His long body sprawls in the leather seat, his finger punching through various glowing gadgets in the dashboard. I can’t begin to guess how much this car costs. His parents certainly have to make bank for them to be able to buy it for him. Is it a badass car? Absolutely. Am I jealous he has it?
I prefer not to be jealous of anyone, especially Prescott. I peek over at him, taking in the sharp angle of his jaw, the tuck of blond hair behind his ear, and the long, straight profile of his nose. He’s skinnier than Mr. Marceaux. Less developed muscle. Smaller hands. Smaller dick. Not that I’ve seen Marceaux’s dick, but I bet it’s bigger.
That’s not a good thing.
My heart skips. Why the hell am I thinking about that? Why am I even comparing them?
Prescott shifts gears then reaches over to hook a finger beneath the hem of my skirt. “I’m going to make you come tonight.”
I smack his hand away. Jesus, I never should’ve baited him with that comment about piercings. Stupid, stupid, stupid! “Where’s your homework?”
He downshifts around a curve and thrusts a thumb over his shoulder. The seat belt indicator screams as I kneel backward through the gap in the front seats.
I gather his binders from the floorboard, and a single headlight fills my view through the back window. “He’s following us.”
Prescott throws the car into high speed. Mansions blur by. Stop signs and intersections come and go. Guess he’s not worried about breaking the law. Thankfully, Lorenzo doesn’t share his recklessness. The motorcycle maintains the speed limit and stops at every stop sign. Maybe Lorenzo has drugs on him or outstanding warrants. Whatever the reason, he falls behind and eventually out of sight.
Releasing a heavy breath, I collect the rest of Prescott’s folders. “You lost him.”
Prescott yanks my skirt up to my hip and pinches my pussy through the crotch of my panties. “Baby, I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight.”
I spin back toward the front, falling into the seat, and try to control my breathing.
My hand shakes as I buckle the seat belt. “No, you’re not.”
There’s a heavy dose of conviction in my response. And maybe a tiny smidgen of doubt. I’ve escaped Prescott’s advances before, but I can count those times on one hand.
He laughs. “We’ll see.”
When he turns onto Jackson Avenue and heads away from the river, I don’t have to ask where he’s going. During the six-minute drive to our usual spot, I use one of the overhead lights to skim through his assignments and notes. He’s pretty organized for a guy who’s not interested in homework, his tasks outlined in neat penmanship and notated with due dates. Everything he’s detailed is doable, easy enough to work in with my own assignments.
He pulls into an empty lot, hemmed in by a jungle of weeds and boarded-up homes that didn’t survive the last hurricane.
Shutting off the engine, he turns to me. “I have a proposition.”
A tremor shivers through my insides. Anything he has to offer comes with a painful price.
He bends toward me, his face inches away and cast in darkness. “I know you’re doing homework for a lot of my friends and who knows how many others.”
I haven’t had a chance to talk to the other guys about schedules and assignments. Another dreaded task on my to-do list.
His hand snakes over my thigh, making its way to the gap between my knees. I jerk away, and my legs collide with the door.
With a grunt, he faces forward, posture stiff, his fingers curled around the steering wheel. Fingers I don’t want anywhere near me.
He tips his head against the headrest. “I don’t want to share you.”
“Too bad.”
“Fuck, Ivory! You’re so—” He rubs his hairless cheek and softens his tone. “I got an increase in my allowance. I’ll pay you more, enough to cover what you’re making from everyone else, if you stop seeing them. Give me a price.”
He can’t afford it. I mentally sum up the monthly utilities, mortgage, groceries, and tack on a little extra for school supplies. Shit, that’s a lot of money. Pulling in a deep breath, I give him the number.
“Done.”
What? His fucking allowance covers the sum of all my bills?
I wrap my arms around my midsection. “All I have to do is stop helping other people?”
“That. And stop fighting me on this.” His fingers wrap around my knee, pulling my leg toward him.
“I—I…” My breathing quickens as I try to pry his grip away. “I can’t.” My chest heaves, my fight against his hand useless. “Let go.”
“I’m going to get this anyway. Stop making it so damn difficult.” He releases me and holds his hands up. “What’s it gonna be?”
I sway against the door and cover my face with my hand. Fuck, what choice do I have?