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“…doing, scaring me like that?” she asked.
When she pulled her glasses off, I put two and two together and realized who she was. Aurora Wilkins, golden girl of Ironwood High. Somehow, when Dad had told me this place belonged to a guy named Wilkins, I hadn’t made the leap.
Jesus, she looked good in that bikini.
I ignored the tightening in my crotch, and tried not to stare directly at her tits.
“I’ve been right here the whole time,” I replied, cutting my eyes toward the hedges. “In plain sight. Ain’t my fault you didn’t see me.”
“Who are you?” she countered. Her eyes registered my sweat-stained T-shirt, dusty jeans, and the trimmers in my hand. “Do you work for Mr. Hicks?”
“I’m his son,” I tell her, my voice coming out a growl.
“Oh.” She sat up straighter in the lounge chair. “He told me about you. Brody, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”I only fuckin’ go to the same school as your rich ass.
“I’m Aurora.” She flashed me a quick smile that faded into something like a frown a second later. Her eyes traveled to the pool, then down to the ground, before coming back up to meet mine.
Once again, I didn’t know how to take her actions. On the one hand, she was so clearly in her rich-girl element here. She looked a little self-conscious, though. I couldn’t tell if that was because she felt awkward herself, or because she was looking at the fuckinghelpand feeling sorry for me.
Thinking that it might be the latter one pissed me off.
We made it through a couple minutes of bullshit small talk. I was about to make my escape and go back to doing lawn shit, when I noticed a worn paperback on the side table next to her lounge chair, with a bookmark in it at about the halfway point. The front cover was upside down from my perspective, but I could still see the title.
“Twilight” I snickered. “Seriously?”
“Yes, why?” Her chin jutted out just a little. “Haveyouread it?”
“Hell no,” I scoffed. “That shit’s for twelve-year-old girls.”
“There’s nothing wrong with reading for pleasure,” she retorted. “Do you even read books?”
“What, you think I don’t read because I’m some fucking lowlife?”
Her ears pinkened. “No, because you’re a guy.”
“I read.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Last thing I read wasCrime and Punishment.Dostoevsky.”
“I know who wrote it.” She stared at me suspiciously. “But I don’t believe you’ve read it.”
“Try me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Try me. Ask me about the book.”
“Who’s the main character?”
“Raskolnikov.”
“What’s it about?”
“Crime,” I deadpanned. “And punishment.”
