Page 23 of Did They Break You

“What’s wrong?”

You’re leaving me soon. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry I’m pathetic. I’m sorry I’m not outgoing like Maya. That I can’t spend much time with you because of my stepdad. I’m sorry I’m not good enough to meet your parents.

“Nothing,” I lie, a lump in my throat.

“You sure you want to go to this party tonight?” he asks me, his brow furrowed. “We could skip it.”

“It’s at your house,” I tell him with a small smile. His family is out of town. His dad is a trucker, his brother is staying withhis uncle in West Virginia before school starts, and his mom is working, I guess.

Three people in his life that he shares the most space with. Three people I’ve never met, just caught glimpses of from afar at football games. I’ve had boyfriends before, but nothing as serious as this. A little sad, considering he probably doesn’t think this is very serious.

He lifts up one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I don’t give a fuck. I only want to be with you.”

Such pretty words. I smile despite what I know them to be. Just words. “No, we can go.” I think of who will be there. Chase, Brinklin, and Storm, his closest friends. They walked around West River like they owned the place, and I guess, because they were on the team, they kind of did.

I’m glad I’m dropping cheerleading. I hope Mom won’t be disappointed, if she’s watching me from somewhere. But she’s been dead for almost a decade now.

Suddenly I feel heavy with grief, but I try to let that memory go.

Cortland sighs, nodding toward his lap. “Come here,” he says.

My blood heats, and for a second, I don’t move. “There?” I ask him, eyeing his long legs, clad in black pants that mold to his muscular thighs.

He smiles, tugging my hand slightly. “Yep.”

I swallow down my nerves, glancing at the console between us. He reaches his hand from the steering wheel to move his seat back, giving me plenty of room to sit on his lap.

“Come on, Remi, I want you in my lap.” His tone is low, that husky, slight Southern drawl to his words stealing my breath.

I bring one leg up to the seat as I turn toward him, my white Chuck leaving a print on the black leather.

I glance at it, fear washing over me in a hot, uncomfortable wave.

He laughs, setting me at ease. “I don’t give a fuck if you get my truck dirty.” There’s an insinuation in those words that has my pulse flying, my face burning.

I awkwardly climb over the console, his hands on my hips as he helps me. My knees sink into the seat, on either side of him as I straddle his lap, my arms around his neck.

I inhale, trying to catch my breath, and his woodsy scent hits me hard as his hands slip under my thin, black shirt, his fingers hot on my skin.

My nipples pebble and he jerks me closer, my brow to his as he looks up at me through long, dark lashes.

“God, you feel so good,” he says quietly, his lip ring brushing against my bottom lip.

I’m sweating, nervous as his hands trail higher under my shirt, brushing against my grey bralette.

“Yeah?” I whisper softly, feeling clumsy but not knowing what else to say.

He shifts his hips and I can feel his erection under me.

I’ve always wanted to make him feel good. I’ve watched porn. I know about sex and blowjobs and guys going down on girls. I’ve just never done it.

And I know he and Maya have “fucked like rabbits” as she made sure to tell me when she stalked off from graduation, her blue eyes narrowed on mine, middle finger in my face. He told her to fuck off, and she did, but not before she said what she wanted to say.

It’s a good thing my stepdad didn’t bother to show up. He was working.

“Yes,” Cortland answers me, and I smell mint on his breath. I wonder what my own smells like. His fingers brush the unlined cups of my bra and my core heats. “Kiss me.”

I smile at his command, my fingers in the slight wave of his thick, dark hair. I do as he asked, but it becomes a different kind of kiss as his lips part, his tongue on mine. His hand winds in my hair, his other squeezes my breast and I gasp against him, shifting my hips on his erection, a small whimper leaving my mouth.

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