Free Only Between Us by Mila Ferrera Page A

now. I feel like screaming.
    “Are you okay?” he asks me, ignoring Eric’s anxious questions about what’s happened.
    “I’m fine,” I say irritably, and then put my hand over his, as much of an apology as I can muster. “I … would you mind taking me home? I need to go home.” I stand up and give Eric a pleading look. “Please.”
    His brow furrows, and he looks at Jude, who nods his head. Without even placing our orders, we leave, walking past the bitter-looking hostess and a small crowd of people waiting for tables. I look over my shoulder before I reach the door. Alex is standing near the booth we just left.
    Staring at me.

Chapter Eight: Caleb
    Why do things get harder right when I need them to be simple? Why is life always like that? I lie on my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I got home from Claudia’s after three, and I’ve barely slept. I took a very, very long shower and then lay awake, flinching every time Katie’s mattress springs squeaked.
      I should be happy. I played my part last night. When I left Claudia, she had a half-drunk, sleepy smile of satisfaction on her face, and I had two hundred dollars in my pocket. A stipend, she whispered. So I could get started on the commission.
    Yeah. Right. I’m a fucking prostitute, no matter what she calls it. I press my knuckles over my eyes and clench my teeth. What if I got in my truck and started to drive? How far would I get on two hundred bucks?
    I sit up and push those thoughts away. I didn’t go to Claudia’s for myself. If I’d been doing anything for myself, it would have been staying with Romy on that bench. Maybe tasting her mouth, maybe asking her out, maybe trying to figure out what her story is. But my sister needs me, and then there’s Romy herself. It’s not fair to try to get closer to her, not while I’m screwing Claudia for grocery money.
    “Goddammit,” I mutter, tossing my sheet aside. “I might as well go stand on a fucking street corner.”
    I take another shower, turning the water up as hot as I can take it. I rub my reddened skin with the towel and then pull on a shirt and jeans. Amy’s expecting us by noon, and Katie’s probably still asleep. I pad into the hall and knock on her door.
    “What do you want?” she snaps groggily.
    “I’m headed to Amy’s. Still want to come?”
    “I have to take a shower.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    The bed creaks as she gets up, and I wince. I hate that noise. I remind myself to break out the WD-40 sometime when she’s at work. Her door swings open, and my sister stands before me. Her thick brown hair is tangly around her shoulders, and her freckles stand out on her pale face. She looks sleepy and young . For a minute, I lose ten years, and I reach forward to tousle her hair like I used to. She ducks away, scowling. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “Sorry,” I say, coming back to myself. “You had a … fuzz in your hair.”
    She drags her fingers over the top of her head. “Give me thirty minutes.”
    “No problem.” I head into the kitchen and brew myself some lethally strong coffee, mentally reviewing what I’m going to say to Amy. She’s your sister, too. We don’t need much. Just a few hundred. It would mean a lot.
    If Amy would give me a little more, if she’d cover some of the medical bills, maybe I could get out of this thing with Claudia. Maybe I could ask her to keep it professional. Maybe she’d actually buy a painting from me without all the rest of it. Maybe I could get back what little self-respect I have and forget last night ever happened.  
    Katie comes out of the shower as I’m buttering toast. “I’m ready,” she says. “Think she’ll have decent food there?”
    I take a bite of toast. “Did you eat anything with your morning meds?” I glance at her med organizer. At the beginning of every week, I fill it with the pills she takes each day, morning and night, meant to keep her afloat. I keep the rest locked up so she can’t overdose. We