Page 3 of Rowdy Boy
Joe grunts his approval. Not at me. Never at me. The only approval he doles out is for his little watch dog. I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw in a “good boy” and a head scratch for good measure.
“You know you can invite your friends over here to use the pool,” Joe levels at me before taking a long swig of his vodka.
I try not to outwardly react, fighting the instinct to clench my fists. There’s no way in hell I can have Rhett and Tori here when he’s home. They know too much—they know almost all of it—and they hate his guts as much as I do.
Tori wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue around Joe. And I wouldn’t put it past my best friend to go after my dad if he had to watch him pull this power play shit on me. I love Rhett like a brother—which is ironic, given how I feel about my actual siblings—but I’m not sure he could keep it together if my dad went after me or Tori.
My blood rushes in my ears as I scramble for some sort of reply. I know I’ve got about two more seconds to come up with something before he digs in deeper…
“Maybe I’ll have Courtney over sometime this week,” I sputter out.
There. That should satiate him for now and get me out of this conversation.
He cocks an eyebrow in question. “Maybe?”
Fuckin A.
“Iwillhave her over sometime this week. She has two-a-days for cheerleading starting on Monday, so I just have to see when she’s free.”
He nods once, and my body instantly relaxes.
I shift my weight and turn away, desperate to get to my bedroom. But Joe’s not done. His words have me hesitating before I’ve made it two steps.
“You make sure to do that. Courtney Sinclair is a nice girl, Jacob. A nicegirl. You hear me, sonny?”
Loud and fucking clear,I think before I glance over my shoulder and nod once. “Yes, sir. I hear you. She’ll be here.”
I don’t bother trying to hide my discomfort, my need to flee. Joe Whitely has spent years dissecting my ticks and tells. He knows exactly what he just did.
My breathing is labored and my heart is racing by the time I make it up the stairs. I close my bedroom door with a gentleness that juxtaposes the rage coursing through my veins. It’s not until I feel the door latch click and turn the lock that I let myself react.
“Fuck!”
I stomp over to my bed and flop down face first, grabbing a pillow and holding it suffocatingly close. I keep the fabric taut on my face while I scream into it. It’s not until I see flares of light dancing in my peripherals that I move the pillow and suck in a desperate, ragged breath.
If I could change one fucking thing about myself, it would be my dad’s hold on me. The way I react. The way he affects me. I know it’s extreme. I know it’s dramatic. I know I should get over it.
But there’s something about his hatred that gnaws at me. Every encounter we have feels like he’s peeling off a scab and pressing down into the wound until it bleeds again.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every single move he makes is designed to remind me of his loathing. I don’t know how I’ll ever get past this when he’s hellbent on keeping me bleeding.
Once I catch my breath, I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts.
Jake: You got plans tonight?
His response is almost instant. I smirk and let myself feel excited about the anticipatory release as I read his reply.
Unknown: I do now. Your place or mine?
He’s been here a few times, but only when Joe was out of town on business. There’s no way I’d risk letting him come here after what just transpired in the kitchen.
Plus, I want to do something wild tonight. Something to help me forget this shit-tastic day. An orgasm and the risk of a misdemeanor sound like the perfect antidote for what ails me.
Jake: Let’s meet at the storage units near the train bridge on Carnegie. It’ll be after 10 pm. I’ll text you when I’m leaving my house.
Chapter 3
“Fuck,”Ihissashe rolls his hips into mine and pins me against the thin metal door. The storage unit door rattles behind us because of our combined weight, but it’d have to literally cave in and take me with it to make me pull away from this boy.