Page 56 of Gold Rush

19

Dad: Call me.

Itap the steering wheel, staring at the open text thread.

I was in an excellent mood up until my phone dinged while I was changing to pick up Rory. Now I’m swamped with uncertainty, wondering what my father has deemed worthy of a conversation after the silence that’s extended since the last time I was at Atlantic Crest Country Club.

I haven’t heard from my mom since that dinner either, which is slightly more unusual because she’s typically pressuring me to attend certain events she considers acceptable. My dad reaches out when he wants something or when he wants to relay his disappointment directly.

I’m still staring at the unanswered message when the passenger door opens. I startle, belatedly realizing I’ve been sitting out here for a while. I was intending to walk up to the front door, continuing to make a good impression on Oliver and⁠—

Holy fuck.

Rory changed too. Her dress earlier was linen and light blue. This one is silky and short. Black, matching the heels she’s wearing and the darker makeup rimming her blue eyes. It rides up her thighs as she climbs in the car, pulling the seat belt across her chest and then staring at me expectantly.

Concern begins to bleed across her face. “Is everything okay?”

I’m not sure anything is okay.

I’ve always thought Rory was beautiful. She is beautiful, by any standard. Attractive in an ethereal, timeless way. Her beauty is classic, and I thought I was accustomed to the blonde hair and the blue eyes and the bright smile. I’m not. I don’t know where to look; I can’t stop staring. But I should not be looking because she’s in my car, doing me a favor, and making her uncomfortable is the last thing I want.

I blurt the first thing I think of unrelated to her appearance. “My dad texted.”

“What did he say?”

I flash her the screen.

“Ominous.”

I crack a smile. “Yeah.”

“Are you going to call him?”

“Nope.” I drop my phone and shift into drive. “You look hot.”

I attempt to say it casually, but the ensuing silence as I pull out of the driveway makes me think I failed.

“It’s Wren’s,” she says.

“Looks like your body to me.”

Rory huffs a laugh. “I was talking about the dress.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

I didn’t spend the past minute admiring her outfit. I was picturing the dress on the floor of the guest room at my parents’, where I’m planning to sleep tonight. Her, wearing nothing, on the bed.

Rory clears her throat. I watch her cross her legs, flashing another inch of thigh.

I shouldn’t have said that. Not only because of the swelling silence since, but because it sparked a whole bunch of questions I shouldn’t be obsessing over the answers to. Is Rory attracted to me? Has she been with anyone since Carson? If I’d made a move in the kitchen, rather than suggest this arrangement, would she have⁠—

“You missed the turn.”

“Shortcut,” I bluff, mentally recalculating a new route.

I take a left, then a right, before Rory speaks again.

“Was Carson invited to this?”