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Merc is shaking his head. “My memory and my looks are just fine. You, in the contrary...”
“What?”
Was that movement at his window?
Stop staring, Gigi!
Merc grabs my arm and steers me away. “You’ve got it bad, sis. Let’s go and get some ice cream. Come on, before the Lowes come out and ask why we loiter in front of their house. Unless you wanted to go in and ask for Jarett?”
“No. Merc, wait...”
But I let him draw me away, because he’s right. I’m not going to ask for Jarett, or risk him seeing me standing about. Acting interested. Acting like a girl with a crush on him.
No way.
Chapter Three
Jarett
School sucks balls.
And I’m not only talking about being behind in classes, or about the dumbass teachers who look at me and judge me instantly for being older, tattooed and pissed at the world, thinking that means I’m stupid.
One look at me and they decide I won’t make the cut, I won’t pass the exams, I won’t have the right answer when they ask a question.
And know what? I don’t give a shit. Let them think whatever they want. They don’t know jack about me. They don’t know how bad I really am. About the company I kept until the Lowes took me in, how I stole and broke stuff, how I spent time in Juvie.
Yeah, I’m as bad as they think. No, worse. Besides, what use is school anyway? I just hang out in class until the Lowes realize the mistake they made by taking me in and kick me to the curb.
Today I’ve skipped the last class. I’m outside, leaning against a tree in the school yard and counting the smokes left in my last pack, when I see Gigi.
Fuck, look at her. Just... look at her.
Something in my chest twists, and I go still, watching her. The girl is a stickler for the rules. She never skips class, never smokes, never deviates from her path between school and home.
But she’s clearly not in class now, unless I’m hallucinating, and after thinking about her so much over the past weeks, it’s a real possibility.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. She has her cell phone glued to her ear and she’s pacing up and down, a frown tightening her delicate features, not talking.
Listening.
Today her long hair is in two braids that swing every time she turns, and her lips are a glossy pink. Silver hoops glint in her ears. She’s wearing one of those short plaited skirts she seems to like, with knee-high black socks and low army boots.
I’ve seen plenty of pretty girls in my life. From conservative goody-two-shoes to punks with shaved heads, black lipstick and more piercings on their bodies than I could count, I’ve seen it all, but no girl has ever gotten me so hot and hard like this one—or so intrigued.
“Wait... wait!” she suddenly yells into the phone, scaring the living shit out of me, so that I fumble with my smokes and drop them.
Fuck. Slowly I bend down to pick them up, my bad knee creaking and shooting shards of pain up my leg.
“No, Merc,” she saying now, gesturing wildly as she paces back and forth, “no. It’ll be okay, I promise, okay. I promise!”
Promise.
That word reels me in closer. Connor always talked about promises and how important they are, how your honor depends on keeping them, how careful you got to be before promising anything. How ready to sacrifice anything to fulfill them.
Honor, and family, and the law. Those were his guiding principles, instilled in me the few years I spent with him.
Anyway, what’s all this about? And who the hell is this Merc? His name rings a bell. She’s mentioned it before. It’s clearly someone important to her.
