“Trust me when I say that if you poke around in my business, you’ll find shit you do not want to know.” He leans across me to pull the latch on the door, his shoulder pressing me against the seat as he pushes it open. He starts to pull back, then pauses. His face is inches from mine, so close I can see the stubble growing out on his jaw, the intoxicating darkness that swirls in his eyes, luring me in, the fullness of those lips that made me cum so hard I think I cried a little. Suddenly, the air leaves the car, and I can’t draw a breath. When I tear my gaze from his lips, his follows, rising from my lips at the same moment. Our eyes lock, and my heart stutter-steps in my chest.
Royal’s fingers find my chin, gently lifting it. “Get out of my car,” he says again, his voice low and cold now. “You’re making it smell like garbage.”
I jerk away and slide out the door, grateful that he opened it for me, making the getaway easy. Do I really smell bad? We had sex and fooled around for hours last night and this morning. He took a shower afterwards, and I didn’t. Suddenly, I’m sure I smell like a swamp, and he didn’t tell me all day until now. “You’re a real piece of a shit, you know that, Royal?”
“So I’ve been told,” he says, sounding slightly bored.
“Go to hell,” I snap.
“See you there, Cherry Pie.”
I grit my teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of the last words. “So, I guess fun, sexytime Royal has retired for the day,” I say, giving him a cutesy little wave even though I’m seething inside. “If he shows back up, tell him to give me a call, and maybe we’ll do it again sometime. If this guy comes knocking, I’m afraid I won’t answer.” I slam the door, meaning to walk away with a little swing to my hips to give him something to think about tonight.
But the window rolls down, and he tosses the bag out. “Don’t forget your birth control,” he says. “When I call, you’ll have that pussy ready for me. If you don’t answer when I come knocking, I’ll use the back door.”
He shifts into gear and drives off, and I swear I can hear the bastard laughing to himself.
I turn to head inside, but Blue waves. “Who was that?” she asks, cocking her head and squinting up into the late afternoon sun.
I shrug. “Nobody. Just some guy.”
The moment I say the words, I know they’re a lie. Royal’s not just some guy to me. Not anymore. I knew I’d be fucked if we fucked, and here I am. Fucked. Right back where I swore I’d never be. After Colin, I swore I’d never fall for the sweet lies of a pretty sack of shit. After Maverick, I decided casual didn’t work for me. And with Royal, I said I wouldn’t be his dirty little secret.
And I just broke every single rule for him.
At least I know he’s breaking all his for me, too. That’s a consolation, as small as it is.
“Some rich guy,” Blue says. “A Range Rover’s like the most expensive car there is.”
“No, it’s not,” Olive says, looking up from where she’s driving little knock-off Hotwheels along the arm of her chair.
“I don’t know anything about cars,” I say with a shrug. It’s true. I don’t know how much a Range Rover costs because it has zero to do with my life. But from the way it rides, the leather seats and luxury feel inside it, I could have guessed, even if it wasn’t driven by Royal Dolce.
“I know lots about cars,” Olive says. “A Range Rover is one of the most expensive SUVs, depending on the model. When I grow up, I’m going to drive a Bugatti. That’s more expensive.”
I lift a brow at Blue, who shrugs. “Is that why you were getting all dressed up last night?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He plays football.”
“Well, fuck me sideways,” she says, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her jean jacket. “Never thought I’d see the day Harper Apple was hanging out with a rich football player.”
“Oh, we’re not hanging out,” I say. “We’re just talking.”
She shrugs and lights up. “Like a Pretty Woman thing?”
“Maybe someday,” I say, unable to hide a little smile. That’s the fairytale we know. Forget Cinderella. Our kind can’t relate to that one.
Blue studies me from the corner of her eye, then hands me the pack. “You got it bad,” she says. “You’re gonna need one of those.”
“Thanks,” I say, hooking a thumb back toward my house. “But I better go shower. I feel like I smell bad.”
She cuts her eyes toward Olive. “Come talk later?”
I head inside and shower, wondering how pathetic I am right now. On the one hand, Royal had no problem hanging out with his nose all in my business for like an hour last night. He didn’t seem to mind my smell then. In fact, he kept saying how good it was, and from the way he acted, they weren’t just words. He was the thirsty bitch, not me. He couldn’t get enough.
On the other hand, no one wants to smell bad. And when you’re a girl, and you can’t do much about certain odors that everyone tells you to cover up, it sucks even worse. I keep telling myself he’s just being a dick, hitting me with the lowest blow, like if I told him his dick was small. The difference is, he knows his is fine. I don’t know if he really hates the way I smell or not. And I fucking hate myself for caring.
I emerge from the shower and go to the kitchen. There’s not so much as a single packet of ramen noodles in the cabinet. Mom’s friends must have cleaned out whatever was left of last week’s grocery haul because the only sustenance in the entire house comes in the form of warm, flat beer in half-empty cans.