I’ve been doing this for a few years—only intermittently though, and not as often recently. I sneak the extra money I win into my mom’s account. It usually involves borrowing a substantial amount first, but I’ve rarely ended up losing it all.
Mom’s great at a lot of things, but keeping track of her money isn’t one of them. It got worse and worse after my treatments finally finished; I think it’s probably some kind of avoidance mechanism from when new bills were coming in every day and she couldn’t afford to pay any of them.
I took over managing our finances, paying bills and stuff, when I was thirteen—and it makes things like this way easier. My mom’s never noticed the money I take or the extra cash I manage to bring in.
On the drive back to the Black house, I turn the music off but roll down the windows, letting the chilly, slightly salty air infiltrate the car. Their house is a few miles from the waterfront, but I swear I can still taste the ocean in the air.
I switch off my lights before I punch in the code for the gate, and then I roll quietly into the second garage and hop out, crossing the short expanse from the garage to the house. As I reach the door to the service entrance, I catch the scent of coriander and musk a split second before a hand clamps around my wrist.
The tiny bit of advance warning isn’t enough to stop my heart from leaping into my throat, and I spin toward the large male body behind me, keys clenched in my fist.
“You gonna punch me, Pool Girl?”
Lincoln’s voice is wry, and I can’t make out much of his face in the darkness—just his light amber eyes.
I let out a gasping breath, yanking my hand out of his grasp and shoving him away with two palms to his chest. I’m too freaked out to realize I probably shouldn’t be touching my boss’s son and frequent tormentor so casually.
“Jesus Christ, Lincoln! You scared the shit out of me!” I hiss. “What are you doing out here?”
“Probably the same thing you are. Sneaking in.”
I blink. “You use the service entrance for that?”
“Sometimes, yeah. It’s easier than going in through the front. Less shit to trip over, and I don’t have to worry about running into my old man or mom.” He cocks his head at me, those insanely alluring eyes of his scanning my body like the answer will be written there. “Where were you? You’re not dressed to impress.”
Jesus. This fucking guy.
I take a step back, trying to put more distance between us so I can think better. I’m dressed just fine for kicking ass at poker, thank you very much.
“Where were you?” I ask, turning the question back on him.
“All right, all right.” One side of his mouth tilts up, and he holds out his hands. “We can both keep our secrets.”
Dammit. I want to know where he was—don’t ask me why. But I’m not trading him my secret in exchange for his. It’s bad enough he knows I snuck out at all. It just gives him one more thing to use against me if he does decide to get me fired.
Speaking of which…
“Hey. Why didn’t you tell your dad about the phone?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“What?”
“River’s phone. You guys were all pissed, I saw it. Why didn’t you tell him?”
He shrugs, his large shoulders rising and falling. He is dressed to impress, in a white shirt and perfectly tailored jacket that felt soft and silky against my skin when I touched him. Where the hell was he?
“River’s phone was a piece of shit. He needed a new one. I’d been telling him that for weeks.”
“Oh, so I did you a favor?” I shoot back.
His demeanor, more relaxed than usual, changes in an instant, and he steps toward me, crowding me against the wall. “Pool Girl, don’t think for even one second that pulling shit on one of my friends is ‘doing me a favor’. And if you want me to get you fired, I’d be more than fucking happy to do it.”
I swallow hard. “No. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…” I lick my lips, hating every second of this. “Don’t get me fired, please.”
His gaze flicks down, tracking the movement of my tongue, and he stills, the hard lines of his arms and shoulders softening for a moment. “You’re better than the last one was, I’ll give you that. You actually act like you care.”
I press away from the wall. “I do care—”
Lincoln chuckles, holding up a hand. “Save it, Pool Girl. I don’t need to hear your sob story.”
Then he slips through the service entrance and vanishes up the stairs.
6
I spend the rest of the weekend catching up on homework and helping Mom around the house. The cleaning is pretty easy, actually. Mr. Black demands everything be kept pristine, but it’s not that hard to do since the house barely seems lived in.
As I clean the guest bedroom down the hall from mine, I poke around surreptitiously, but I can’t find any sign that anyone was in here at all on Friday night. The bed is made perfectly, and nothing is out of place. If I hadn’t heard Mr. Black and that woman’s voice through the door, I’d never guess that anyone had used this room in weeks.
Lincoln’s gone for a lot of the weekend, which is nice in a way, since it’s easier to breathe when he’s not around. But I also find myself looking for him, expecting to turn the corner and find him staring at me with that intent look he
