That shift sucks. It’s not safe for a girl to be out that late, especially a sweet, innocent one like Chelsea. “How about earlier? We can … have pizza. Or whatever you like.”

This sounds like a fucking study date. And I don’t do study dates. I don’t date period. I wonder if she’s caught on to what’s happening yet.

“And I’ll help you catch up. Before I go to work.” She sounds wary, like she doesn’t trust me.

“Yeah. That sounds good. What do you say?” I feel hopeful. I sound hopeful.

“How about I come to your place around five?” she suggests.

She can come all she wants, whenever she wants. As long as she’s coming with me.

Shit.

“Sounds good.” I go for my usual, casual tone. I wonder if she’s falling for it.

I wonder if she thinks I’m a complete dick. I would if I were her.

She smiles, her eyes soft. “Yes. Sounds good,” she repeats. Chelsea’s looking at me like she doesn’t think I’m a dick at all. More like she’s looking at me as if she could actually … like me.

That thought carries me all the way home.

CHAPTER 7

Study Date #1

Owen

Wade is gone. The house is kind of clean. As clean as it can get the day after a spontaneous party and with three dirty guys living there. Well, two live here and the other crashes on our couch all the time. I made those two assholes I call friends clean it, then I went behind them and picked up, wiped down, or threw away what they missed.

Des left hours ago. The guy has his own place, but he’s always with us. It used to not bother me, but lately I’ve been getting sick of it. He’s dealing out of my house and that sucks. Fable would flip the fuck out if she knew.

So I don’t tell her.

Wade’s at work—he’s an associate at your local discount mega-store, ringing up customers and wishing he were anywhere else. Poor Wade. Poor Des.

Lucky me.

Tonight, it’s just gonna be me and Chelsea and my homework assignments. Oh, and a pizza I’ll order when she gets here and a six-pack of Coke I picked up at the liquor store on the corner. I probably should have got diet, since that’s what girls usually prefer. Empty calories and all that bullshit—I’ve heard Fable say it before.

I really wanted some beer, but that shit is all gone from the house. Not a drop of liquor survived last night’s so-called get-together. Besides, I know Chelsea wouldn’t like that. She doesn’t approve of my extracurricular activities. I don’t have to ask her to know that’s the case. Not that she judges. She’s just not comfortable with it.

She’s innocent. Sort of naïve. I get this feeling she’s been pretty sheltered so far, and I think back on what I said to her last night.

Maybe I can corrupt you.

I want to corrupt her so bad it’s killing me. I saw the way her eyes darkened when I said it. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out for a quick lick. I’d remained neutral, but deep inside I’d gone all hot and sweaty and lusted for her. It would be my absolute fucking pleasure to corrupt her. Show her what she’s been missing. Touch her here, there, and everywhere. Kiss her until we both can’t breathe.

I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

So I stop thinking about it. At least, I try. Glancing around the house, I check out the overstuffed dark brown leather couch and notice a new, jagged scratch on one of the cushions, the coffee table with fresh scratches on the surface, and the missing lamp on the end table since some jackass broke it last night.

Hell. Despite all the cleaning, this place still looks like a dump.

There’s a knock at the door and I go answer it, trying my best not to look too eager. Chelsea must be early and I’m excited, like a little kid about to go on his first play date. Wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans, I take a deep breath and throw open the door.

To find my mom standing on my front porch with an expectant look on her haggard face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“What do you want?” I ask, pissed that she’s here, pissed that I’m rude to her.

She rolls her eyes and barges inside, pushing past me so I have no choice but to step back and let her in. “I need money.”

No hi, how are you—none of that shit anymore. She at least used to play at acting as if she cared. “You already spent what I gave you?” I glance outside, hoping I’ll spot Chelsea, but I don’t see her. Besides, it’s too early. She still has at least fifteen minutes, and I have a feeling she’ll show up right on the dot. She’s punctual like that.

“Yeah, I did. It wasn’t enough,” Mom answers, her voice shaky, a little loud.

It’s never enough, what I give her. Money, attention, weed, whatever—it’s never, ever enough. She’s greedy as hell and doesn’t care who knows it.

“I don’t have any more to give you,” I lie, because I flat-out don’t want to dip into the secret stash hidden away in my closet. That’s for emergencies only. Definitely not for my mom’s drug and booze habit.

“You’re a goddamn liar.” She rounds on me, her mouth like a thin slash across her face, her dull green eyes narrowed slits. “Call your sister. Get some money from her and that rich shit she married.”

“I’m not calling Fable,” I say, my voice tight, my blood boiling. “If you want something from her, you call her.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Little bitch won’t talk to me. I go straight to voice mail every single time. I’m sick of it. Sick of all of you.” Mom waves her hand, stumbling around like she’s going to fall, and I go to her, catching her by the elbows before she drops to the floor.

I look into her face, see that her eyes are dilated and her breaths are coming fast. She’s high.

And not from smoking a little weed, either.

“Stay right here.” I give her a little shove, so she settles on the couch with a grunt and I make my escape to my room. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure she didn’t follow me, I go into my closet and head for my old varsity jacket from high school. A jacket I rarely wore but Fable insisted I get. She was so damn proud of me for being on the football team, especially when we won the regional championships. The smile on her face that night was unforgettable.

The look in my mom’s wacked-out eyes just now was unforgettable, too. I need to get her the hell out of here. Before Chelsea sees her. Before Mom starts bad-mouthing Fable again. I want to scream at her. Ask her why the fuck she’s so selfish. Doesn’t she realize how much she’s hurt Fable? How much she’s hurt me? Mom is a freaking grandma now. Autumn is her first grandchild, her blood flows through the baby’s veins, and it’s like she doesn’t even give a shit.

I’m not sure if she’s aware that Autumn even exists.

I find the wad of cash in my jacket pocket and pull a couple of twenties and a fifty-dollar bill from it. I shouldn’t give her this. I told myself not even five minutes ago I wouldn’t. I’m funding her drug habit and that is such bullshit, but when it comes to my mom, I can’t stop myself.

She’s my bad habit. The one I just can’t seem to quit.

Frustrated with myself, feeling weak and stupid, I go back out into the living room to find Mom pacing around like she can’t keep still. She keeps rubbing her bare arms as though something’s crawling on her skin and she’s trying to brush it away. She doesn’t see me yet, and I stare at her in dawning horror.

There’s something going on here I don’t want to face. I don’t have time to deal with it right now. I’d rather shove money in her hand and send her away. But I can’t keep on doing that forever. Avoiding my mom isn’t going to fix this. Fix her.

Can she ever be fixed?

“Here.” I rush toward her and grab her wrist, making her splay out her hand. I slap the cash into her palm and her fingers curl around it, crushing it so hard it turns into a crumpled wad of green. “Don’t come back for at least two weeks. I’m not your personal bank.”