Dark Notes(25)

“It’s my mom.” He sets the phone on the seat above my head, the cheery ring tone bleeding into my ears. “If she hears you, the most I’ll get is a loss in allowance. But you…” His finger hovers over the screen as his hips drive against mine. “You’ll get kicked out of school.”

Before I can tell him he’s a f*cking moron, he taps the screen and puts it on speaker phone.

“What’s up, Mom?” He lifts his pelvis and slams back against me, the hunger on his face illuminated by the glow of the screen.

“Where are you?” The dean’s severe voice barks through the phone.

“Avery’s house.”

Who is Avery? I squirm beneath him, aching for this to be over with.

“You sound out of breath,” she says.

He cups my breast and squeezes. “Lifting weights. She has a sweet workout room.”

“Oh? Well, tell her mother I said hi. We need to do tea soon.”

“Yep.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, son. I don’t want any problems with her parents.”

I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. His movements quicken, growing erratic. Thank God, he’s getting close, but how can he do this while holding a conversation with his mother? He’s so disgusting my skin recoils everywhere his heat penetrates my clothes.

“I saw you talking to that Westbrook girl at lunch,” the dean says.

My pulse skyrockets, but Prescott’s in a whole other dimension. His mouth hangs open in a silent shout as his body flails and jerks through his release. The moment he’s finished, I shove him off me.

“Prescott?” The dean exhales through the phone. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah. Ivory’s nice.” He stares at me and mouths, A nice f*ck. Without looking away, he says aloud, “I don’t know why you have a problem with her.”

“She’s trying to steal your Leopold spot, Prescott. Not only that, she has a reputation with the boys at school. Stay away from her.”

He drags a finger over his eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Gotta go.”

“Prescott—”

He hangs up and tosses the phone in the front seat. “Did you come?”

I angle away from him, covertly wiping away the tears as I growl, “Of course, I didn’t come, you idiot.”

He seriously thinks I enjoyed that? I’ve never had an orgasm, at least not that I know of. But if I’m capable of having one, it wouldn’t be with him.

I fix my panties and yank my skirt down. “Who’s Avery?”

He pulls off the condom and adjusts his slacks. “My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” A thick lump forms in my throat. “Why are you cheating on her?”

“She’s a prude. But you’re not, are you?” He reaches for the V in my shirt.

I knock his hand away and grab my satchel from the front seat.

“Bet you’ve f*cked more guys than there are keys on a piano.”

Eighty-eight guys? Heat tingles my face as I open the door and jump out. Truth is, I’m not sure of the number. Maybe half that? Maybe more.

He climbs out the other side and meets my eyes over the roof of the car. “Fifty-two white guys at Le Moyne and thirty-six black guys in Treme. Am I right?”

Fifty-two white keys, thirty-six black keys.

He thinks he’s clever with his sick analogy, but he has no idea how hurtful his comments are. Yes, I’ve had a lot of sex with a lot of different guys. Not all of my experiences have been like this one. Sometimes I’m too weak and don’t have the physical strength or size to stop it. Other times, I feel tricked, bribed, trapped…sweet-talked. When I was younger, I let guys touch me in my stupid desperation for affection, but I eventually learned there isn’t anything affectionate about a swollen penis. Still, there are moments when I wonder, Will this time be different? Maybe this one will hold me close and love me. Maybe it will feel good, and I fall back into the trap.

But after Prescott’s hateful remarks, I don’t even want his f*cking money. I stride away, hooking the strap of the satchel over my shoulder. The projects of Central City stretch out around me, but I know the way, having walked this road every time Prescott f*cked me in that lot. Five blocks from here, I can catch a bus home.

The Cadillac’s engine starts, and a moment later, it rolls up beside me.

He extends an arm out the window, his hand filled with a wad of bills.

I stare at it, needing it, hating myself. “How often do I have to do this?”

“As often as I want.” A strand of blond hair falls over his eyes. “My first assignment is due on Monday, so we’ll meet again this week. Next time, I’ll make you come.”

A surge of anger scorches through my veins. I hate him. But I need him.

I swallow my pride and snatch the money from his hand.

He flashes me a sated smile and drives off, leaving me standing on the side of the road like the whore that I am.





With the address from Ivory’s file mapped on my phone, I turn my old GTO onto her street. This doesn’t feel stalkery, but it doesn’t seem completely sane, either. What can I say? I’ve never needed an excuse to beat someone’s ass. I just didn’t imagine the ass I’d be beating tonight would belong to her brother. Yet here I am.