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My body twists and bends around the pole without much effort or coaxing, and the cheers and pleas that I’ve grown to love this summer sound more amazing tonight than they ever have. With every twirl, the claps grow louder, and with every roll of my hips, the dollars fall faster.
As I bend backwards from the pole—half naked and utterly unashamed, I shut my eyes for a few seconds and take everything in: This place, this music, these people...
I’m going to miss this...
After I collect my final dollars, I sit in front of my locker and smile, reflecting over my final performance. As amazing as it was, I feel a sudden twinge of guilt because I didn’t call and tell Carter about it.
I haven’t told him anything...
Chapter 17
I knew this moment was coming. It always does.
Just when the story is getting good, when the pages beneath my thumb are starting to dwindle, the two worst words ever written in the history of literature seem to loom near.
This is it.
This is “The End.”
I’ve avoided Carter’s calls and texts for the past three days—unsure of how to tell him that I can’t be with him anymore. I want to start completely over and work on myself, accomplish all of my dreams. Alone.
I lie in my bed and sigh as another round of thunder roars in the distance. The storm that’s hitting Blythe is here to stay for at least a month, and I probably won’t see sunshine again until after I leave for college.
As I run my finger across his name in my phone, my heart begins to ache. It’s heavy and I can feel each beat that knocks against my chest.
It’s now or never...
I hit call and he answers on the first ring.
“Emerald.”
“Hey.”
“I haven’t heard from you in three days. Was your phone broken?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” He sounds concerned.
“Can I talk to you in person? I’ll drive over so we can talk.”
“I’m already outside.”
“What?” I jump out of bed and look out my window—seeing his Mustang parked right out front. “You’re stalking me?”
“I was just coming by to check on you. I was worried.”
“I’ll be right down.” I hang up and look at myself in the mirror, taking several deep breaths. I’ve weighed my decision about him carefully over the past few days—trying my best to put my emotions to the side.
Sure, he’s helped me to see things from another perspective and shown me that sex actually can be incredible when it’s done right, but I still don’t really know him.
All of our conversations this summer have revolved around me—rarely him, and it’s as if he’s purposely constructed them to be that way. He’s been kind and sweet, charming and sexy, but he’s also been incredibly vague and I don’t understand why.
But honestly, even if he hadn’t been so elusive and as open as me, I would’ve ended this fling today anyway.
I still have issues of my own and I need to sort them out. On my own.
I rush downstairs and open the door, and before I can say hello I’m being pulled into his arms. He’s kissing me, caressing me, as if he knows—as if he can sense that something is off.
“Are your grandparents home?” he whispers.
“No.”
“Do you want to talk here or in my car?”
I look into the living room and then past his shoulder where the rain is falling down in sheets. “In your car.”
He nods and takes my hand, letting an umbrella up and escorting me to the passenger side.
As he shuts my door, lightning streaks across the gloomy sky and another round of thunder roars above.
“Mind if we talk somewhere more private?” He puts the car in drive.
“Not at all.”
He kisses me on the cheek before putting the car in reverse and driving to the lake that he took me to earlier this summer, the lake that was my almost first date.
When he puts the car in park, I move to the back seat, motioning for him to join me.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” He trails his finger across my lips, looking deep into my eyes.
“I...” I can’t do it.
Not like this.
I press my lips against his and move into his lap, pressing myself against him.
“Make me feel better,” I murmur against his mouth. “Please...”
“Tell me what’s wrong first,” he whispers, unzipping the back of my dress.
“Nothing...”
He doesn’t believe me—I can tell, but he pulls my dress over my head anyway.
I don’t want him to be gentle and kiss me first. I quickly unbuckle his pants and pull out his dick—wrapping my mouth around it.
He exhales and threads his fingers through my hair as I move my mouth up and down his length, as I swirl my tongue around his tip.
