Page 24 of Slick Trip

Jon opened his mouth to argue, but my stomach let out a loud, pathetic growl.

“Jon,” I said, and the name came out as a needy plea. “Jon, I’m so hungry.”

“Five minutes,” he said. The urge to lean against him came back, pulling at me like a physical need, but I managed to stay where I was. The pressure in my body didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened, coiling low and tight. It was exhausting, like my body had turned against me. Everything felt off.

I yawned.

“I’m tired again,” I murmured, my eyes fluttering shut. I fought to keep them open.

“Almost there,” Jon said. “I’ll get you food.”

His words made me feel safe.

Then his hand landed on my thigh, giving me a slow, reassuring squeeze. The contact, combined with his words, was everything. I felt like my body finally stopped fighting.

Jon seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled back hastily, exhaling through his nose.

“You’ll be able to sleep in no time.”

“Thank you, Jon,” I whispered, the world turning fuzzy at the edges. Before I dozed off, one thought rose above the others—Jon would never let anything happen to me.

9

The Brat

JON, IN THE PAST

I was at Jack’s, like I usually was. The Taylor house wasn’t the biggest or the cleanest, but it was warm, and there was always food in the fridge. Jack’s mom was nice enough—absent-minded, chronically tired, but she loved her boys and never seemed to mind having me over.

I lived in a trailer. That’s how it had been since I turned eighteen and got out of the group home. It was fine for sleeping and showering, but for gaming or coding, I came here—both for the Wi-Fi and the human contact.

Chatting with Jack, I took a sip of coffee. Then, slowly, I lowered the mug.

“I wonder why my coffee tastes like the Dead Sea.”

Jack just shrugged, too focused on his laptop to care.

I tasted it again, more carefully this time. Then I looked toward the doorway where Cooper was leaning. He didn’t even try to hide his excitement.

He raised his brows innocently. “Is it a bit . . . robust?”

I kept my face a mask of stone, and took a long, slow sip. His smirk faltered. His nose crinkled in genuine disgust.

“Okay, that’s just wrong,” Cooper said, stepping into the room. “Who drinks that?”

“You wanted me to,” I replied calmly. I set the mug down, pinning him in place with the way I inspected him. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

At seventeen, Cooper was really testing the limits of how much he got away with when it came to me.

Too damn much, probably.

Jack glanced at him. “What the fuck, Coop. You have a death wish or something?”

Cooper stalked off, returning minutes later with a fresh mug. He didn’t just give it to me, no, he made a whole production of dropping two sugar cubes in before slowly stirring it. Then, staring me straight in the eye, he licked the back of the spoon, his pink tongue mocking me before he wrapped his mouth around the utensil.

I should’ve laughed him off. Instead, I was too fucking aware that the brat was blatantly flirting with me—and I was letting it happen.

During another visit, my shoes disappeared. I checked the hallway, Jack’s room, even the kitchen. I didn’t like walking around someone else’s house in socks. It was the feeling of not being able to leave the second I needed to that bothered me. But his mom preferred a shoes-off house, so that’s what I did, and now—