Everything Between Us (11 page)

The bills are crisp and new, and they make soft, clipped noises as I shuffle them between my fingers. What if
I
want something? Could I use this to get it?

How freaking sleazy.

But …

“No, stop it,” I mutter. Because I just had the most tempting, terrible thought ever.

Shaking my head, my wet hair slapping against my shirt, I head to the kitchen. I open the fridge and check the milk and the cheese, then stare at the eggs. The power was off for hours, but we didn’t open the fridge … what are the chances everything’s still okay? Not good enough for me to risk it. I’d feel terrible if I rewarded Daniel for staying with me through the storm with a raging case of food poisoning.

I crank the stove and settle on making biscuits because they don’t require eggs, only some shortening. I can use a can of evaporated milk from the pantry. I’m a decent improviser. My shirt is splotched with flour and I’ve got dough under my fingernails by the time I pop a batch of biscuits into the hot oven. When I turn around to wash my hands, Daniel’s standing there. Watching me. He’s wearing his clothes from yesterday, but his hair is wet from the shower. “Hey,” he says softly. “I thought I heard you bumping around in here.”

“I’m making biscuits,” I say, wishing I could just stand here and stare at him forever. Or, better yet, that he would walk up to me. Put his arms around me and tell me last night changed everything, that he wants me.

You could pay him to want you.

I blink. “Do you like biscuits?”

He gives me a strange look, probably because I’m even more twitchy and nervous than usual. “Sure. Thanks. Do you want me to cut up some fruit or something?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rasping. “So. The power’s back on.”

He nods as he snags a few apples and plums and takes them to the sink. “It came on around three. I turned off the lights that had been on. The plow guy came, too. The driveway’s clear, and the dude even scraped off my car.
That’s
good service.”

“Did he help you get your car unstuck?”

He blinks at me, then turns away quickly. “Yeah. It’s ready to go.”

My throat is tight. “Oh. Good. That’s good.” He has no reason to stay with me any longer. “You probably need to get out of here so you can finish your pieces for that show you mentioned.”

He turns off the faucet and looks over his shoulder at me. “It’ll be fine as long as I get them to the owner by tomorrow night. The show’s on Friday.” He sets the fruit on the counter. “I usually like gallery show openings. It’s with a few other artists, but my work will be on display. There’s a chance someone will want it.”

“What’s that like?” I ask, grabbing the coffee carafe and filling it in the sink. I’ll have to drink my coffee black because the cream has probably gone bad, but it’s a habit, even though it’s decaf—the caffeinated version makes my heart race. “Do you ever get nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous at all.” Daniel bows his head over his work, peeling an apple with deft hands, one long strip of skin spiraling down. “I like it when people look at what I’ve done. I like to see how they react to it.”

“Your paintings are very dramatic.” Which is funny, actually, because Daniel doesn’t seem that way.

“They’re entertainment, like everything else.” He slices the apple, sets it on a saucer, and slides it over to me. His blue eyes meet mine. “That’s all they are.”

“Like everything else?”
Like you?

His mouth quirks up on one side. “Like most things. Shouldn’t be taken too seriously, and never taken to heart.” His tone is friendly enough, but it still feels like a giant Band-Aid being ripped off my tender skin.

He’s telling me something. That this is all he’s going to give, that it’s all I’ll ever get. Friendly regard, beauty at a distance. The oven timer beeps, and I pull the biscuits out and set them on the stove. I pour us coffee and Daniel positions the rest of the fruit on a plate, making me giggle with his arrangement. Dark plum eyes and apple eyebrows, a carved apple nose and plum lips. It’s innocent, and it’s normal, and it hurts like hell because I only have a few more minutes of it.

Maybe you could get more if you play by his rules.

Once again, I try to push the thought away, but as I watch Daniel eat, as I listen to him tell me about the pieces he’s preparing for the show, it gets harder and harder.

If I don’t expect him to let down his shields and invite me inside, will he feel freer to share what’s on the outside—like he does with everybody else? If I don’t try to reach his heart, could I have his body? I don’t want to be a virgin forever, and I’ve never met a guy I felt safe enough with to take the plunge. And now, I have few options. In a week, my lessons with Daniel end, and I might never see him again because I can’t leave this freaking house. My mom will be back to pick up her affair with him in a few days. She’ll probably start agitating to institutionalize me again, too.

And I have a stack of hundreds on my bedside table, to be used any way I want.

He pokes my shoulder. “Where are you this morning?”

“What?” I say, but it comes out as more of a yelp.

His eyebrow arches. “You’re usually listening closely to what I say, deciding the best way to jab holes or tear it to shreds.”

My stomach turns and I put down my fork. “God, you must think I’m such a bitch.”

“No,” he says, his brow furrowing. “I kind of like it.”

“Kind of?”

“Well, now that the frank hostility has melted away, I enjoy it a lot more.” His gaze is steady on me, making me tingle. “It means you’re paying attention.” He looks away, out the window. “But now I notice when it’s gone.”

“Good,” I murmur. “Maybe you’ll miss me.”

He gets up quickly, and my cheeks burn as I listen to him rinse his plate in the sink. I’ve just chased him away, and all I said is that I hoped he’d notice that I’m not around. If I was honest about how I’m feeling about him, he’d probably refuse to be in the same room with me ever again. It’s so unfair—my mother, who only cares about the pleasure he gives her, the way he makes her feel, she gets to have him. But me … he wants nothing to do with me.

“I had better get going,” he says brusquely, confirming all my fears. “A long few days ahead of me.”

“Of course.” I rise and clear my plate, my heart pounding. If I want to make this work, I have to play by his rules. And if I’m going to do this, it has to be now. “Daniel, can I talk to you about something?”

He turns to me, close enough for me to feel his warmth. “What’s up?”

I purse my lips and blow out a breath, wishing I didn’t feel so shaky. “Yesterday, when we kissed …”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Stella, I—”

“No, it’s okay. But it made me … think of something.” I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to hold myself together. “I know you have a lot of experience, and you know I don’t.”

He shakes his head. “I … it’s not …” His eyes clamp shut. “Never mind. You were saying?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

He opens his eyes. “What do you need?”

“I want you to have sex with me.”

Some of the color drains from his face. “Uh …” He stares at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted wings and a tail. “Stella, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll pay you,” I blurt. “And you don’t have to worry that I’ll expect anything after. I’m not
that
crazy.” I try to laugh, but it comes out as this strangled, helpless sort of noise.

I can’t read his expression as he watches me, in part because my vision is blurry from stupid tears that have suddenly sprung to the surface. I turn quickly and blink them away, because this is not helping my case. I need to be casual and cool. Like my mom. Not like myself. I wish I could get pointers from her, but somehow I don’t think she’d be amenable if she knew that I was propositioning her mister.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispers.

“I just want to know what it feels like.”
With you.
I stare out the window, focusing on a bit of snow crusted against the screen.

He sighs. “You
are
a virgin.”

I square my shoulders and concentrate on keeping my voice even. “Yes. And I’ll pay you well if you help me remedy that.”

His chuckle has a hard edge to it, so different from how it usually sounds. “How much are we talking, Stella? How much is that worth to you?”

“A thousand,” I mumble.

“What?”

I spin around. “A thousand dollars.”

His jaw is ridged with tension, like he’s clenching his teeth. “For what exactly?”

“I—” I hadn’t really thought about it. And I have no idea how to answer him. “Just the sex?”

“Sex comes in all different forms and flavors,” he snaps. “If you’re willing to pay that much, you should know what you’re getting in return. That’s how business transactions work, right?”

I take a step back from him, but he moves forward. He places his arms on either side of me, laying his palms on the counter behind me. I’m trapped, and it doesn’t feel safe like it did last night. It feels very, very dangerous. “I guess I—only the one time?”

“One time for what? What are you asking for?” He loops his hand around the back of my neck, and his mouth crashes down on mine. His tongue invades my mouth. He tastes of coffee and jam and the metal edge of anger. His body presses to mine, making the countertop dig into my back. I feel his arousal hard against my abdomen and gasp into his mouth.

He pulls back. “Do you want me to kiss you like this? Do you want me to do this?” His hand closes over one of my breasts, and he squeezes, making my fingers curl into his shoulders. He thrusts his hips against me. “Is this what you want from me? It won’t feel good, not the first time, so you can let that little fantasy go.”

“I-I know that already. That’s why I want you to do it. You know how—”

“Because I know how to fuck. I’m practically a professional, right?” He rocks against me again and slides his hand up my shirt, tugging the cup of my bra down and squeezing my nipple between hard fingers. His touch is as razor-edged as his words, like he’s trying to scare me off. This feels like a test, to see if I can keep up with him, to see if I’m serious and not just suffering from a stupid, childish crush. If I pass, if I can cross feelings out of the equation, maybe he’ll give me what I want.

“Yes,” I whisper fiercely against his mouth. “I want to experience all of that, once in my life.” I close my eyes and channel my parents—everything has its price, right? “Do you want to write up a contract, or can we seal it with a handshake?”

Daniel steps back suddenly, and I have to catch myself to keep from sinking to the floor. “Neither,” he says, breathing hard.

My fingers grip the edge of the counter, confusion washing over me. “But you’ll do it?”

Our eyes lock. “No,” he says. “There’s not enough money in the world.”

He strides out of the kitchen and down the hall. The door to the side entrance slams a moment later.

Chapter Nine: Daniel

My knuckles are white over the steering wheel. My jaw is clenched tight, my mouth twitching with tension, my eyes burning, my chest aching.

I haven’t been this angry in a very long time. I haven’t cared about anyone enough to let them have that kind of effect on me. No one except my family, but they don’t make me mad. This thing with my mom has me scared as hell, and I’m worried about my brother, but this is different.

I wanted to shake Stella. Shout at her. I wanted to hurt her. And maybe I did, but I don’t think so. She doesn’t care enough to be hurt. She wants what she wants, and she’s just like her mom and dad—she’ll use money to get it. And me, I’m a ride at an amusement park. She’ll climb on, she’ll get off, she’ll go eat some fucking cotton candy and move on.

Isn’t that how you like it?

Yeah, it’s how I like it. But that’s because I usually don’t care how people think of me. I don’t give them
me
anyway, so however they respond doesn’t touch me, not where it counts. But Stella … I let her in.

This is ridiculous. Why am I reacting like this? I’m the one who wanted to keep my distance. I’m the one who didn’t want to get involved. I’m the one who woke up and decided I was going to put things right, make it clear to her that I
never
stop playing the game. Why am I in a twist just because she’s wedged a thousand dollars into the space between us? Why am I messed up because
she
started playing?

Because I liked what we had. Because I thought there was something real there, even though I couldn’t really define “something” to save my life, even though I was so rattled by it that I had to back off.

The streets are clear all the way back to town, the plowed snow piled high on the curbs and the corners, the lanes narrow and covered in sand and salt. I drive straight to the co-op. Not only because I have to get stuff done, but because I need to blow off steam. I maneuver my car into the tiny parking lot because there’s a ban on parking in the street, then negotiate the icy sidewalks and steps into the building. Usually on Saturday morning, Caleb’s here with his classroom full of rambunctious little preschoolers. The mere idea makes me want to drink heavily, but he actually seems to enjoy it. No one’s here this morning, though. Classes were probably canceled because the town is still cleaning up and recovering from the storm. The power’s on, though, and I unlock the building and let myself in.

As I head up the stairs, my phone rings. “Hey, Mom,” I answer when I see her number.

“How did you make it through the storm?” she asks.

The helpless laugh comes out of me before I can stop it. “Safe and sound. You?”

“My appointment’s been rescheduled for Monday, and they’re thinking they’ll operate Tuesday,” she says.

I rub my chest as I reach the second floor and enter the studio space. “When? I’ll be there.”

“You don’t have to be there for the pre-op stuff, honey. If you want to be with your dad on Tuesday, though, I’d really appreciate it.” Her voice is strained with worry. For him, not for herself.

“I’ll be there on both days, Mom. I’ll clear my schedule.” My dad’s been acting tough, but if she’s this concerned for him, that tells me he’s putting up a front. I should have guessed—I do the same thing.