“I’m ready.”
Anything’s better than sitting in this boring-ass compound all day. No cable. No internet. No music. No transportation. I literally loafed on Kath’s sofa and stared at a wall for four hours today between naps. It’s not healthy for a man to be alone with his thoughts for too long. I may have rubbed one out too, thinking about this girl I used to fuck in Charter Springs. She was a raging bitch with perfect cantaloupe tits, and I was horny and bored.
“You can hardly see the bruising,” she says, squinting. “We can cover it up with a little makeup, if you’d like.”
“No. No makeup.” Juliette tried to do that shit to me once after my father beat me for coming home three minutes past curfew on a Friday night. He claimed he smelled alcohol on my breath. He was right. I’d just rinsed my mouth out with Scope before coming in to hide the menthol cigarette I’d smoked to calm my nerves.
“What do you think of Mark so far?” Kath asks. I straddle the line between giving her the truth and telling her what she wants to hear, but I’m not quite sure she’s the kind of person who ever wants to hear the truth.
I shrug. “Don’t know him yet.”
Her eyes shine. “He’s a good man, Jense. Give him a chance. He loves us, and he means well. Everything he does is for the greater good of our family.”
She calls it “our” family like I’m a part of it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just biding my time until August comes, and then I’m gone. Goodbye, Kath. Goodbye, Mark. Goodbye, wives one and two. Goodbye, Children of the Corn. Goodbye, suburban compound.
And goodbye, Waverly, with your weird stares and those fuck-me-all-night-long lips.
God, she has the most fuckable mouth I’ve ever seen. I wait until Kath leaves before hitting the lights and shutting the door behind her. I fall back on the bed and unzip my jeans, my cock instantly swelling in my hands at the thought of Waverly’s full lips wrapping around it. I grab at the country blue quilt, imagining I’m grabbing fistfuls of her long, sandy hair as her tongue runs the length of my shaft. Shit, I bet she’s never seen a grown man in his fully-erected form before. I concentrate on my Waverly fantasy, my eyes scrunched and my cock hardening so fast it aches.
I’m all kinds of fucked up. I know that. Wrongs and rights have never made sense in my world, and I’m a product of that.
None of it matters, though, because I don’t give a flying fuck about any-damn-thing.
Never have.
Never will.
CHAPTER 4
I push my breakfast around on my plate, staring at the empty seat across from me where Jensen is supposed to be. Water whooshes through the pipes above. By the sounds of it, I’d say he’s just now finishing his shower.
We need to leave in five minutes. If he’s not down here by seven-thirty, I’m leaving without him. I’ve never had a tardy in my life, and I’m not about to get one for him. Summer can drop him off in the freshman lane, for all I care.
Loud thumps coming from the stairs a minute later direct my gaze to where Jensen is running down two steps at a time. His finger combs his dark hair into place as he rushes through the kitchen. He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and slips a backpack over one shoulder.
“Ready?” The green apple fills his palm, and he takes one giant, crisp bite. The juices run down his chin, but he wipes them away with the back of his hand.
“I thought you didn’t eat breakfast.” I rise up and grab my bags.
“Jensen,” Dad says from the head of the table. “Missed breakfast, buddy.”
My dad calls him “buddy” like they’re a couple of old pals. He’s trying to make an effort. I just wish Jensen would try, too. It’s not like my dad to give people multiple chances or to tolerate flippant attitudes, but he’s doing it for Kath’s sake.
“My alarm didn’t go off.” I know he’s lying. “My bad.”
It’s seven thirty-one now. My heart sprints. I hate being late. I hate risking losing my favorite parking spot in the front row of the senior lot. It’s the entire reason behind why I need to arrive at school at precisely seven forty-eight each morning. I get my spot, head to my locker, grab my things, drop off my jacket, and head to my first period class where I find my favorite seat by the window in the third row with a little extra time to spare. If I’m a minute late, it throws off my entire morning.
What makes matters worse is that today, I have to find time to show Jensen to the counselor’s office to grab his schedule, and I’m sure I’ll get roped into showing him to class, too.
I pull in a deep breath as we head to my pearly white Jetta. I’m trying so hard to be positive. Good AUB girls don’t have opinions or complain or get upset. We “keep sweet,” as my father always instructs.
I’m a good AUB daughter. At least, on the outside.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jensen snorts as he plops into my passenger seat.
“We’re going to be late because of you.” I start the car and let it run for a few seconds before checking my mirrors, buckling up, and shifting into drive. He reaches for my radio, messing with the stations. “Hey. Don’t do that.”
“God, are there any decent radio stations out here?” He twists knobs until some classic rock song blares from my speakers. The singer’s screechy voice and wailing guitar hurts my ears.
“The polite thing to do would be to ask if you could turn my station.” I place my hands at ten and two after adjusting the volume using the steering wheel.