"Oh, hello." But Lauren didn't seem interested in Jordan at all.
Moreover, anyone with eyes to see could tell that Quinn and Brandon were deliberately trying to set up Lauren and Jordan together. The four of them—Jordan and Brandon were brothers, Quinn and Lauren were best friends, and Brandon had just driven Matthew away and left that seat open exactly for Jordan. No one bothered with introductions; Jordan simply stated Lauren's na outright. Wasn't that obvious?
And Jordan certainly wasn't stupid. He'd approached Lauren to chat, but Lauren had only given polite, minimal responses, showing little desire to interact. Not only that, but Jordan noticed that Lauren's gaze kept flicking over to look at Grayson. That made him even more upset.
Damn, I just got back to the country, and even picking up a girl has obstacles? Who the hell is this loser-looking jerk? He proves more charming than ?
Thinking this, Jordan pointed at Grayson and said, "Haha, Brandon, who's this handso guy? Introduce us, will you?" Of course, Jordan only knew Brandon—everyone else here was new to him.
As for how he recognized Lauren's na, it was because Brandon had sent him a photo of her earlier. That day, when Quinn and Lauren had ridden with Brandon's Audi out for a drive, Quinn and Brandon had been flirting heavily. At the sa ti, Jordan called Brandon to say he was returning from abroad and wanted him to introduce a girlfriend. Quinn overheard and thought, "Perfect!" She sent Lauren's photo to Jordan without telling Lauren. The mont Jordan saw her picture, he drooled—she was stunning. He decided that when he got back, he'd host a banquet, invite Brandon, Quinn, and everyone from the tennis club, and have Lauren there as Quinn's best friend. Then he'd charm her, and everything would fall into place. But now, what he had thought would be a sure thing was being upstaged by Grayson.
Jordan, of course, couldn't stand it. Brandon wasn't an idiot; he had known Jordan for years. Jordan's tone toward Grayson made it clear he disliked him.
"Oh, him? He's from our tennis club. His na's Grayson Cole. He wasn't on the invited list—he just showed up to mooch dinner," Brandon said.
"Yeah, this guy is the one who picks up balls for us in the tennis club. Look at how tattered his clothes are—he can't even afford a tennis racket," added everyone else. They all knew Brandon and Jordan were the main figures here; seeing Jordan glare at Grayson, Brandon jumped in to rubbish him, and of course everyone else piled on.
"Oh, I see." Jordan sneered, then sighed. "Well, being poor isn't the worst thing. But you need so ambition. If I were poor, I'd study my butt off in the library—how would I have ti to co here and mooch a al? You can't just seek pleasure all the ti."
"Exactly—Master Jordan is right," everyone echoed with flattery and agreent.
"Hey, Grayson, today Master Jordan's footing the bill. Since you're here to mooch, you should at least stand and toast Master Jordan," suddenly called out a boy. It was none other than Matthew—this sa jerk who liked Lauren but only dared to swagger in front of Grayson. Now everyone could see Jordan's interest in Lauren. Facing Jordan, Matthew had no way to compete, so instead he tried to curry favor with "Master." Pathetically sycophantic.
"Yeah, yeah, Grayson, pour a drink for Master Jordan!"
"Exactly. Stand up, hold your glass properly, and make a toast—understand?" the others chanted.
Grayson didn't want to compete with them—he preferred to keep a low profile, which was fine, but he also wouldn't let them humiliate him like this. It was one thing to toast if he chose to, but them singling him out to taunt him—wasn't that outright insult? Grayson remained unmoved.
"All right, whatever. Let's just eat. Do you think I'd be too poor to pay for my al just because there's one extra person?" Grayson said. His remark made everyone laugh.
Jordan, of course, wasn't being generous—he noticed Lauren's face darken. Seeing everyone insulting Grayson made Lauren unhappy. Lauren knew she'd been the one to bring Grayson here, so his humiliation was partly her responsibility. Jordan was an experienced player; seeing Lauren upset, he realized that if this drama continued and Lauren got angry at him, he'd never have a chance with her.
Course after course of food and drinks arrived, and everyone ate and drank. Grayson quietly ate as well. He picked up his fork to spear the fried cheese sticks in front of him, but just as his fork reached the plate, the lazy Susan on the table spun around, and the cheese sticks were gone—replaced by a plate of Italian bread.
Grayson forked a piece of Italian bread, but just as his fork landed, the lazy Susan turned again, and the bread rotated away, replaced by a Margherita pizza.
Grayson froze. Who the hell had sothing against him? He looked up and saw Quinn's hand under the lazy Susan, glaring at him! Quinn was doing this deliberately. Of course—Quinn now held a deep grudge against Grayson. Because Quinn fancied Brandon, and Brandon was friends with Jordan, if Lauren ended up with Jordan, it would be helping Brandon, which in turn could bring Quinn and Brandon closer. But now, because of Grayson's presence, Lauren's attention was entirely diverted away from Jordan. Worse still, Quinn knew her cousin was going to pretend to be Grayson's girlfriend. Although it was just a ruse, for the plan to provoke Dylan, Grayson had to genuinely fall for her cousin Emily. Yet now it looked like Grayson might actually be developing feelings for Lauren. That was unacceptable.
Won's revenge can be painfully petty. Quinn spun the lazy Susan so that Grayson could never get to the good dishes. From Quinn's perspective, maybe those dishes ant nothing to her group, but to Grayson, they might be a once-in-a-lifeti delicacy. This loser shalessly showed up to mooch dinner—wasn't it just for that?
So at the end, the cheapest dessert—cheesecake—was placed in front of Grayson. He smirked—it didn't matter; he could eat that.
Just then, the lazy Susan turned again. The fried cheese sticks reappeared in front of Grayson. Grayson blinked and looked up, seeing Lauren's hand on the lazy Susan—she had rotated the cheese sticks back to him. Now Lauren looked at him with shy eyes.
You have to admit, girls' hearts can be intricately tender. Grayson felt a flicker of delight—this girl was interesting.
"By the way, Brandon, didn't you say you were already at the airport? How co you're so late? I thought you'd get here before us. Was it hard to get a cab?" Lauren asked.
Brandon and Jordan were chatting at the table—they were the main characters, after all, the highest-status people here. The others rely ate and chid in occasionally.
"What do you an hard to get a cab? I drove here!" Jordan raised his voice.
"What the hell? Weren't you at the airport? How did you drive here?"
"I have a BMW 5 Series. My dad's driver brought it to the airport, and I drove straight here," Jordan boasted. "I wouldn't have been late if the restaurant hadn't been so busy—parking was impossible to find. I had to circle around until I finally found a spot, so I got held up a bit."
"Holy shit—Jordan's driving a BMW 5? That's wicked!"
"A BMW 5? That's fifty, sixty grand—it's impressive. No wonder he's a handso rich student who just returned from abroad!"
The others showered Jordan with complints and fawning praise.
"Lauren, riding in a BMW 5 is super comfortable. I heard it even has heated seats," Quinn hinted to Lauren, her aning obvious.
Naturally, Jordan felt even more smug. Yeah—in your early twenties and cruising around in a fifty- or sixty-thousand-dollar car? That's exactly what girls want. A BMW is a weapon for picking up girls.
Just as Jordan was basking in everyone's praise...
"Um, driving here—didn't the valet park your car? Why did you have to find a spot yourself?" Grayson suddenly interjected. To be honest, Grayson hadn't ant anything by it; he just spoke offhandedly. But that single remark instantly silenced the room. Jordan already disliked Grayson; being called out like that made him furious. He sneered, "What do you know? Do you think valets park every car for free? Let tell you, if it's under a hundred thousand dollars, your car won't get valet service—got it?"
"That's right. I had to park my Audi A4 myself. If your car isn't high-end enough, the valet won't even co near you. This yokel doesn't know anything. Co on, Jordan, have a drink!" Brandon added, coldly.
"Seriously, if you don't know, keep your mouth shut."
"Don't bla him—he's never driven a nice car before, haha."
Everyone could see that Brandon and Jordan disliked Grayson, and they all piled on, pressuring him.
After eating and drinking for a while longer, it was nearly ti to break up.
"Let's go—let's hit a bar next. My treat!" Jordan stood and counted heads. "There's eight of us in total. Brandon and I have two cars—that's plenty of seats. Let's go!"
Everyone cheered again. Actually, there were nine people, but Jordan had deliberately excluded Grayson, ignoring him completely.
"Whatever. I'm not going to a bar. I'm heading ho," Grayson said.
After leaving the restaurant, Lauren looked at Grayson and hesitated. "Hey, Lauren, why go ho now? It's tough to get a cab around here, and the bus takes a while. You might as well ride in Jordan's car. After we sing, Jordan can drive you back in his BMW—it'd be better, right?" Quinn urged.
"But... Grayson—"
"That loser can take the bus himself. Knowing him, to save a few bucks, he'll probably walk all the way back to school. Are you going to walk ho with him? Co on, let's go," Quinn said without waiting for an answer, tugging Lauren along with the others to catch up with Jordan. Quinn then turned back to Grayson, impatiently motioning him onward. "Grayson, why are you still standing there? Take the bus or walk—hurry up!"
Jordan led the group ahead through the parking lot, circling around until they reached his white BMW 5.
"Wow, that's impressive!"
"So handso!"
Everyone praised. Jordan bead, raised his car keys, and struck a showy pose before pressing the remote: *biu biu*. "Okay, everyone move aside. Let back this baby out, and we'll head to the bar!"
With that, Jordan hopped into the BMW 5, started the engine, and began to reverse.
"Crash!"
"Clang!*"
His driving skills weren't up to par. Just as he was about to pull out, he scraped against a nearby car.
"Holy shit!" Jordan's face flushed red. He hurried out of the BMW and, trying to save face, declared, "Oh, my god—been abroad so long, forgot how to do this. But no worries—a little scratch is nothing. We can afford to pay for it, haha."
Soone next to "Master Jordan" pointed at the scratched car and stuttered, "Th-that looks like a rcedes."
"Yeah, looks like a... a rcedes G500," Matthew said. He didn't own a car, but he at least recognized so luxury brands.
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