Cruel Summer by Kylie Adams Read Free Book Online

soup as stomach prep for a night ahead of heavy drinking, others graced with model types nibbling on Maiko’s famous steamed dumplings with ponzu sauce. Now that her table would also be occupied beyond a party of one, Christina beamed with pride. Finally, the furtive glances at the pathetic girl eating alone could stop.
    Max slid into the seat opposite Christina, snapped his fingers for the waitress, and demanded several orders of kissing rolls the moment she stepped over.
    Pippa plopped down next to him, her nipples jutting out like baby bullets in an impossibly snug baby tee emblazoned with LAST NIGHT MEANT NOTHING across the chest. She giggled. “What’s a kissing roll?”
    “Crab, avocado, cucumber, and little flying-fish eggs,” Max informed her.
    Pippa pulled a face. “Ew!”
    Christina smiled. “It’s better not to know what’s in the sushi rolls. Just dip them in soy sauce and move on. That’s what I do.”
    Pippa’s Marc Jacobs bag began to ring. She pulled out an older model Motorola, the kind with no QWERTY keyboard for easy text-messaging.
    Max glanced at the ancient device and gave it a derisive snicker. “Answer the phone, Quaker girl.”
    Pippa scowled at the screen, rolling her eyes. “It’s my bloody mum.” She shoved it back into her purse.
    Christina tried not to think of her own mother and how furious she would be once she arrived home to find the vague “out with friends” note on the refrigerator. Any moment now Christina’s Sidekick II would start blowing up.
    Max shook his head and took in the restaurant with a circular gaze, stopping to zero in on a booth packed tight with older guys and younger girls. His jaw clenched with tension at the sight. “Shoshanna!” he called out gruffly.
    Christina watched a gorgeous brunette reluctantly extricate herself from the group and stomp over with no shortage of dramatics, her nubile body on display in dangerously lowwaisted white denim jeans, so tight as to be painted on. The cleavage spilling out of her top—a lilac camisole by Miguelina—was a special effect worthy of anything George Lucas could dream up at Industrial Light and Magic.
    “Does Dad know you’re here?” Max grilled her without preamble.
    Shoshanna huffed. “Does Dad give a shit?”
    It was a rhetorical question. And clearly one Max knew the correct answer to, because he quickly moved on. “How old are those guys you’re with?”
    “Old enough to rent a limousine and buy us drinks and food all night.” Shoshanna pursed her wet, glossy lips, then rolled her eyes. “Like you didn’t party when you were my age.”
    Christina stole a glance at the men in question. They were obviously postcollege age, under thirty but pushing it to fit in that category. Then she found her gaze returning to Shoshanna’s breasts.
    That’s when Max’s not-so-baby sister shot her a dirty look. “No, they’re not real,” she snapped.
    Christina felt an instant pink rise high on her cheeks.
    Pippa cackled.
    Max shook his head again. “My dad bought her implants for her fifteenth birthday. How screwed-up is that?”
    Very, Christina wanted to answer, but she just sat there silently.
    “Screwed-up would be a botched job,” Shoshanna said, cupping her hands under the plastic surgery handiwork to showcase them further. “These are perfect.” A quick look at Christina. “I told him that I wanted Jessica Simpson’s boobs, and that’s exactly what I got.”
    “Those are nice milkers, not mosquito bites like hers,” Pippa put in, pointing at Christina’s chest, which, by comparison, was so flat that she felt like a little boy.
    Shoshanna burst into laughter, followed by Pippa, and, after losing a short battle to fight it off, Max, too.
    Christina was mortified. Still, she smiled gamely in an effort to be a good sport.
    The waitress returned with the kissing rolls, and Shoshanna snatched a piece before they hit the table, stuffing it into her mouth with a triumphant grin.
    “Hey,” Max