Page 26 of Ly to Me

“Done yet?”

I lifted my head, wishing I’d bought something heavy so I could throw it at his head—a paperweight, or a horseshoe. That would have given me more luck, perhaps. “Did that pot finally get to your head? Why the hell would you think I’d marry you?”

“I’ll pay.”

I breathed out long and hard as my arms fell limply over my bent knees. “Continue.”

“It’s simple. You agree to marry me, and in return, I’ll pay you. Once the arrangement is over, that is.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Why on earth”—I glanced past my spread fingers at him, seeing a flash of the Carver I used to know, and sighed—“How long?”

A quick smirk tilted his lips. He lifted the pen and tapped it on the stack of papers. “It’s all right here.”

“What’s in it for you?”

His eyes turned to fine slits. “You’re not the only one who could use the money.”

I didn’t shift my attention from him. “And how much?”

His jaw ticked. “Ten thousand.”

I laughed and stood back up, wiping my palms down my shorts. “More.”

“Twelve—”

“Twenty,” I countered. “And a new car.”

He flipped through the stack of papers before scribbling something on one of them. As he turned back around, he kicked the chair out a little more. “Done.”

Shit.

The moment I finished signing every paper he had in the stack, Carver stormed out of the room with all the papers in one hand and his phone in the other. He’d barely given me time to read through it as I signed, but I tried to ignore the names of his parents written at the top and focused on the money.

And damn if I didn’t need a cigarette or two.

I waited a few minutes, listening through the door before running over to the window beside the bed. Undoing the latch at the top and the two along the sides, I opened it up and peered down over the ledge.

Taking up my cigarettes from my bag, I went back to the window and sat on the ledge, then hopped down a few feet to theporch.Have to love wrap-arounds.It was eerily quiet outside, and as I took a few more steps, I realized all the trucks were gone.

Even Jamie’s.

The only one left was the one I’d assumed was Carver’s—all black, like his soul. Faint sounds of his voice carried through the muggy air as I lit up my cig and leaned against the outer wall right beside the window.

I knew running wouldn’t get me far. Not when he was sitting right there on the other side of the front porch, in clear view of my car that would probably break down if I had to gun it down the dirt road. Besides, I needed the money. If I had to become his wife to get it, that was fine.

All fine.

The cicadas chirped loudly nearby as I took another deep drag, burning through half the cigarette.

Carver Roland had forced me to come on his tongue, called me trash, and made me kneel before him surrounded by glass as he fisted his cock through his sweatpants.

My mama taught me all about ditchin’ morals in lieu of money. I’d grown up watchin’ how money trumped all. It was the means to an end you could control. After what had happened between Car and me years before, that statement rang truer than anything else. Taking his money before running would have made everything much easier, so now that I had another chance, I’d be dumb not to take it.

In hindsight, I’d done worse to survive. I’d weathered harsher storms, even ignored my own sanity. And I always came out mostly unscathed in the end.

I took another long pull before I realized I was taking in nothing but the fibers at the end of the cig and promptly tossed it in the flower beds over the railing.

Thirty days. That’s all it was.