SWNOVELS Good Grades & Mystery Games: Chapter 1
“One more time.” I roll my eyes and push his sweaty body off mine. It takes me a few blinks to register the room again without my head spinning. The dark blue walls blink back at me as I focus on the framed Marvel posters on his bedroom walls that I forgot about. I groan as I sit up, my legs and back feeling sore.
“Not today. I’ve got to go,’ I sigh, twisting my body to the side of the bed to fish up my underwear from halfway across the floor. God. Did I really get that desperate that I couldn’t even make it to the bed?
I ignore the warning bells that are going off in my brain as I pull on my dress, trying to look presentable. I feel his hot large hands wrap around me from behind when I’m close to the door and his chin rests on my shoulder. If I wasn’t so eager to get back to my own home and my own bed, I would let him take me again. And again. The three times we did it last night are enough for me. “I’m being serious. I do have to go.”
“Are you going to do this every time?” he groans into my skin. I shut my eyes tight before turning to him and stepping out of his grasp. His huge hands fall limp at his sides as he stands naked in front of me.
“There’s not going to be a next time, Charlie. This is the first and the last time we’re doing this,” I smile, and he groans, throwing his head back. “C’mon. You knew that going into this.”
“I thought you’d change your mind.” He smirks.
“I didn’t. You’re not as good as everyone makes out.” I shrug.
“Ouch,” he groans dramatically, clutching his heart. I don’t let my eyes travel any further down than his chest as he stretches.
There’s something so undeniably hot about a naked man stretching in front of me. If I don’t keep myself in check, I’ll do yet another stupid thing I’ll regret.
He smiles as he says, “You could have left me with some dignity, God.”
“Sorry,” I say. For one of the first times, I actually am sorry. Charlie’s a nice enough guy and the sex was…okay. I just don’t want to see him again in case he figures out who I am and realises he’ll want more or nothing at all. Instead, I lie. “I’ll see you around.”
I slip out of his room and do the walk of shame through his frat house. This is my favourite part of this whole routine.
Kidding of course.
It’s not as bad as it used to be. Sure, my friends say having sex with random college guys is not healthy for me, but who cares anymore? At first it was nice for the thrill. The escape. Then it became edged into my routine. School at 8:30, lunch, homework, hang out with the girls, more homework and then do something a little reckless. A little out of control. Over the last few days, I’ve needed that out-of-control feeling a lot more.
I could get any of the nice, well dressed, and well-mannered guys that my mom keeps handing me off to, but I don’t want that. I want something messy. Rough. Dirty. Quick enough that they don’t register my surname. With the proper men I’m exposed to at weekly family events, it makes my stomach turn thinking of how they’d treat me in bed. And not in a good way.
There’s something exhilarating about the boys at NU or nearby, with little to no common sense, that makes my nerves sing. They can expect a little sex and nothing more. Plus, most of them are too eager to even ask any of the important questions. The few guys I’ve been with that attend the Bailey Foundation event every year always expect something more. They would get down on one knee on the first date if they wanted to just to expand their businesses. Hell, I’ve known some people that got engaged at eighteen from that shit. That is the last thing I want or need.
Instead, I force myself to walk across campus and down to my apartment. It’s a few weeks into September, and I’m still not used to the winter air in Salt Lake. I should’ve brought a jacket with me. Or drove. But no. I have to walk in the cold in a black minidress and flats.
My best friends and roommates, Wren, and Kennedy, are used to these weekly antics, so they’re not surprised when I walk through the door in the same clothes I had on when I left yesterday.
Kennedy blinks at me from the kitchen counter, her spoonful of Cheerio’s pausing at her mouth when she raises one eyebrow up at me. I shrug at her before searching the fridge for a drink.
“Fun time?” she asks around a mouthful. I grab a water and lean against the sink, drawing my face into a puzzled expression as I stare at her. I slowly pull the bottle to my lips and take a sip silently. “From the state of your dress and your hair I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“Do we have to do this every time?” I ask, bored. I take another gulp, setting the drink down onto the counter.
“I guess not. I just like to piss you off sometimes. You’re easier to wind up than Wren,” Kennedy says, spooning more cereal into her mouth. Her brown curly hair drops down into her face and she flicks her head dramatically to push it out of the way, her brown skin glowing a deep red from the sheer effort she’s putting into making sure she eats. Nothing can get between this woman and her food.
“Yeah, where is she?” I ask, looking over her shoulder into the empty living room.
“She says she has practice, but we both know what that means,” Kennedy murmurs, wiggling her eyebrows.
For the past year, our best friend and favourite NU figure skater, has been dating Miles Davis, a hockey player at NU, who has been head-over heels for her since day one. At the beginning, she was only dating him to regain her social status and to help him get back on the hockey team, but then things got real, and they fell for each other. Hard. Since then, they’ve been all over each other and fucking like bunnies.
It’s starting to get disgusting being around them or just being in my own home. I’ve walked into my own living room too many times to them doing stuff while watching the TV. Our whole friend group knows how they are, yet Wren still tries to hide it by claiming she’s going to ‘practice,’ when really she’s going to his house.
“Right,” I whistle, draining the last of my water before throwing it in the trash. “I need to catch up on work for class. Are you going into the studio today?”
Kennedy’s face lights up at the mention of her safe place: the art studio. The same way I’m obsessed with numbers and spreadsheets, Ken loves to draw and create. Studying art and photography at NU has been the best thing to ever happen to her after her dad passed away.
The studio has become her sanctuary and when we’re lucky enough, we’re able to see some of the projects she creates.
“Yeah, I’m going soon, but aren’t you meant to be meeting your mom, like, now?” Kennedy mentions, checking the time on her phone.
My gut twists. I forgot. “Shit, Ken, you could have told me to come back earlier. I need to shower and get the smell of sex off me,” I exclaim, rushing around to the other side of the kitchen to grab my towel out of the airing cupboard.
“Oh, let’s all blame Kennedy,” she mocks before adding, “I didn’t want to interrupt your sexy time. The last time I did, you threatened to burn my Jasmine James shrine,” she shouts to me from the kitchen when I get into my room down the hall.
“Yeah because you worship her like an insane person,” I shout back. “Next time, at least text me. My mom is going to freak out.”
* * *
The Voss household has one rule: don’t be late but if you are, come bearing gifts. After a quick shower and replacing my minidress with a dark blue pantsuit, I stopped off at Cane’s and bought enough chicken sandwich meals to feed a pack of lions before pulling into my family estate.
Maybe it’s always been in the air, and I forgot about it. Or maybe it’s intensified since my dad has been in the hospital — but there’s been something deeply unsettling about the Voss mansion.
Growing up here, the deep brown stone walls became comforting. It felt normal as our family assistant, Mia, greeted us in the entryway and pestered us with reminders or refreshments. Even the larger-than-life portrait, of my great-great-grandfather Carlo Voss, that hangs over the dining room table has become welcoming. But moving out is still one of the best things to ever happen to me. Not only has it given me the chance to hang out with my best friends 24/7, but I’m no longer being ridiculed by my four older brothers who were lucky enough to have access to the family business the second they turned eighteen.
I’ve always known I’d have to work for my spot in the family, the second I realised that I’m the only woman – apart from my mother – who has ever been involved in the Voss family business. My eldest brother, Alexander, moved to London a few years ago and is managing our designer clothing brand on that side of the world. The twins, Arthur, and Leo have taken comfortable positions as customer service managers. While Arthur chases after the role as the eldest Voss son, Leo is usually off in a corner smoking weed. Henry is working his way up to help with graphic designs.
It’s bad to have a favourite, I know, but Henry has always understood me more than my other brothers. We’re only two years apart and since he has a six-year age gap with the twins, he understands what it’s like to be out of the loop sometimes. As much as I like to believe that I know him better than anyone, I should have seen it coming when he captured me in a hug the second I walked through the door.
“Hey, you’re going to squash the sandwiches,” I muffle before pushing away from his embrace. I almost topple back on my heels when I register his face in front of me. He has the same set of dark features I do – dark arched eyebrows, slick black hair that falls onto his forehead and a lined dimple on his right cheek. I swear he looks older every time I see him, which makes me feel old.
“I’ll take those out of your hands,” he teases, trying to pull at the bag. I put the bag behind my back as I brush past him. I walk down the mile-long foyer until I reach the kitchen, placing the bags on the counter.
“Are the twins home?” I ask Henry who has eagerly followed behind me. I pull out some plates from the cupboard and lay them onto the glass countertop. He reaches over into the bag, and I swat his hand away. He pouts.
“No, Arthur is visiting dad and Leo’s somewhere,” Henry replies, drumming his fingers onto the table. I finally tear open the bags of food and start to share out Henry and I some food. I swear the boy’s mouth starts to water.
“And why aren’t you there?” I ask, pulling a seat out from the island and sitting down. Henry props himself up on the counter.
“I could ask you the same question,” he challenges.
I don’t bother to fight him on it. Since our dad, the current heir to the Voss dynasty, randomly fell into a coma, it’s been hard to see him.
My dad and I were always close. When I was younger, my dad would tell me tales of how the clothing business came to be and all the scary stories that stemmed from his family back in our small town in Italy. He would tell those stories to frighten me. To scare me away from the business. To see it as this evil thing that I’d never want to be a part of so I could watch from the sidelines with my mother when it eventually burned to the ground. That only excited me more. It challenged me. It made me want to work harder than ever to prove that I’m as good – or better – than my brothers. It is a dirty and filthy world, amore mio, my dad would say, it’s not for perfect people like you.
My dad is a healthy man, so when he mysteriously got ill, I knew it wasn’t an accident. Everyone has been too afraid to even humour the fact that he could have been attacked. But not me. I may have no proof, evidence, or any sort of motive, but I’m working on it. Sort-of.
“I’ll see him soon,” I say, disguising my guilt with a bite of my sandwhich. With a flourish — and I swear I see glitter falling — our mom rushes into the kitchen with her arms wide.
“Oh, Scarlett, love,” my mom announces, sauntering towards me in a purple gown. If having four brothers isn’t enough overprotectiveness, I also have my mother.
I shoot Hen a look to intervene because I don’t want my mom on my case right now.
“Mom! Fancy seeing you here,” Henry exclaims, jumping off the counter and placing his arms on our mom’s shoulders, intersecting her path to me. He turns back and grins at me. I furrow my eyebrows at him and tell him to tone it down a notch. “Scarlett doesn’t feel like embracing you right now, but by all means, act as if you haven’t seen her in years. From a distance.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Is she sick?” my mom quizzes. She pushes Henry out of the way and comes to face me, placing her hands on my cheeks. “Are you sick? What’s the matter with you?”
“Jesus, mom, I just didn’t want you all up in my face,” I groan, prying her hands off me. She pushes her dark brown hair over her shoulder. Considering the fact that her husband is in the hospital, she seems pretty put together. As always.
“First you want to move out and now you don’t even want to hug me. What’s next? You’re going to run away and elope,” she sighs frantically, dropping into the chair beside me. I laugh as I nudge the food towards her, and she grins.
“I’m sorry but you’ve got to forgive me because I have food,” I beam, popping a fry into my mouth. “Why did you want to see me?”
“It’s your dad…” she begins dramatically, poking at the tray of food. Henry comes around to the other side of the island, his forearms leaning on the table.
“What? Is something wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted together with concern. Mom shakes her head, dipping her fry into some sauce before chewing thoughtfully. If there is one thing about Lara Voss, she will create tension wherever she goes for no reason at all.
“No, he’s fine as he can be, honey,” she replies reassuringly, patting Henry’s arm. “I just had a bad dream. One of those dreams.”
My mom is one of the most spiritual people I know, and she has really vivid dreams. Nearly every time she has a dream, they come true. Good or bad, they always come true. She had a dream when I was four that I would be my high school’s valedictorian. She wrote it down in her diary and never told me until the day I graduated as – you guessed it – valedictorian. So, when she says she has a dream, we all listen.
“The dream wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t predicting the future,” she starts. We wait for her to continue, afraid that interrupting will only draw out the torturing process. “I can’t place the time, but all I know is that it was before the coma. I walked into his office, and he was signing some contracts and he didn’t look happy about it. Which is weird because he is always in control. He caught my eye and then the door slammed. Next thing I knew, I was sitting next to him in the hospital, and he looked just how he looks now.”
“Do you think someone did this to him? On purpose?” Henry asks exactly what I’m thinking. Sure, I wanted to believe there’d be some cool mystery I could uncover, but the fact that it could be true makes my stomach twist.
“I don’t know what to think. It looks too suspicious for it to be a coincidence,” mom says quietly.
We all let the idea settle over us for a minute. Why would anyone be after my dad? He might have done some shady stuff back in Italy, but for the most part, he’s a decent guy. He would never do anything to put us, or himself, in danger.
“Anyway,” mom chirps. Mine and Henry’s heads snap up at the sudden liveliness in her tone. “Scarlett, a friend of mine has a son who I need to introduce you to. He crochets! How cute is that?”