by JA Huss
But I don’t do that. It’s not even set up in my apartment. It’s down in my storage locker in a huge castor-wheeled case. So all I have to do is roll it out to the movers I hired.
I think about her. I don’t want to think about her. Young women have been a weakness of mine ever since I turned thirty. I get it. Classic recapturing of my youth and all that bullshit.
But that’s not it. I don’t feel old and thirty-five isn’t old, anyway. It’s not me, it’s them.
Especially sweet ones like Aria. Innocent ones. Is she a virgin?
God, that would be like winning the lottery.
But it doesn’t even matter if she’s not. She’s new, and shiny, and malleable.
I bet her blow jobs are terrible. I bet she thinks fucking is missionary position. I bet she’s never even watched porn.
I want to corrupt her.
That’s my sick reason for liking them young.
I want to corrupt them.
I want to take all that sweetness inside them and soil it. Turn them dirty. Turn them from shy and inexperienced into cock-sucking experts by the end of the night.
I’m doing all their future boyfriends a service.
OK. I get it. Ryker North is an asshole. A giant, selfish dick who wants nothing to do with feelings, or negotiations, or plans for the future.
But she’s seventeen, not twenty-five.
Which might be a good thing. Because her plans have nothing to do with marriage, or ticking clocks, or houses in the suburbs. That’s why my cut-off is twenty-five. Any older than that and the word ‘relationship’ pops up after the third date.
Hell, her plans right now are probably all about final exams, and backpacking through Europe over the summer, and starting college in the fall.
So maybe that’s a good thing?
Do I hear myself right now? I’m trying to justify wanting to fuck an eighteen-year-old girl because she has teenage expectations instead of twenty-something aspirations on her mind?
So I’m an asshole.
I decide to just own that shit before I go down to the garage, get in my car, drive over to the co-op, and park in the back lot.
I own that shit before I walk inside looking for her. Before I walk the two blocks over to her house and stare up at her window while I hide in the shadows across the street.
But after I see her walking across the living room, I become more than an asshole.
I become something more along the lines of… a predator.
Because I’m gonna do it. There’s just no way I can’t. I’m gonna make sure I see her again so I can do all those things I fantasized about last night.
Maybe even more than once.
CHAPTER SEVEN - ARIA
I wake up on Sunday feeling no different than I did last night.
But you’re eighteen, Aria!
Hmmmm… nope. No different. Two nights. I’ve been here two nights and the only place I’ve gone is the co-op—secretly hoping to bump into Ryker, even though I’m pretty sure he never wants to see my face again—and the burger place half a block down on State Street.
I chatted with friends online and grammed my new place. But everybody knows I’m just cat-sitting for my sister and no one is impressed.
Ryker’s name never comes up in those convos. In fact, even though he got me all hot that night, the vibrator did the trick for me. Inviting him over was a stupid thing to do. I have a class starting on Monday. I’m going to meet college boys. I might even like one and go on coffee dates.
I’m pretty sure that’s gonna happen. I can feel it. Something exciting is gonna come out of this little city vacation and then when I get back to school in two weeks I’ll have all kinds of amazing stories to tell my friends and hey, maybe I’ll even keep in touch with that boy I know I’m gonna meet on campus tomorrow.
But the main thing is… I’m gonna have stories to tell in school. So maybe I won’t spend the last few weeks of high school being the smart, quiet girl who sits in front for every single class and never goes anywhere on the weekends except home or out with her parents. Maybe I’ll be that girl who stayed at her sister’s apartment in the city for two weeks and went all crazy and wild.
I walk into the lobby of the Corinthian Hotel still smiling about that. It’s ridiculous, I know. But this is what all not-so-popular girls dream about in their senior year. To be somebody people admire and want to hang out with.
My father is holding balloons and my mother is holding a small gift.
“Hi, Mom and Dad!” I say brightly.
“Happy birthday, honey! How was your weekend?” my mother asks. She’s very pretty for a mom. She’s only forty-two and she was just my age when she had my sister. It was totally a shotgun wedding, but no one cared because my father’s family is super-rich and her family wasn’t, so it’s kind of a miracle they’re still together. “Did you do anything exciting?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say. “Just hung out with Felix and ordered a burger from down the block.”
“You have to get out more, honey,” my mom says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
Which I hate, so I swipe her hand away while my father says, “Leave her alone, Doris. She’s not into socializing.”
And he means well, but it kinda hurts. I would like to be outgoing and put myself out there. I would like to be a socializer. I’m just… not.
My father is older than her by fourteen years. Which is something I don’t think about much except… Ryker. That reminds me of him and how he’s practically old enough to be my father.
OMG. What if he’s the same age as my mom?
I giggle to myself, then play it off like I’m excited about the balloons and the gift as we’re led to our table for high tea.
I love high tea. And after this we’re going to a show together. I love musicals. We used to go a lot because April was always in the theatre club in high school but kinda grew out of it since she left home.
After we’re seated and we make our selections for tea and finger food, my mother hands me the gift. “Open it,” she says.
Even though my parents are loaded we only get one gift for our birthday from the both of them, and then two each on Christmas. Which sounds stingy, but isn’t, because their gifts are always huge.
Like April's apartment. She got that the first Christmas she was in college as a reward for getting straight A’s that semester.
So I kinda know what I’m getting. A car, of course. And inside this little box is a key fob. And outside in the parking lot—or maybe waiting in the driveway at home, since my father probably wouldn’t want me driving in the city—is a shiny car. Probably something practical, like a Volvo. But maybe, possibly it’s a little convertible? Wouldn’t that be amazing?
I’m so sure of this that I’m already squealing when I lift the lid off and find… “A diamond ring?” I say, lifting it out.
“It was your grandmother’s. I know she’d want you to have it,” my father says.
My grandma died last year so now I’m feeling guilty for expecting a car and getting a ring.
“It’s so pretty,” I say, trying to be gracious. I slide it on my finger and admire it. Because it is totally beautiful.
It’s just… not a car.
“I love it,” I say. And I do. Just not as much as I would a car.
“I’m so glad,” my mom says. “I told your father we should get you a car, but he said this was more meaningful. Every kid gets a car when they’re eighteen.”
Which isn’t true, obviously. Because April got one at sixteen when I got Space Camp.
But I rally and smile. “It’s so perfect,” I say, getting up from my seat so I can give them both a kiss. “I will love it and cherish it forever.”
“If you’d prefer a car, Aria, we could—“
“No, no, no, Dad. No. This is just perfect. Thank you. So much. I love it. Best birthday ever.” Because I am blushing with guilt for not being thankful enough. “I’m never going to take it off.�
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“Put in on your left hand, Aria. That way all the boys will think you’re engaged at that college class next week and leave you alone.”
“Dad,” I fake-whine. “Stop it.”
He smiles at me and then leans in to kiss my mother on the cheek. “We did good,” he whispers to her.
I love that my parents are still in love. When everyone else I know is trading time between two households and getting used to stepparents and new babies, my family is rock solid.
So no. I am not going to complain about getting a diamond ring from my grandmother instead of a car. And I do put it on my left hand to make my father happy.
By the time the show is over and my birthday is winding down, it’s nearly midnight and my parents are taking me home.
God, that’s weird.
“What time is class tomorrow?” my mother asks.
“Not ‘till eleven,” I say.
“I’m going to miss you on the commute, Aria. It won’t be the same without you.”
“I know, Dad. But I’ll be back in a month and then we can spend the last two weeks of the semester riding into the city. Oh,” I say. “Can you stop by the co-op real fast? I have to pick up my flash drive for class tomorrow.”
“Sure, honey,” my mom says.
We pull around the corner and I’m surprised to see the lights on inside. The glass front is frosted and nearly opaque so we can’t see who’s inside when my dad pulls the car up to the door.
“Be right back,” I say, getting out of the car, then realize the balloons my parents got me for my birthday are tied to my wrist. “Shit,” I say, tugging on them to get them off.
“Language,” my mother says, softly.
I let the balloons stay. I’ll just be a second, anyway. When I get inside there is one cube light on.
Ryker North’s.
He’s bending down doing something with his drums when I go to my cube and unlock it.
I’m staring at him over my shoulder when he looks up. “Hmmm,” he says.
I turn away and go into my cube, grab my drive, and then lock back up.
He’s standing in his doorway now, watching me.
He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and no shirt. And that peekaboo view of his tattoo I caught a glimpse of the other night—full view now.
Holy shit. His chest is like chiseled stone. Hard and smooth, and very, very muscular. There’s a slight sheen of sweat all over him and he’s got full-sleeve tattoos running down his arms in black and red, and his hair is falling over into his face.
Is this the same guy? This cannot be the same guy. He looks nothing like the Ryker North I met on Friday. He looks… like a fucking drummer.
“Happy birthday,” he says, leaning one hip against the door frame and crossing his arms. “I see you’ve been partying.” He nods his chin to the heart-shaped Mylar balloons tied to my wrist.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching up to twirl my hair. It’s a nervous habit that I hate, and it jerks the balloons around like crazy, so I stop and shove my hands into my dress pockets.
His eyes track that movement. “What the fuck is that on your finger? Is that a… did you get engaged?”
“What?” Then I remember the ring. “Oh, this?” I say, bringing my hand out of my pocket so I can flash my diamond at him. Balloons bobbing in the air above my head. “Yup. I’m engaged.” He furrows his brow so deeply I do that backward chin thing in surprise. “What? I’m joking. It was a birthday present from my father. It used to belong to my grandma.”
His expression relaxes. “Oh.”
“Wow,” I say. “You had a very strange reaction to that.”
He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head and turns his back—and oh, Lord, it’s just as delicious as the front. Two demons on each of his shoulder blades connected by some swirly, smoky design elements.
“I like your tattoos,” I say. “They’re pretty hot.”
He looks at me over his shoulder as he bends down to do whatever to his drums, stretching his back muscles as he reaches forward. “I like your dress. You should take it off.”
I blink at him. “What?” Then I laugh.
“Take it off. You’re eighteen now. Legal.” He winks.
“My mom and dad are outside in the car.”
“Get rid of them.”
“No,” I say. “They’re driving me home.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“OK, it was nice seeing you again, but you’re way too old for me so I’m not…” I shake my head. “I’m not…”
I can’t think what I’m not gonna do because he stands back up and walks over to me. Too close, actually. He puts both hands against the glass on either side of my head and leans down.
He smells like cologne, and man, and something else. Sweat maybe. Or is that sex?
“You’re not gonna what?” he asks, looking at my lips. And I’m looking at his too. The way they purse a little when he says, What?
I duck under his arms and start walking to the front door. He’s way too much for me. I mean, look at him.
I look at him over my shoulder as I near the door.
He’s a man and I’m really still just a girl.
“Why are you running away from me, Aria?” he asks, following me to the door.
“I just gotta go. My parents are outside.”
“Should I say hi to them?” he asks, coming too close to me again.
“No!” I laugh. “And get away from me. My father will see you.”
“Can’t see through the glass,” he says, boxing me in again.
“He can see our shadows,” I say, starting to get nervous.
“Kiss me,” he says.
“No,” I say. “I’m not getting involved with you. You’re too old, and too…”
“Too what?”
“Too much, OK? You’re way too much for me. I’m going to find a nice boy to date at class tomorrow and forget all about that kiss up in my sister’s apartment.”
“You sure about that, Aria?” I’m still watching his lips when he leans in.
Still very sure that this won’t happen because I say, “I’m sure.”
Except I say it just before his lips touch mine.
It’s the same kind of kiss as it was on Friday. Open mouth, probing tongue, and then he grabs my hair with both hands and won’t let me go.
He makes me kiss him.
Which is stupid and ridiculous because I kiss him back so hard. I swirl my tongue with his and then my hand goes to his waist and he sucks in a breath of air, so I pull it away real fast, unsure why I just did that.
The horn honks outside and he pulls back, smiling. Then he turns away and calls over his shoulder, “Tell your parents I said hi.”
I huff, swiping my fingertips over my lips where he was just kissing them.
“And leave your door unlocked when you get home. I’m coming over.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Oh,” he says. “And don’t change your clothes or take those balloons off your wrist. It’s all part of my fantasy.”
Oh, shit.
I turn away, open the door and run out, heart-shaped balloons bobbing wildly behind me as my own heart begins to stutter and thump in my chest.
“Was someone in there with you?” my father asks, once I’m buckled into the back seat and he’s pulling away.
“Just that new guy,” I say. I was gonna say Mrs. Chi or Mr. Garcia, but I’m sure my father could probably tell from the shadow it wasn’t them. They are both on the short side and Ryker is massive.
Before he can ask any more awkward questions we arrive at my sister’s house and I open the door, calling out, “Thanks for the great birthday! I’ll see you soon!” and rush up to the house before they can stop me.
CHAPTER EIGHT - RYKER
It’s gonna be a one-night thing. I just want to get it over with. Just fuck her and leave. Then I never have to think about it again. It’s done.
That’s what I tell
myself as I drive over to her apartment and park in the back lot. I planned this night. Every detail. Of course, I didn’t know for sure that she’d come by the co-op, but I had a feeling. So I made sure to take off my shirt and I took my time setting up my drums, and sure enough, she showed.
If she didn’t show I was gonna walk away. Just let it go and stop thinking about her. I really was.
But now that’s off the table. I need to fuck this girl. She showed up in that little dress—white with pink flowers. And a thin, pink cardigan with little pearly buttons, and some fucking heart-shaped balloons tied to her goddamned wrist.
I get hard just thinking about it. I get so hard I have to reach inside my pants and shift my cock. Twice, this girl has done that to me. Twice in two days.
Yeah, I just need to get this over with.
I get out of the car and walk up to her porch. The buzzer is optional because the door doesn’t lock. I checked it out last night when I came over to watch her. So I don’t announce myself. Just go inside and climb up the three flights of stairs until I’m standing in front of her door, knuckles ready to knock, when I hesitate.
Last chance, Ryker.
Fuck that. And I don’t knock, I try the doorknob and find it unlocked.
Oh, I will reward you for that, Miss Amherst.
I swing the door open and find her leaning against the kitchen counter on the other side of the half wall that separates her from the little dining area. Then I swing it closed and make a show of locking it behind me.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I take off my leather jacket—must look the part tonight, right?—and drop it over the back of a chair as I walk towards her, entering the kitchen. She’s got wide eyes, but she didn’t change her dress and those fucking balloons are still tied to her wrist.
“I’m here to say happy birthday,” I say, easing my body up to hers and sliding my hands around her waist as I press my hips into her stomach. She’s tiny compared to me. “And bring you a present.”
“What present?” she asks, looking up at me with those wide, innocent eyes.
I take her hand off the counter and place it over my hard cock. Make her squeeze it. “This,” I say.
