by Jane Anthony
He just won’t listen. He’s so damn stubborn I want to scream.
The wood-paneled station wagon sits in the long, winding driveway. I fall in the seat and slam the door as my father joins me on the other side. “I don’t want to fight with you, Ella—”
“Then why do you?” I ask, casting a narrowed gaze in his direction as he turns the key and backs into the street.
“It’s my job as your father to keep you safe. To make sure you’re making the right choices.”
“You don’t let me have any choices,” I grumble, watching the neighborhood I grew up in fly past the passenger side window. The same old houses, the same old trees. I’m drowning here.
My father lets out a long-winded sigh, and that’s all that passes between us until he pulls into the Shell station two blocks from the school. As my dad would say, I’m still brimming with piss and vinegar as he slows near the pump and cuts the engine.
“Am I allowed to get out here, or do you want to walk me to my first class?”
Ignoring me, he rolls down the window and lifts his ass-cheek off the seat to pull his wallet from his back pocket.
“What can I get ya?”
The familiar baritone sends a cyclone of flurries whirring in my gut. I sit up straight, pushing my back hard against the seat, my heart pounding my ribs like last night’s drum solo.
“Five regular,” my dad barks.
It can’t be.
It’s not possible.
As the gas attendant rounds the wood-paneled hood, the vomit I’ve been holding down claws its way up my esophagus.
Jet-black hair shines in the sun, tied back in a low ponytail that hangs down his back. The guy who haunted my dreams with naughty kisses and delicious grins. The same one whose car I ran from in the middle of the night — who thinks I’m a college student — is standing a foot away from my open window.
Anthony.
I keep my face forward, but can’t help peering to my right. He stands in the morning light, dark stubble dappling his jaw, and the breeze blowing the feathered fringe off his forehead.
Don’t move.
Don’t blink.
Don’t breathe.
Last night, my hair was a pile of curls teased in a thick nest around my head, but this morning it lies in pleasant waves that kiss my shoulders. Heavy makeup gave way for a fresh face of blush and gloss. I’m not the same girl he met last night.
He’ll never recognize me.
Yet, when I feel his glare caressing my shoulder, a surge of panic bubbles up from within. He replaces the pump, then rests his forearm on the window frame and peeks inside.
“Five bucks,” he mutters, reaching in to grab the bill from my dad’s outstretched hand, but his hard stare burns through me. It leaks down my crisp, white blouse and across my pleated skirt like kerosene, singing the fabric until my skin feels much too hot to inhabit.
Lifting my gaze, I lock on one so fierce it hurts. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, my brows pulling together in silent apology. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn't have to. The look of shock shrouded in contempt is enough.
“Thanks,” Dad shouts. The engine roars to life, but it’s a frail whisper compared to the blood rushing in my ears as Anthony continues his unwavering stare.
I’m sorry, I mouth with rigid lips.
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, turning away as my dad drives off from the lot.
Chapter Four
ANTHONY
Now it all makes sense.
Why she wouldn’t let me take her to her door. Why she wouldn’t give me her number. Why she looked as if she’d seen a ghost when I laid that kiss on her.
She’s not in college.
She’s in high school.
Fuck.
I could go to jail for my filthy thoughts alone. I spent most of my night thinking about what it would be like to touch that incredible body.
I fantasized about a child.
I’m a fucking pervert.
Yet it still doesn’t stop my cock from responding as I see her wandering onto the lot seven hours later. Her pleated skirt gently slaps her thighs as she walks with purpose, her black Mary Janes tapping on the concrete.
She’s hotter today than she was last night.
Fuck my life.
“Hi,” she says, tucking a chocolate curl behind her ear.
Staring down at the pump, I side-eye her as she adjusts her backpack higher on her shoulder and waits for me to speak. There isn’t much to say at this point. Nothing happened.
“Didn’t know college girls wore uniforms.”
“Thank you for not saying anything in front of my dad.”
The cool, spring breeze wafts the faint scent of cloves off her skin. It cuts through the acrid stench of gas burning my nostrils. I lean into it, pulling a harder hit into my lungs. “Noted. Is that all?”
She shifts from foot to foot, toying with the hem of her too-short skirt. “Well, I thought . . . maybe . . . you and I . . .”
I slam the pump back in the holder and twist back around to close the gas cap. “Maybe, what? I can be your date to homecoming?” My voice cracks with regret, yet deepens in anger. I want to stay pissed, yet my heart softens with each passing second.
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
She swallows, sucking her plump bottom lip between her teeth before offering a meek answer. “Seventeen.” She takes a step, then hesitates. “But I’ll be eighteen soon.”
“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”
She pauses for a beat, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. “You seem really nice, Anthony. I was hoping to get to know you better.”
Finally looking at her dead on, I raise my arms at my sides. “Yeah, well, I’m not into jailbait.”
A crimson flush rolls up her cheeks and settles in her eyes. It stings like a knife twisting in my gut.
Good God, I’m not just a pervert, I’m a grade-A jerk-off, too.
“C’mon, don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” she lies, tearing her gaze from mine and letting it wander into the distance.
“What did you really come here for?” I ask, softening.
She weaves her arms across her middle, gripping her biceps as if she’s cold. Or protecting herself from an asshole. “I already told you.”
“To thank me for not blowing up your spot with your dad?”
She side-eyes me and nods.
“Look.” I pull another sweet drag off her skin and let it trickle past my lips. “My shift is ending anyway. Why don’t we go somewhere and talk, okay?”
“About what?”
I could continue the tough guy routine, say a few more shitty things, and make her regret ever meeting me, but something about this girl . . . I don’t know. The way the sunlight catches on her cocoa waves and blows them passed her matching eyes has my blood pumping like a piston. I take another step, half-hoping she backs off, but she leans toward me as if pulled by an electric current.
“About the fact that I should turn around and walk away. Or that seeing you in this pristine uniform should make me not want you, yet I can’t help but wonder what you have on under that little plaid skirt.”
Her lips part then snap closed.
I advance, slowly pushing her back to the pump until she’s sandwiched between me and the warm metal with nowhere to run. Her pulse beats against her neck, her chest rising as I sweep my gaze down to the gold crucifix sitting between the top buttons of her blouse and bring it back up to meet her eyes.
If I’m going to burn in hell, I may as well go out in style.
“A nice Catholic girl like you . . . I’m guessing white cotton panties.”
The breath catches in her throat. I expect her to bolt out of here with her tail between her legs the way she did last night. But fire dances in her eyes, the burning flames flickering with playful desire. “Polka dots, actually.”
Slowly, I run my to
ngue over my bottom lip and rest my hand beside her head. “That smart mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, her nostrils flaring. “Maybe trouble’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
Her breathy purr caresses my ears and travels to my dick at lighting speed. She’s Eve tempting me with her feminine wiles. A golden apple shining in the sun. One bite will no doubt turn to poison in my blood, but I can’t seem to turn away.
Gravel crunches under tires when a Chevy Blazer pulls onto the lot. I cast a quick gaze as it nears then bring it right back to the dark eyes of the girl pulling me in. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Turning, I flip open the flap with one finger and twist the knob. I swivel around to grab the pump and ease it inside the hole with one smooth stroke. Gabby’s eyes burn into my back. She hangs nearby, one white knee sock crossed over the other, and her dainty fingertips tangling in the sharp pleats draped over her bare thigh.
I stand there like a dope, metaphorically screwing the gas tank while visions of her bent over the hood assault my thoughts. That fucking skirt is going to be the death of me. The whole getup has my cock banging on my fly, begging to get a sneak peek of his own, but she’s too young for me.
Yet lust sizzles in her dark stare as I replace the nozzle and turn toward her again. She’s almost eighteen. A quiet groan dies in my chest. I’m actually attempting to justify wanting her this badly, and what’s worse? It’s working.
“Where do you go to school?” I ask, pulling a stool from the glass enclosure between the pumps.
With a sweet little grin, she slips her ass up on the black pleather seat and crosses her legs. “Saint Mary’s.”
I lift a brow, forcing my eyes on her face and not her creamy thigh on full display. “You actually attend classes inside the church?”
“Yeah. Me and fifty-three other girls.”
A reticent smile tugs at my lips. “You go to an all-girls school?”
She shrugs.
“No guys. At all?”
Pink circles blossom on her cheeks as her shoulder slowly lifts to her ear a second time. I exhale a strong breath. No wonder she’s walking around with fuck-me eyes. “Your family’s religious, huh?”
Her attention falls to the ground. “Strict dad. My mom died when I was a baby.”
When she lifts her gaze, a brief sadness seeps through its warmth then dissolves like sugar in a mug of coffee. I know that look. I see it myself whenever I peer in the mirror. A melancholy cocktail of longing and resentment, grieving someone you’ve barely had the chance to get to know.
“Oh . . . uh . . . I’m sorry to hear that.” I trip over my own words, subconsciously raking my hands through my hair. “I lost both my parents young, too.”
She cocks her head to the side, her eyes softening as they lock with mine. “Both of them?”
Another car rolls onto lot, and the breath I didn’t know I was holding trickles from my lips. I don’t talk about my family much. Not that I’m harboring unresolved issues or anything. It’s just that there isn’t a whole lot to say.
“My dad was almost sixty when I was born; my mom was forty-six, I think . . .” I trail off to set up the pump then lean my hip against the quarter panel. “Nothing tragic. They were just too old to be parents.”
“So, who raised you?”
“My brother adopted me when I was ten.”
Both her eyebrows lift toward her hairline.
“He’s from my dad’s first marriage. I was ten, he was twenty-five. It all worked out,” I say with a dismissive wave, twisting my wrist to catch the drops inside the nozzle as I pull it out and drop it back in the holster. “Nineteen even,” I mumble to the guy inside and then make change when he hands me a twenty.
Emotion stabs me in the chest as he drives away. The thought of Daniel tugs on my heart like a dangling thread. I rest my hand over top of it hoping to smother the ache that builds every time I talk about him. I barely knew the man who gave me life, but Daniel became my father the day ours died.
From the corner of my eye, I see Gabby slip off the stool. I half turn in her direction, but she opens her arms and wraps them around my middle so suddenly it steals the breath from my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my filthy shirt.
Stunned at first, I don’t move. But she holds me tight, offering comfort I didn’t know I needed until she took me in her arms and gave it. Her heart pounds against mine. I tuck her against me, the smoky scent of cloves bringing me back to last night, back to the kiss my lips tingle to repeat.
My knuckles catch under her chin. I lift her face, smoothing the hair from her forehead as she looks up. “You’re gonna get dirty,” I mumble, sliding my fingers onto the nape of her neck.
A curtain of dark waves falls past her shoulder. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and lets it out before replying, “I don’t mind.”
“You’re a little rebel, ain’t ya?”
Saliva pools on my tongue when she nods. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to dip my head, but it moves without thought, hanging lower until my mouth finds hers. The taste of raspberries explodes on my tongue. I glide it against the sweet flavor, teasing her lips until they fall open. An impish moan flutters in her throat, her fingers balling the back of my shirt as I kiss her the way I should have last night.
But once again she pulls away far too soon. “I should get home. My dad will be waiting.”
I growl in agony, wanting more. Needing more. The fragile gold chain shines against her neck. I trace it with my fingertip, goose bumps popping on her flesh as I stop above the slope of her breast. “You gonna give me your number this time?”
She bends down at the red backpack leaned against the stool and lifts it off the ground. “Maybe next time,” she says, slinging her pack over one shoulder before sauntering away.
Chapter Five
GABRIELLA
The final bell screams overhead. Fifteen faces swing toward the sound before reaching down to pack their belongings for the end of the day.
I snatch my pack off the floor and sling it over my shoulder, following the herd of plaid skirts shuffling through the door.
Conversation explodes in the halls, laughter building over the tapping of shoes on tile. Another day, another inch closer to getting out of this hellhole for good.
“Gabs!” I turn toward the bellow of my name as Maribelle pushes through the group of girls loitering the halls. “Wait up, bitch.”
“Language, Miss De La Cruz,” Principal Bartlet snaps from the open door of his office.
She rolls her eyes, ignoring his stern demand as she and I fall in step. The low clash of voices echoes around us. She links her arm in mine, tucking her books under her free arm as we meander into the bright afternoon sunlight. “Did you hear about Sarah Johnson?”
“What about her?”
“Pregnant. Guess she can kiss that fancy scholarship goodbye. I swear, sometimes smart kids can be so dumb.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re kidding,” I exclaim with wide eyes. “Who the hell would screw Sarah Johnson?”
A laugh rattles the back of Maribelle’s throat. “I dunno. Some turd from Don Bosco Prep.”
“Ew.” I giggle, but the deep rumbling of an engine cuts my mirth short.
“Don’t look now, Gabs. I think someone’s here to see you.”
My slow gaze scans the street and stops on the old Corvette idling at the curb. Butterflies flap in my belly. I stand frozen, watching as Anthony angles out of the car.
“Hey.”
Eyes locked with his, I have to physically remind myself to breathe. In and out. Not too fast, not too slow. Long steady breaths to keep from passing out as he leans against the passenger door and shoves his fingers into the pockets of his tight jeans.
I slip my arm from Maribelle’s hold and clutch the strap on my backpack with both hands. “What are you doing here?”
Anthony shrugs. “I told you I wanted to se
e you again.”
“You came to see me?”
Another shrug, this one accompanied by a panty-dampening grin. “I would have called to ask you out, but you refuse to give me your number.”
Behind me, Maribelle snorts. “Rocco would love that.”
I shoot her a look, then turn my sights back on the man pulling me in with his hypnotic stare and cocky smirk.
The fluttering in my gut falls a foot lower. He pushes from the car and grabs the handle, tugging hard to pull it open. “Can I give you a ride home?”
My lips part, but no sound emerges. We’ve shared two kisses, two easy conversations, and I assumed that would be the end. Yet here he is standing outside the stone-faced church, staring at me as if I’m an afterschool snack he intends to devour.
No. He absolutely, unequivocally cannot give me a ride home.
He can never come to my house.
Ever.
“She’d love one,” Maribelle accepts on my behalf. “Don’t get pregnant,” she whispers, gently pushing on my back.
“Shut up.” Stumbling forward, I twist and offer Maribelle a playful swat on the arm. I feel the weight of stares around me, hear the faint murmurs from my classmates wondering about the mysterious man with jet-black hair and sinewy muscle, the piece of Sunset-Strip perfection dirtying up this whitewash town. “Um . . . can we go to The Grind instead?”
“Anywhere you want.” The timbre of his voice washes over me, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Smooth and deep, with a hint of sex cracking its lustrous tone. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the last time we spoke. It’s echoed in my mind, following my every thought with its sinful flow.
I swallow hard, shuffling from foot to foot. If I’m not home immediately after school, my dad is liable to send a search party. “Can you wait here for a second?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah.”
I turn on my heel and jog through the heavy wooden doors to the main office. “Can I use the phone please?”
The secretary looks up from her typewriter. “Sure.”
Through the wide windows, I see Anthony talking to Maribelle. His gaze slides across to mine as I lift the handset to my ear and dial the numbers with my opposite hand. My father answers on the second ring. “Hello?”