Tell Me When

by Stina Lindenblatt

  I grab my purse, and we head downstairs to the parking lot where Jordan’s black Honda Civic sits. The warm fall wind kisses my face as we stroll across the sun-dappled asphalt.

  I check the backseat to make sure it’s clear, then walk around her car, ensuring the tires appear normal.

  “Do you, like, do that every time you get in a car?” she asks.

  “You never can play it too safe,” I say, repeating a line I once read. “You never know when someone might be hiding in the backseat ready to attack you, or has put a hole in your tire. Do you know how many girls are raped each year ’cause some sicko forced them to pull over because of a flat tire he caused?”

  “Point taken. So, Miss Safety Officer, are we good to go?”

  I turn around, scanning the area for anyone watching us. “Yep, we’re good.”

  Jordan unlocks the doors and we climb in.

  “Is there anything you’re specifically looking for at the mall?” I click my seat belt in place. “Or are we just wandering around?”

  “I could use more party clothes.” She starts the car. The engine purrs to life. “You know, in case we wanna go out again. I thought we could go to the dance club everyone talks about. What do you think?”

  I tug down on the cuff of Trent’s hoodie. “About which part?”

  “Both. I thought we could go dancing this weekend.”

  “Sure. Why not?” I force a smile on my face. I must have succeeded in making it look genuine because she grins back at me.

  “And we’ll look for something for you to wear. Something less, well, tomboyish.”

  A sinking feeling weighs inside me. What are the chances she’ll want me to model them in the store for her? It’s bad enough Marcus saw the scars. I can’t risk Jordan seeing them and the tattoo. Marcus may have shrugged them off. I won’t get so lucky with Jordan. While it might be nice to have someone to tell what I went through with Paul, other than the cops, the doctors and nurses, the D.A., I don’t need to give Jordan nightmares. I have enough for the both of us.

  As if pulled by an invisible force, my hand drifts to the spot where the tattoo lies, and my fingers caress the soft fabric hiding it. The tension that I didn’t realize was building in my muscles fades.

  “If your parents had you under such a tight rein,” I say, “how come you’re such a great dancer?”

  “I took dance lessons for years while growing up, and danced to music videos whenever my parents weren’t around. Which was a lot.”

  The mall parking lot is busy when we arrive, but it doesn’t take long before Jordan finds a spot. I guess we’re not the only ones needing a break from our studies.

  As we walk through the mall, Jordan hones in on a clothing store where the manikins reveal more plastic than the clothes cover. One is wearing a black midthigh-length halter dress.

  “You’d look great in that.” Jordan grabs my arm and drags me into the store.

  Panic shoots through me and I twist my arm free. “I can’t wear that.” Not unless I want to show off my scars and tattoo.

  “Yes you can. Trust me on this one, Amber.”

  “I can’t wear that. How about....” I scan the store. “How about that one?” I point to a manikin wearing a long-sleeved sweater dress in black, with narrow muted gold stripes running horizontally. It’s almost midthigh-length, but it will look great with black tights, unlike the halter dress.

  Jordan inspects it. “Won’t you get hot dancing in it?”

  Dancing? I’m going to have to dance, too? “It’ll be fine. The fabric isn’t thick.” Besides, while Jordan might not be so impressed, I love it. It’s not clingy, and with my black boots, it will look great without screaming “look at me.” And the dark color lets me remain invisible.

  She inspects it again before nodding her reluctant approval. “Well, it’s not quite what I had in mind, but it will look incredible on you.” What she’s really thinking is it’ll look better than my jeans and hoodies. I can’t argue with her there.

  I search through the rack for my size.

  “Which one do you like more?” Jordan holds up two dresses that I hope are for her, not me. One is purple and would give her parents a heart attack if they saw it.

  “These are for you, right?”

  She nods.

  “Both of them. They’re both great.”

  We try on the dresses. As expected, mine fits perfectly and keeps most of my scars hidden, except for the ones on my leg.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Jordan says as I pull on my T-shirt.

  I touch the forget-me-not tattoo. “I’m almost ready.”

  I slip into my hoodie and step out of the changing room. Jordan is waiting for me in the purple dress.

  “Where’s your dress?” she asks, even though I’m holding it so it’s obvious where it is. “Aren’t you going to show me what it looks like?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to see it now. But yours looks perfect. Turn around.”

  I was right. It does look perfect on her. When they see her long wild hair and slim body and golden brown coloring, guys will be all over her. Just as long as they pay attention to her, I’ll be fine.

  She changes into the other dress, and like the first one, it looks amazing on her. The low scooping back shows off her toned body. She buys them both.

  Afterward, we check out the other clothing stores. I don’t buy anything else, but Jordan makes the most of no longer being under her parents’ rules and no longer having to wear school uniforms. She’s like a cat with catnip. Crazy happy.

  She points to a store named Lingerie Rose. “Let’s go there next.” Without waiting for a reply, she cuts across the mall.

  Inside, I find her hunting through the tables of satin bras and thong underwear. A far cry from my usual white cotton.

  “I still can’t believe you offered Marcus a thousand dollars to help you get an A.”

  I pick up a lacy black bra. “I know, but if I want to be a vet, I have to pass the class. Plus I figured he would take tutoring me more seriously if I dangled the carrot in front of him.”

  “I bet Brittany would be a lot nicer and would tutor you if you dangled that carrot in front of her.” She snorts. “Or maybe not.” She returns the purple bra and selects another one. “Plus she wouldn’t be as much fun as Marcus.”

  “I’m not planning to have fun with him. He’s just there to help me with my math. And it’s a win-win situation. I do well in math and he gets money f-for I don’t know, for his car.” Isn’t that what guys usually spend their money on? Cars and sports?

  A bouncy pop song plays through the store speakers. Jordan sings along. Since there are no guys in the store, I join her, and we laugh and dance to the music. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while, and makes me realize how much I miss dancing.

  A rather stern look from a sales clerk prompts us to drop the bras back on the pile.

  Still chuckling, Jordan walks to a rack of satin slips. I follow her, trying to keep a straight face and not glance back at the saleswoman.

  A familiar laugh breaks out behind me and I spin around. Emma and her friends wander into the store. At the sight of me, Emma stops and a flurry of emotions cross her face, none of which I can get a firm grasp on.

  “What do you think of this?” Jordan asks. I turn back to her. She’s holding a short red slip with spaghetti straps.

  My wrists and shoulders hurt, and my hands feel like they’re floating in the air. I’m sitting, propped against a cold wall, the same temperature as the concrete floor. The cool air wraps itself around me and I shiver.

  My eyes open and I gasp. I’m in what looks like a jail cell with a queen-sized bed, and I’m handcuffed to the wall behind me, in nothing but a red satin slip.

  I yank at the handcuffs and try to twis
t my hands free. Blood trickles from the wounds on my wrists. “Let me go!” I scream.

  No one comes, though I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Shaking beyond control, I yank at the handcuffs, again.

  “Amber?” a panicked voice says. Jordan. “What’s wrong?”

  I blink and I’m back in the store. Jordan stares at me, eyes wide. She’s not alone. Everyone is staring at me.

  Oh, God. What did I do this time? Sometimes I just zone out when I get a flashback. From the way everyone’s staring at me, that’s not what happened this time.

  “What a freak,” a girl says next to Emma, confirming that I did more than just zone out, but I’m too scared to ask Jordan. Something tells me I don’t want to know.

  Emma’s face is paler than normal as she stares at me, eyes wide with confusion and pain. She takes a step toward me, hesitates, then walks to the back of the store. Her three friends follow her.

  Without meaning to, I rub one wrist as though it were still hurting. Jordan’s gaze drops to it.

  I jerk my hand away. “I’ll meet you outside the store.”

  She returns the slip to the rack. “I’ll come with you.”

  I give her a shaky smile. “I just need a moment. I’ll wait for you.”

  Jordan nods as if she understands but there’s no missing the hurt in her eyes. She wants to know what’s going on and I can’t tell her. Not yet.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal. It’s just...it’s just an anxiety attack. I used to get them all the time at home.” It’s partly true, and at least it I don’t have to tell her why I get them. “I’ll meet you outside the store once you’re finished and we can get ice cream.” This time my smile is genuine. I really do want ice cream. Paul hated the stuff.

  A middle-aged woman, eyelids heavy with sparkly blue eye shadow, approaches Jordan. “Do you need help finding anything?”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” I glance back at Emma, who’s busy looking through a rack of fleecy pajama bottoms, then walk out the store and into the solid wall of a person.

  “Kitten,” the wall says as I step back. Marcus’s gaze jumps to the store’s name and his mouth slides into an amused grin. “You don’t need to get sexy underwear for our tutoring sessions, but I won’t say I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Ass,” I mutter, momentarily forgetting the ass helped me learn a math concept I’d been struggling with.

  “Anything to make you happy, Kitten.”

  I somehow manage not to roll my eyes at the name. Telling him not to call me that hasn’t helped. It’s only encouraged him to use the name more. I narrow my eyes instead. “I thought you said you weren’t stalking me.”

  “I’m not.” He lifts a plastic bag from the bookstore, and removes a book with a teenage girl and a male angel on the cover. “I was buying a birthday present for my friend’s sister. And now that you mention it, how do I know you’re not stalking me?”

  From the corner of my eye, I spot a guy checking me out. Marcus brushes a strand of hair from my face. I flinch when his fingers touch my cheek, but then I see the other guy scurry away.

  I think of Marcus’s reputation for not getting attached, of the way he jumped between me and that guy at the party. I take a deep breath, almost positive that what I’m about to do is incredibly stupid. “What are you doing Friday night?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marcus

  “You wanna explain why we’re going to Nightshade?” Chase asks as he steers his car onto the busy street. “I thought it wasn’t your scene.”

  “It isn’t.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes on the road. Then he groans. “This isn’t about Tammara, is it?”

  “Why would it be about her?” But as I say it, it hits me why he asked. It’s because that’s where she and her friends like to hang out. How could I be such an idiot? And now I’m walking in there with Amber. “Don’t worry. It’s not about Tammara. It’s about the girl I’m tutoring.”

  Chase laughs. “So the girl got to you, huh? I can’t believe we’re going there so you can hook up with her. Isn’t that like violating some kind of tutor-student rule?”

  “I’m not hooking up with her. She paid me to pretend we’re dating.”

  Chase’s head jerks around to face me, the darkened car interior hiding his expression. “You shitting me?”

  “Would I do that?”

  “Right now, I’m thinking the answer is yes. Since when did you become a paid escort?”

  I grunt. “Look, I’m just helping her out.”

  A truck drives past, its headlights brightening Chase’s face as he throws me a dubious look. “How do you figure that?”

  “Her friend wanted to go to the dance club, and Amber doesn’t want to worry about guys hitting on her.” And they will if given a chance, something I don’t intend to let happen. “So, she asked me to keep ’em away.”

  “Like a bodyguard?”

  “Yeah, like a bodyguard.” Except this bodyguard is planning for a little physical action on the side. There’s no way I’m going there just to hold hands. For starters, I don’t hold hands.

  “There’s one other thing,” I add.

  “What’s that?”

  “Her friend can’t know that Amber and I planned to meet up there. And she’s supposed to think tonight is a one-time-only thing so she doesn’t think Amber and I are actually dating.”

  He laughs. “So what you’re saying is you’re supposed to play yourself? That shouldn’t be too big a stretch of the imagination.”

  My cell phone rings. I pull it out of my back pocket.

  Kitten: We’re in. Pls hurry

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amber

  Where the hell is he?

  When I asked Marcus to help me, I might not have been thinking things through. I was freaking out over what happened in the store. I was freaking out at what I remembered. I was freaking out over what Jordan would say once she joined me. Heck, I was even freaking out over what I would say to find out what I did, which ended up being nothing more than me screaming, “Let me go!” And when I saw the guy coming toward me and how Marcus inadvertently scared him off....

  God, I hope I’m not making a mistake.

  Jordan stops walking. She turns around, her gaze taking in what looks like a former warehouse. Even in the dimly lit dance club, with its multicolored spotlights zigzagging over the crowd, it’s easy to see her face glowing in anticipation of her newest adventure, and yet another item to cross off her bucket list.

  “Can you believe this place?” she says over the loud dance beat. Her hips sway to the erotic rhythm while her hoop earrings, thick threads of gold and silver twisted together, gleam in the light. “No wonder it’s so popular.”

  The sound of cheering pulls my attention to near the dance floor, to a group of guys peeling off our clothes with their eyes. I push down the desire to cover my girlie parts with my hands, since it’s not like the guys can see through the fabric of my sweater dress. And covering myself will only make things worse by drawing more unwanted attention.

  Two of them break away from the group and swagger toward us while their friends watch. I groan. The guys aren’t bad looking, but I’m not interested. No matter what Jordan might believe, the last thing I want is a boyfriend.

  I scan the area, searching for a way to escape before they get here, but quickly give up on that plan. I’m not leaving Jordan alone, and she’s busy smiling at the guys, which means she won’t want to leave just yet. She might not be looking for a boyfriend, but she is looking for some fun.

  Just as I’m about to pretend I have to go to the bathroom, a warm breath brushes against my ear. “Here, Kitten,” Marcus says behind me. “I bought you a drink.” His hand glides along my hip and rests protective
ly on my waist. I stiffen at his touch, but then remind myself why he’s here and let out an uneasy breath. His scent, a combination of leather and spice, somehow makes me feel oddly safe.

  I’m almost tempted to lean into him, but that would be a mistake. If I’m planning to keep Jordan from figuring out what’s going on, I need to be careful. She can’t know that I planned for Marcus to meet us here. All she needs to know is that this is a one-time deal, and that I’m just here to have a good time.

  Besides, guys like Marcus don’t want girlfriends, and I’m not interested in being some guy’s quick lay.

  The guys heading toward us stop, consult each other, shake their heads in defeat, and return to their friends. I have to focus on the floor to keep from laughing. This will be easier than I thought.

  “Thanks,” I say, unsure if I meant for the drink or because Marcus successfully chased the guys away. I turn and my breath gets caught in my lungs. His messy black hair and intense hazel eyes give him the sexy vibe that’s gained the attention of a few girls nearby. Peeking from under the sleeve of his gray T-shirt is a black tattoo that resembles part of a tribal design, but the T-shirt covers too much of it for me to make out what it’s supposed to be. But none of this is what caused the guys to change their minds. It’s the way Marcus stands next to me and his watchful eyes that signal “Back off.”

  I take the drink from him and eye it nervously.

  Marcus takes it from me, and sensing my fear, drinks some of it before handing it back. “I can get you something else if you want,” he says.

  Shaking my head, I lift the glass to my lips and gulp some back. It burns going down, and I’m hit with a coughing fit. Rum and coke, and whoever made it for him made it extra strong.

  I cough a couple more times before the fit subsides. I look up to find Jordan trying to communicate with her eyes, only I have no idea what she’s saying.

  “Marcus, this is my friend, Jordan.”

  Jordan breaks into her usual grin. “Hi. Amber’s told me all about you.”