Page 15 of Twice as Forbidden

“It’s all really good,” I lie. The last thing I need is for her to worry about me. I’m the older sister. I'm supposed to be the one worrying. “I really like the job so far.”

“And Noah? You two good?”

I should have never mentioned in our last conversation that I was unhappy with him. “Yeah. We’re fine. The same stuff.”

“Georgie, you don’t have to stay there if you don’t want to.”

I do. I refuse to be near Bill. It kills me that my sister has to deal with him on her own, but he’s never touched a hair on her head. It’s the only reason I can justify it. If that changes, it will be a different story.

“If he’s being a jerk, come home. Better yet, let me come there so I can kick his balls in.”

“Lettie! Language. Honestly, everything’s fine,” I say, forcing a steady tone. “With the money I’ll earn over the summer, I’ll be able to pay off a significant portion of my loans and breathe a little easier.”

“Ugh, I hate that Mom isn’t helping you. I told you, you can use the money Mom and Dad put away for my—”

“Not a chance,” I cut in firmly. “That money’s foryou.”

“But, George—”

“No buts. You’re going to college, Lettie.” My ride pulls up to the Blake estate. “Listen, I gotta go. I wanted to call to make sure everything’s good—that you’re good.”

I hold my breath, waiting, listening for any indication that something is off.

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“Call you this weekend?”

“Yeah. Love you, Georgie.”

“Love you too, Lettie.”

I hang up, my chest tightening even more. Our call was supposed to make me feel better, but it had the opposite effect. I check in on Lettie every chance I get, terrified that one day she won’t pick up. Or worse, that she will, and I’ll hear something in her voice that tells me he’s finally turned his rage on her. Bill has never dared to lay a hand on her like he did my mom and me. If I ever get wind he’s touched a single hair on her head, I swear to God, I’ll kill him myself.

I step out of the Uber, my gaze flicking to Noah’s car parked beside me. The urge to drag a key down the side of it flares, but I shove it down and force myself to head inside. The house is quiet—too quiet. Not wanting to run into Noah, I move quickly, grabbing a water bottle and a banana from the kitchen, and slip up the stairs, shutting myself in my room.

I peel off my clothes and slide a T-shirt over my head before sinking onto the bed and pulling the covers over me. My fingers reach for the book on my nightstand, flipping it open without absorbing the words. It’s a distraction—just something to occupy my hands, to keep my mind from spiraling.

But it’s no use. My thoughts circle right back to today. To Jackson. Every touch, every look—it all lingers, igniting something I don’t want to name. I haven’t fully processed what happened, but I also can’t stop thinking about it.

It feels dangerously familiar. Like Mr. Bishop all over again. An older man I should stay away from. Off-limits, yet magnetic. The kind of man who becomes a challenge the second he shows even a flicker of interest. And now, the past and present are beginning to blur in ways that make my skin prickle.

It had all started innocently enough then, too.

Mr. Bishop would call on me in class more than the others, even when I wasn’t raising my hand. At first, I thought he was doing it to see if I was paying attention. However, it continued to happen, and I began to notice the way his gaze would linger a second too long.

Then came the requests, his voice lowering like we were sharing something just between us.

“Georgia, can you stay after class for a moment?”

“Would you mind helping me organize these papers?”

“I need an extra hand setting up for the next lesson.”

Nothing blatantly inappropriate. Just enough to make me wonder if I was imagining it.

Maybe if I had let it go, chalked it up to overthinking—if it hadn’t been for the way his fingers had brushed mine when I handed him something or the slow drag of his eyes when I leaned over his desk.

It wasn’t obvious. But it was enough. Enough to make my heart race. Enough to make me crave the attention. Enough to make me want to push, test, and see just how far those innocent moments could go before they turned into something else.

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