saying something awful, and the next, I’m ready to beg him to kiss me again.
The smell of In and Out is freaking amazing. It’s fresh yet greasy… fresh greasy! My stomach growls at the onion and salt smell. Breathing in, I hold it and say, “Animal style?” Is there any other way?
He winks. “Here.” He hands me a bottled water and sinks into the black couch.
He’s so self-confident. His very presence demands respect. Yet I try not to look at him while he drinks his beer.
Jeez, how can I eat with him so close? This sucks—I love In and Out.
“Sit and eat, Antoinette,” he says.
I sit and reach for my burger. The special sauce is dripping down the side with a glob of cheese. I grab a fry and soak it up, then watch him as I stick the whole delicious bite in my mouth.
“Mmm, salt. Sweet salt, the good-tasting kind of salt.” I can’t help but smile as he laughs.
“Yep, this is nothing but good for us.” He leans over, his arm brushing my leg, and hands me a milkshake.
“I hope it’s chocolate.”
“I guess you’ll have to try and see.” He brings the shake to my lips. I suck in the thick, sweet chocolate and let out a laugh.
“Eat up. I’m almost done.” He turns back to his burger, which he inhales in two bites. Not that I take much longer. I don’t think I’ve tasted anything better and it has nothing to do with Axel.
He leans back, one arm spread behind me on the top of the couch. “How old are you, Antoinette?”
The burger I was devouring threatens to come up. I pretend I have to chew, which I do, but what should I say?
Somehow, I get the feeling being older is better than my real age, so I grab the shake and suck as I say the first number to come to mind.
“Twenty-five.” It’s so bad—even for me it sounds bad—and there goes my happiness.
He leans forward and grabs his cigarettes from the table. Still sucking on my milkshake, I peek over, hoping he’s moved on. But as he lights one, his blue eyes watch my every move.
And I choke. Maybe it’s panic, but all I know is I’m trying not to cough so badly my eyes are watering and all he does is lean back and watch.
“Maybe have some water.” He inhales again.
I wave my hand in front of my mouth and clear my throat, kind of wheezing out, “The shake went down the wrong pipe.”
“How old are you?” His voice sounds like gravelly goodness.
“I told you, and why do you care? How old are you?” I stand to clear away the food wrappers only to have his viselike grip around my wrist jerk me back down.
“You’re a shit liar. I told you that earlier. As to why I want to know…” He leans forward, takes a drag of his cigarette, and puts it out in some ketchup. Exhaling, he focuses his sapphire eyes on me and I stare at his full lips.
Then he kills me.
“I want to fuck you, but I need to know your age.”
I’m dead. My body is on fire and I swear to God, I can’t breathe again.
Holy shit.
“I…” Puffing out some air, I say at last, “I’m twenty.” I’m not truly lying—I’ll be twenty soon. I look over at him to see his thoughts.
Which is a mistake. He’s not happy. I can tell by his disappointed face. He’s not going to touch me. I feel him pull back. This should make me happy. Instead I have to bite my lower lip not to cry.
“That’s almost the same age as my sister, Antoinette. I’m thirty-three.” He sounds pissed, almost bitter.
“That’s why I lied and said twenty-five.” I stand again and start to pick up the mess from dinner.
“Perfect.” He grabs another cigarette. For a guy with a body like his, he sure does smoke and eat a lot.
“Why are you stripping?”
“I have no money.” I’m getting flustered. What does he think, that I’m making all this up?
“Look. I don’t like people asking me questions.” I keep shoving all the trash from dinner into the white-and-red In and Out bag.
“Why? What are you hiding?” he retorts.
“None of your business.” I straighten back up. “I told you my age. If that’s not good enough, then I guess I can sleep on the street tonight.” I look around for a garbage can.
The room is silent. I fight looking at him. If I do, I’m doomed.
He