Great. Another night of fighting. Just when he was starting to relax.

“Guess I should go and face the music,” he said, tipping the bottle back and draining the last of the beer.

“You need a longer leash,” Tyler said.

“Whatever, Finnegan. Becky’s on the warpath, so I wouldn’t be talking too much trash,” Jake said to Tyler.

Tyler’s girlfriend, Becky Waller, slid up behind Tyler just then and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was tiny, and blond, and together she and Tyler looked perfect: golden and all-American, like something out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

Becky was shorter than Karen and had bigger boobs, which, Luc couldn’t help noticing, were barely harnessed by her stretchy pink top tonight. But Karen had confidence that Becky didn’t have, and it made her sexier.

“Sorry, guys,” Becky said, giggling. She was already slurring her words a little. “I’m stealing your goalie for a while.”

She shrieked when Tyler leaned down and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her over his shoulder. He strode over to the railing.

“Who’ll give me twenty bucks to toss her in?” he yelled.

“I’ll give you fifty not to!” Becky shouted, kicking and giggling.

“A hundred!” someone shouted.

A small crowd gathered and the wager grew bigger by the second.

“Wait!” Becky shouted. She arched up and whispered something in Tyler’s ear. He spun around and set her down, where she wobbled on her high heels. Ty grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling.

“Gentlemen, I’ve been made an offer I can’t refuse,” he said, grinning widely.

Luc felt a sudden surge of envy. It was so easy with Ty and Becky—they even kind of looked the same.

What had Karen said about tonight? She might have a surprise for him. He knew he should feel excited—he was excited—but he also felt weirdly guilty, as though Karen had spent a lot of money on a present he didn’t totally want.

Luc started for the stairs. Karen liked to be in the thick of it all, so she was probably waiting upstairs on the roof deck.

A huge group of people stood around, laughing and dancing to the beat thumping out of the surround-sound speakers. Paper lanterns were strung around the railing of the upper deck, bathing the roof in a soft yellow light.

Karen never threw just any party. The beer they were drinking was actually good, and cold, not just some Coors Light that had been shoved in someone’s duffel bag. There was liquor, too, all top-shelf, and the lights were just dim enough. Karen would never do anything half-assed.

She was predictable, but that was exactly what he liked about her. She grounded him, kept him focused in the right direction.

Luc smiled and nodded at random people as he pushed his way through the crowd. And then, out of nowhere, he got cornered by Hillary Greer.

Shit.

“Hey, Luc,” she practically purred in his ear. She pushed her chest against his arm and leaned in as close as she could get.

Luc could smell cherries and vodka on her breath.

“Uh, hi, Hil. What’s up?” Luc tried to edge his way past her, but she clamped a hand on his arm.

He’d made out with her last year at a party after the team had won states. In an uncharacteristic Luc moment, he’d gotten blind drunk on tequila shots. Turned out Hillary was one of those really pretty girls who was also really freaking crazy.

She texted him at all hours of the night, cornered him at school, and finally bought herself a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day and told everyone they were from him.

The guys thought it was hilarious and showed up in the locker room with roses the next day, claiming Luc had sent them.

He’d had to put his foot down with Hillary after that, and he half expected to find a dead animal nailed to his door when he told her that there was nothing going on between them and she needed to stop.

She seemed to take it well enough, but he tried to avoid her at school just in case. Then he met Karen, and Hillary was forgotten. Except right now, she was hanging on his arm in a very low-cut shirt and it was hard to even remember his own name.