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River’s parents know I’m staying here now, although they think I’m sleeping in the guest room on the other side of the large basement, and they don’t know I’m camped out at their house all day instead of going to school. I feel like a fucking bum, more truly uprooted and homeless than I ever have before.
I don’t know what River told his folks that made them okay with having a teenage girl sleeping down the hall from him—at least, as far as they know—but they really don’t seem to give a shit that I’m here.
Then again, they’re both gone so much of the time that it’s possible they’ve sort of forgotten I’m here.
On Thursday, River gets home from school a little after 3:30. I’m sitting cross-legged on his bed, poring over my open calculus textbook. I didn’t return any of my books. Mr. Osterhaut can come collect them himself if he wants to, but in the meantime, I’m not letting myself fall behind like I did after Mom got arrested.
When River arrives, he opens the door and peeks inside before swinging it wider and stepping through. He always does that, and I find it sweet and sort of funny that even though this is his room, and even though he’s seen me completely naked, he’s still so hell-bent on giving me that bit of privacy.
Maybe it’s also because even if he knocked, he wouldn’t be able to hear my answer—so he’s just making sure I have fair warning before he comes in.
As soon as I see him, I flop backward onto the bed, grateful for the excuse to stop studying for a little while. A second later, the mattress dips as he crawls up beside me, planting his hands on either side of my head and framing my face.
“How was your day?” he asks quietly.
“Shitty.”
He grimaces, lifting one of his hands to brush his fingers along my collarbone. Then his expression lightens. “We’re going out tonight. The guys will be here around nine.”
“Out? Where?”
I don’t want to sound like a party pooper, and I’m sure they’re just trying to cheer me up, but I’m not really in the mood to go anywhere. The idea of drinking or partying while my mom’s in jail—while I should be working to get her out—makes me feel a little queasy. As much as I’d kill for a normal high school experience, I’m pretty sure it’s way too fucking late for that by now.
“You’ll see.” A smile grows on River’s face, and there’s something behind it that makes me think maybe I really will want to go wherever they’re taking me.
Just step out onto the limb.
Don’t think about how far away the ground is.
“Okay.”
His smile grows, and he drapes his body over mine, kissing me with an easy possessiveness that makes my heart beat faster.
He hasn’t slept on the couch once since I got here. We’ve gotten to third base a couple more times, and I want to do more, but something is holding me back.
I don’t quite know what it is.
I’ve talked to Lincoln about it, wanting to hear him say again that he truly is okay with all of this—and to say it when we were both fully clothed and in our right minds, not half-drunk on each other’s bodies and in the middle of a deep fuck.
He is. He kissed me and looked me straight in the eyes and told me he is.
But some part of my mind or my heart is still holding back. Like I still can’t quite believe it.
Like I don’t know what to do with myself if it’s true.
Those lingering doubts don’t stop me from kissing River until our lips are swollen and we’re both a little breathless and disheveled though. His oak moss scent is in my hair, in my clothes, infused in my skin by now, and I fucking love it.
His family doesn’t eat together even once a week like Linc’s does. His dad is working a big case, so I’ve only seen him once since I got here, and his mom is this crazy socialite whose obligations keep her busier than a full-time job would.
Mr. Bettencourt is still representing the Lepianes, but it’s the district attorney’s office that’s brought charges against my mom. Depending on how things go, there’s a chance the Lepianes could bring a civil suit against her too. But for now, River hasn’t been able to pick up any more hints of what the investigation into Iris’s death has revealed.
The two of us grab food the kitchen staff prepared and bring it back downstairs, hanging out in the large living room to eat. I don’t think River spends much time in the main level of the house—I don’t think anyone does, really—and it’s almost like the basement is its own separate apartment, his private living space.
Kind of like the service quarters in the Black mansion, except about ten times bigger.
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At a little before nine, River’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he heads upstairs to let the guys in.
