sweeten the story.
Sunday hands my pack over and I take it. “OK,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch then.”
“Yeah, lunch is my new favorite.”
He shoots me one of those amazing smiles, and with something that looks a little bit like reluctance, walks off.
The rest of my day goes by fast. You know how it goes—you don’t have a ride to night school and you’re wishing the day could be longer so you can figure it out. But no. Two-thirty comes way too fast and after I go to my locker and get what I need for tonight, I have to face the fact that it’s the bus or it’s walking.
And I can’t stand at the bus stop in front of school, because Sunday hangs out at the arcade across the street. So I walk home and sit on the couch until four when I have to decide.
What if I don’t go? Will Mateo come here looking for me?
I don’t want that. I was lucky Jason didn’t come home and find us out on the patio last night. I really don’t need any more drama.
So I walk back up to Lincoln and catch the bus a few blocks down from school.
I hate my life the whole twenty-minute ride down to Gilbert. I should not have to take the bus to night school. I should not even have to go to night school. Everything is unfair.
I tuck my pity party away when I get to school, but when I pull on the door to go inside, it’s locked.
I look around for Mateo’s car or bike, but the lot is empty.
I will cut a bitch if I just hauled myself over here for no reason. I swear to God, I will—
The loud roar of a bike cuts me off and even though I don’t want to feel the wetness between my legs, there it is.
I throb for him.
He pulls up next to me and pulls a helmet out of one of his side packs. “Get on,” he says, revving the engine.
“Where are we going?”
He ignores me. Stares straight ahead.
“Fucking fine,” I sigh. I push the helmet onto my head, swing my legs over the seat, and scoot up next to his back.
Throb for him.
“Scoot closer,” he says over his shoulder.
I can feel the muscles in his back through his t-shirt because he has no jacket on. It was hot today and typically I’d be bitching about eighty-degree weather in January. But those muscles under his shirt change my mind. I press my head into his back and smell him as we take off.
Chapter Fourteen
We end up at his house , which is indeed less than two hundred yards from my own apartment. I take off the helmet and hand it over to his waiting hands, watching as he tucks it back into the packs. “Why didn’t you just text me and tell me to come here? I took the bus over to Gilbert.”
He looks at me with something that might be curiosity. “To see how you’d manage to get to school without your friend’s ride.”
“Asshole. You could’ve saved me an hour of time.”
“Bygones, Shannon.”
I screw up my face at him. “What?”
“Just let it go. You’re here now.”
Here is a small bungalow, typical of old-town Anaheim. One story, possibly an attic, with those thick columns on either side of the front porch. We’re not in front, which is good. I don’t need any nosy neighbors seeing me here with him. We’re in the back where he’s got a huge five-car garage.
I’m not kidding, five cars. That garage has to be twice the size of the house. “What’s with the massive garage?” I ask.
“Cars,” he says.
OK, asshole. Remind me again why I’m with him and not Sunday?
I follow him up the back steps and he holds the door open for me, waving me forward.
He grabs my ass and squeezes hard as I walk past.
I throb. And gasp. But mostly throb.
That’s why, Shannon. He’s gonna fuck me. But then… “Hey, you said I could watch you jerk off in the classroom.”
That makes him smile. I like the smile. He likes me dirty, I realize. Dirty makes him smile. “We can do that tomorrow when you have to go for science. But until you finish all those tests you spoke so highly of at our first meeting, we meet here at three
Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge