First: Get Caught: A Stalker's Guide to Love (Pruitt Prep Book 1) by Crystal Liechty

Author:Crystal Liechty [Liechty, Crystal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

Ben

I turned the music down as I headed back toward Lake Washington. It wasn’t as fun to blare it by myself. Abigail had taken the light with her. Even the sky had grown overcast, grey clouds rolling in across the previously blue sky. The first raindrops began to fall as I pulled into the circular driveway of my family’s estate.

Exotic cars lined the curb leading up to the main entrance, and I had to park farther back than usual. I got out, grabbed my backpack from the trunk, and trekked up the faded red cobblestone walkway, the smell of freshly cut grass filling my nose.

“Welcome home, baby brother,” Sylvia Song said as soon as I walked through the wide front door. She leaned against a marble pillar in the entryway, holding a wine glass and grinned at me. I flashed her a dimple and shrugged.

“I’d say it’s good to be back, but...”

In the distance, I could hear cluttered voices talking over each other, Korean and English words swirling together, and someone playing the piano softly.

Sylvia chugged the wine ungracefully, set the empty glass on a polished wood table holding a large vase of flowers, and grabbed my arm. “Still pouting,” she said as she dragged me up the stairs.

“I’m not pouting.” I pushed out my bottom lip.

She laughed. “Eomma’s in a mood. I wanted to warn you. Today’s not the day to pull anything.”

“The big scenes are more your style,” I reminded her. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.”

“Good. There’s some big investor from New York she flew in so the bull will be thicker than usual.”

We stopped in the doorway of my room. A freshly pressed black suit hung on a hook next to my closet, shiny black shoes resting beneath. I tossed my bag on the bed and pulled my phone out of my pocket. No new calls or messages. I shoved it back in and sat on the edge of my bed.

“He’s fat and disgusting,” Sylvia went on. “He’s got this cigar that he keeps puffing on, even though it’s not lit. I don’t get it. It’s like an accessory or something. And I guess he was curious about our culture because he came out just to watch us do Jesa like a freaking tourist. But the worst part is how Eomma laughs at every stupid thing he says.”

As she talked, Sylvia waked around the edge of my room, running her fingers over an old soccer poster, fingering a trophy from my little league days, picking up a pillow from the loveseat near the balcony window. She always did this—hedged until she found the courage to get to the point. I watched her from my bed, waiting.

“When will we have enough money?” she asked. She paused at the mirror over my dresser and dabbed under her eyes, then turned her face from side to side, examining her flawless makeup. “Should I cut my hair?” She lifted her silky black locks off her neck.

“Just tell me already,” I said. When

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