“Of course… I’d still make my own money. Something small—maybe an online store, or freelance stuff, or even do YouTube videos, I just want to feel like I contribute.”
A real laugh escapes me this time, a bit more sheepish, a bit more honest.
“This is so ridiculous,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “But I guess what I’m really trying to say is… I want more.”
I glance around the treehouse as I speak, voice quieter now—a hint of longing in it.
“A nicer life, a happy one. Just… something better than this town. Something that’s mine. A life that feels like I chose it, not like I got stuck in it.”
I pause as the sound of footsteps climbing the ladder cuts through the rain. My head snaps up.
“Shit, I think he’s here.”
I jump up, grab the camera, and rush to the window. There’s a cactus flower vase sitting on the ledge. I lean up and wedge the camera just behind it, leaving just enough room for the lens to peek out.
“I’m going to video our conversation, so I need to hide you,” I whisper. “Please record properly.”
With a final check of the angle, I step back and move toward the worn-out cushion, trying to act natural. The footsteps grow louder. Then the weak wooden door creaks open, and Nate steps inside, shaking water from his jacket.
Blonde hair, broad shoulders, that all-American jock look every girl and half the school swoons over. Honestly, he’s not even my type—but for some reason, I’ve got this little crush on him I can’t explain.
He stops short when he sees me.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, eyes scanning me from head to toe.
I roll my eyes and gesture at my clothes. “Relax. I just came back from church.”
“You go to church?” Nate asks, raising an eyebrow. “And even if you did, why are you wearing a suit jacket that looks like it’s about to swallow you whole?”
I shrug and move over to my crossbody bag, not bothering to answer that. I pull out a small ziplock bag and hold it out to him.
“There. That’s what you came for, right?”
He looks at my hand, then back up at my face—but doesn’t take it. Instead, he steps closer. My brows pull together.
“You’re not wearing any makeup today,” he says, almost like it’s a complaint.
I stare at him, head tilted. “I don’t wear it every day. It’s just eyeliner and mascara when I do.”
“And that lip gloss you use?” he says, smirking. “Tempting as fuck. You’ve got these full lips, like a girl’s. Honestly, you look like a girl when you’re not wearing crap like this.”
Right. Isn’t this loser supposed to be here to apologize? Or did I miss that part?
I let out a slow sigh.
“What exactly do you want me to do with that information, Nate?”
I keep the ziplock bag stretched out. “Do you want the weed or not? It’s getting late, and I should be heading home.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me, eyes dragging over my face like he’s looking for something. The silence stretches too long, and the way he’s staring starts to mess with my head. There’s something about it—too direct, too confident, too… invasive.
Then he shrugs and slides his hands into his jeans pockets. “I want your mouth.”
The words hit harder than they should. Not sweet. Not soft. Just flat and final.
I blink. “What?”
But before he can say anything else, I hear footsteps climbing up the steps of the tree house. I look toward the door, frowning. He doesn’t even flinch—like he knew this was coming.
