Eighteen (18) (10 page)

I have no idea what all that was but holy hell, it was hot. And I like it. I might not think it’s normal, but I like it. And I’m going to picture his perfect cock and what he might look like sitting in that chair at school when he beats off in front of me.

Sick, Shannon. You’re sick.

But I don’t care.

I get up and grab my shorts from the patio, realizing that he took my shirt with him.

What will he do with it? Smell it as he jerks off? Wrap it around his cock? Sleep with it under his pillow?

I smile at that image and walk back inside to put my clothes back on. I check on Olivia. She’s still asleep, so I go back to reading my assignment for English, wondering what kinky shit Mateo will have for me tomorrow.

Another text comes in. It’s a picture of a fully erect cock from Unknown Number shooting semen all over my tank top.

He fucking came on my shirt and sent me a picture of it.

Unknown Number: Tomorrow it will be your face. But don’t worry, I’ll have my fingers inside you when I do it. You can come on them.

I go back in my room and lie on the bed.

Facing the window.

It takes me less than thirty seconds to come again.

Chapter Thirteen

“Why not?”

I sigh. Poor Sunday. He’s confused. “I got back with my ex-boyfriend,” I lie. “And he doesn’t want me riding to school with anyone.”

“OK.” Sunday sighs as we turn into the parking lot. “But you know what they say. Once an ex, always an ex.”

“Do they say that?” I laugh.

He smiles big but doesn’t look at me as he pulls into a parking spot. “They do, Daydreams. They absolutely do. So when the shit goes bad again, you know where I am.”

“You’ll be here, huh?”

“I will,” he says.

We both get out of the car and then we’re standing on opposite sides of the hood again. “See you at lunch? Surely he doesn’t care if you sit with friends at lunch?” Sunday asks.

“Yup, see you at lunch.”

He smiles as he turns away and just like yesterday, a couple of other boys join in with him as they walk.

I turn away too, heading to my locker out in no-man’s-land.

“Hey, Daydreams,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see Sunday smiling at me. “Don’t ditch me, OK? I still like you.”

“Promise,” I say. I watch him turn back to his friends and they push him and probably make jokes about him saying that in front of everyone. But I like that about him, I realize. He’s honest. And even though Mateo said to stay away, I really don’t understand what makes Sunday such a bad guy. It’s not like he’s a teacher fucking a student, right?

First period is graphic design, which is pretty much the only class I enjoy. But since I took nothing but art most of last year, it’s not challenging.

I daydream instead of working today. First Sunday, since he’s fresh in my mind. But Mateo too. I have no idea what to expect at class this afternoon. I don’t have that stupid science class beforehand, so I don’t need to be there until five. I guess that gives me time to figure out a ride since I can’t rely on Sunday anymore.

Fowler shows up for second period with no apology for missing yesterday. Maybe I’m just sheltered, but if a teacher didn’t show up for class in Ohio, I’m pretty sure they’d be fired.

California is a mystery to me. Everyone is so different.

I walk laps with Josie and Mary, listening to them chat about boys, as usual. But I don’t add anything. Every girl I come into contact with is only interested in prom. I’m definitely not going to prom. Not that I even have a date because I’m pretty sure Mateo has no plans to take me. Not that he could. Older men definitely have their limitations.

Economics is boring. And then it’s lunch. I wander over to the wall where Sunday and his friends sit and I come in on the middle of a conversation about me.

“What?” I ask Rocky.

“I was just telling them how you went off on the counselors the other day.”

“Jesus, that’s old news, guys. And way less interesting than it sounds.”

“You’re just a tough chick, Shannon,” Rocky says.

She goes on and on about it for several more minutes and when she gets to the end, I realize Sunday never told her about my almost-breakdown. I look over at him and he’s smirking, a crooked smile that lights up his dark eyes. “Wanna ham sandwich?” he asks me, holding one out. “They’re the only edible thing on the menu.”

I take it. “Thanks.” I’m starving. He looks pleased as I eat in silence, just listening to the chatter of his friends.

But he never brings up our conversation or the fact that I said I won’t take rides from him anymore. I’m impressed with that, actually. Most guys would be all,
Fuck you, bitch.
You know? I’ve had my share of boyfriends. I’ve had my share of choices too. And no matter who you choose, there is always someone unhappy with you about it.

But he’s not unhappy. Or if he is, he hides it very well. He takes it all in stride. Like he’s got some secret. Something in his back pocket that will change my mind. Like all he has to do is bide his time.

And it’s a smart move. Because I do like him. And how practical is Mateo as a real boyfriend? What could we possibly have in common?

Sex.

I almost blush when the word manifests in my mind.

I don’t know why he makes me so turned on, but just thinking of him right now is enough to make me want it.

“Why are you blushing?”

I look up from my thoughts and realize everyone is getting up to go to their next class. “Um…” I laugh.

“You’re thinking about me, huh?”

“A little bit,” I confess. “I’m curious about why you’re so nice to me, actually.”

Sunday grabs my backpack and motions for me to walk with him.

I do. He’s got my pack, right?

“I’m nice to everyone I like.”

“Oh.” I chuckle a little under my breath.

“You’re pretty,” he says, shooting me a sideways look. “And smart. AP classes. I got a lot of details about you when we were sitting in the counseling office.”

“Yeah, that kinda sucks. No privacy.”

“Well,” he says, veering off into the main building where my English class is next period. “You handled it well. Aside from the three fucks.”

I laugh out loud at that one. “Bowman should’ve suspended me. I was expecting it, actually.”

“He didn’t because he likes you too.”

“Right.”

“Nah, really. I watched him when you were talking about your geometry class. He was fascinated. Like you’re his dream student and he can shove you into being a productive adult if he can just get you through second semester senior year.”

“He’s nosy. He read my file. He knows about my sister. My situation.”

“What is your situation?” We stop outside my classroom and Sunday leans on a locker. And for some reason I don’t get the feeling that he’s being nosy.

“My sister died right after she gave birth to my niece. I live with my brother-in-law and the baby right now.”

“He’s the one who hit you.” It’s not a question.

“I got him back, so don’t worry about me. Sometimes you just need to have a who’s-in-charge fight, ya know?”

He stares at me. His smile is gone. “No, Shannon. I don’t know. I’ve had my share of fist fights, but I’ve never had them with the people I live with.”

“You’re lucky, I guess.”

“I guess I am.”

I don’t know what to say after that, so I just look down at my Chucks.

“I’ll take you to school if you want. I mean, after-school school.”

I should say yes. Everything inside of me wants to say yes. But it’s not fair to him. “Nah, my brother-in-law is gonna take me. Make up for the other night. And buy me dinner,” I add, to sweeten the story.

Sunday hands my pack over and I take it. “OK,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch then.”

“Yeah, lunch is my new favorite.”

He shoots me one of those amazing smiles, and with something that looks a little bit like reluctance, walks off.

The rest of my day goes by fast. You know how it goes—you don’t have a ride to night school and you’re wishing the day could be longer so you can figure it out. But no. Two-thirty comes way too fast and after I go to my locker and get what I need for tonight, I have to face the fact that it’s the bus or it’s walking.

And I can’t stand at the bus stop in front of school, because Sunday hangs out at the arcade across the street. So I walk home and sit on the couch until four when I have to decide.

What if I don’t go? Will Mateo come here looking for me?

I don’t want that. I was lucky Jason didn’t come home and find us out on the patio last night. I really don’t need any more drama.

So I walk back up to Lincoln and catch the bus a few blocks down from school.

I hate my life the whole twenty-minute ride down to Gilbert. I should not have to take the bus to night school. I should not even have to go to night school. Everything is unfair.

I tuck my pity party away when I get to school, but when I pull on the door to go inside, it’s locked.

I look around for Mateo’s car or bike, but the lot is empty.

I will cut a bitch if I just hauled myself over here for no reason. I swear to God, I will—

The loud roar of a bike cuts me off and even though I don’t want to feel the wetness between my legs, there it is.

I throb for him.

He pulls up next to me and pulls a helmet out of one of his side packs. “Get on,” he says, revving the engine.

“Where are we going?”

He ignores me. Stares straight ahead.

“Fucking fine,” I sigh. I push the helmet onto my head, swing my legs over the seat, and scoot up next to his back.

Throb
for him.

“Scoot closer,” he says over his shoulder.

I can feel the muscles in his back through his t-shirt because he has no jacket on. It was hot today and typically I’d be bitching about eighty-degree weather in January. But those muscles under his shirt change my mind. I press my head into his back and smell him as we take off.

Chapter Fourteen

We end up at his house
, which is indeed less than two hundred yards from my own apartment. I take off the helmet and hand it over to his waiting hands, watching as he tucks it back into the packs. “Why didn’t you just text me and tell me to come here? I took the bus over to Gilbert.”

He looks at me with something that might be curiosity. “To see how you’d manage to get to school without your friend’s ride.”

“Asshole. You could’ve saved me an hour of time.”

“Bygones, Shannon.”

I screw up my face at him. “What?”

“Just let it go. You’re here now.”

Here is a small bungalow, typical of old-town Anaheim. One story, possibly an attic, with those thick columns on either side of the front porch. We’re not in front, which is good. I don’t need any nosy neighbors seeing me here with him. We’re in the back where he’s got a huge five-car garage.

I’m not kidding, five cars. That garage has to be twice the size of the house. “What’s with the massive garage?” I ask.