My pulse is racing when I exit the classroom.
It doesn’t matter that my old life ended at fourteen when I was adopted into wealth; shadows from my year on the streets will always find me. Mr. Doau might be able to hold that part of my life over my head, but there is a silver lining. At the least, he’ll lose his precious job if I come forward with how he likes to spend his money on thirteen-year-old girls. Forget his job—he deserves to be locked up. Maybe we both do. It’s not like I turned down the money. Still, in class, I let myself daydream about it, ruining him. But I’d have to be willing to ruin my own future in the process, and that’s out of the question.
Passing the bio classroom, I take a right at the corner. I feel him before I see him.
The air buzzes with electricity. Static prickles my skin.
The mob of students fades into the background as we lock eyes, each of us coming from opposite ends of the hall. Closing in on one another. Falling into whiskey-colored eyes, his dark brown hair is messy from football practice. Time slows with each step, and I wish I could hit pause and freeze this moment forever. Just me and whiskey. His sidekick, Zach, yaps beside him, but Easton’s stare holds mine.
Five seconds, tops.
That’s how long it lasts. Yet, in those seconds, the sheer warmth of his gaze shatters the ice wall I’ve built over the years. The way he looks at me is all-consuming. Heavy on my skin. It’s a secret, a blip in time that’s all ours. Our arms brush as we pass each other, and the simple contact drums inside me like a heartbeat.
In another life, he might do more than just look.
In another life, we might even talk.
But this is reality, and reality is a ho.
Easton and I are so far from equals we aren’t even on the same planet. Everyone knows respectable boys date respectable girls, and respectable girls don’t get propositioned by their teachers. Respectable girls don’t have the reputation I’ve gone out of my way to earn over these past three years.
But mostly, respectable girls don’t fantasize about their brother.
Eva
Ifinish tying the straps of my cropped halter top behind my neck, then run my fingers through my dark, loose curls.
Easton’s mom, my adopted mom, is tucked away in her room for the night—with a bottle of gin locked between her lips like a pacifier, no doubt—and his father is working late, which means the place will be quiet. Knowing Easton, he’s probably sitting at the kitchen island, buried in homework. A true rebel.
After scheduling an Uber, I slip my phone into the back pocket of my skin-tight jeans, exit my bedroom, and make my way down the hall and stairs.
“Niño tonto, always work, work, work with you,” Maria, the housekeeper, chides downstairs. “You should be out with your friends.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sick of me,” Easton drawls, making my movements slow. I stop on the bottom step, hidden behind the wall. “You know all I think about when I’m with them is you.”
“Oh,cállate.”
I hear a smack, then he laughs, faking a pained sound. “Damn. Have you been working out?”
“Hey,” she mutters, and I can practically hear her blush. “Niño tonto. No sabes que es bueno para ti.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. Despite being half Colombian, I have no idea what she just said, but that doesn’t make their banter any less amusing. Maria is a plump Mexican woman in her sixties, and the tight lines embedded in her lips are from constant scowling. As much as she tries to dislike everyone, she loves Easton. It would be hard not to. Everything about him is magnetic, and when he talks, it’s the worst. His voice is naturally sexy and just husky enough to make any girl turn scarlet when it’s aimed at her.
Straightening my spine, I abandon my hiding spot behind the wall.
The second I enter the kitchen, his gaze licks my skin, igniting a fire low in my stomach. I stroll across the polished hardwood without a glance in his direction. If we were anywhere else, I’d stare right back. But when we’re home, under the same roof as Mommy Dearest, catching Easton’s stare is the surest way to get him to look away and go back to pretending I don’t exist.
When I was fourteen and his parents first adopted me, I instantly knew Easton wasn’t like the others. The ones who get off on touching damaged, underage girls. Even though he’s only one year older than me, it took finishing puberty—and three years of shameless taunting—to get him to stop looking at me like a poor little girl who needed to be saved. I’m seventeen now; my curves are all woman, and I’m sure as hell not looking for a savior.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as I open the fridge. The orange juice is right in front of me, but I make a show of bending over more than necessary while pretending to search for something else.
His gaze feels like hands running over my bare midriff, and I moisten my suddenly dry lips. I could really use that orange juice right about now, but his undivided attention is more satisfying than anything else could be.
“You are the one who should stay home,jovencita.¿A dónde vas?Another party?”
I glance over my shoulder to see Maria wiping down the kitchen sink, her judgy eyes swinging to me.
My voice is bored as I return my attention to the fridge, opting for a bowl of cubed watermelon instead. I could use the extra hydration. “It would be rude to turn down an invitation, Maria. I thought you’d be proud of my impeccable manners.”
