Page 69 of Midnight Curfew

“And you think that makes you free?” he fires back. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re so happy.”

“Fuck you.”

I catch his wrists and slam them to the mattress by his head.

“What if I start paying you, huh?” he spits out. “You’ll say and do whatever the fuck I want, won’t you?”

“How much we talking about here?” I taunt.

How much will he pay for a screw? I don’t mind doing him for free, but if he wants to own my ass for a little while, I might entertain the idea. It’ll cost him, though.

His face softens, his mouth trembling. “I’ll pay you whatever you want,” he whispers.

He stops fighting, and I stare down into his incredible eyes, watching them shimmer.

Like the pool at his house.

He goes on, “As long as you fucking shut up about other people in here. Especially women.”

Why?

Why women?

Does he hate them? Like have a vendetta against them or some shit?

He pushes up, and I slide off of him as he sits there. “I just want one place where I don’t have to watch my back, Dallas.”

What the hell does that mean?

Why would he have to watch his back?

Then it hits me. I like things he could never give me. Their taste, their breasts, their cute little skirts and their sexy hips…And he thinks, just like with his fucking father, he’ll never measure up.

I swallow the bad taste in my mouth, because yeah, okay. Maybe I get it.

My older brothers were too busy working or taking care of the younger ones to expect anything of me except to help work and pay the bills, but I don’t blame them. We were all doing the best we could.

With my parents, I was just a mistake. The beginning of the end.

“Forget it,” he breathes out, sounding exhausted. “I gotta go.”

He climbs off the bed and slides into his jeans, swiping his shirt off the floor.

I’m moving before I even know why. Flying off the bed, I rush him as he opens my bedroom door, and I push it closed again, stopping him. He goes still, and I stare at the back of his head, the heat of his skin against my chest.

I know what it’s like to not feel like you’re at home anywhere.

Not that I was ever abused, but I’ve never felt good here unless I was drinking or screwing.

I let my forehead fall to the back of his neck. I know what it’s like to feel unwanted.

“Every day,” he says in a quiet voice, “I flirt and spend every spare moment acting like I want to get some girl in bed, so everyone thinks I’m something I’m not.” He draws in a shaky breath. “And my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to be like him, but at least he’s still here, and I envy him because he can do anything and not feel like shit. I feel like shit all the time.”

Yeah…

“Except in here,” he whispers. “Or in your car, in my car, in your shower, in my room…”

I don’t let him see my smile as he laughs, but I wrap my arm around his stomach and pull him against me.