The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,63

brooks no argument. He's dead serious. If she doesn't go, it looks like he's willing to make her.

“What?” she asks, sitting there in an oversized t-shirt and panties. It's hard for me not to get the wrong idea about what might've happened between her and the twins last night. A snake of ugly jealousy unravels in my stomach, and I take a huge bite of cereal to wash it down. “What are you talking about?” Her nervous laughter tells me she's just not getting it.

“Get the fuck out.” Micah points in the direction of the front hall. “There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out.”

“You can't be serious? I bring up Amber, and I just get the boot?”

“Out. Now.” Micah pushes off from the center island, walks over to her, and grabs her by the hips, dragging her off the quartz counter top. He sits the girl on the floor, and then turns her around by grabbing her shoulders. “Goodbye, Emma.”

“It's Emily,” she says, but he's pushing her out of the kitchen.

“Your friends can bring your stuff out to you, and you can change in the pool house. Don't ever let anyone tell you I'm a heartless bastard.”

“You're a fucking prick, and I don't even care what twin you are. You're both assholes!” the girl shouts once she's around the corner, and I can't see her anymore. “Don't let them fool you, they're bastards.”

The sound of the front door slamming makes me jump, and I raise my eyebrows, digging back into my cereal and pretending I'm not at all interested in Amber, or Micah's weird behavior about the guestroom, or whatever possible relationship the McCarthy brothers have with that Emily girl.

Nope.

Don't care about any of it, not one bit.

“I told you we should've kicked her out last night,” Micah says as he pads back into the kitchen, his shirtless body capturing my attention and refusing to let go. His muscles are lean and tight, and there's not an ounce of body fat on the guy. He's beyond tall, and the way he slinks around reminds me a little of a fox.

“You're right, I'm too nice,” Tobias murmurs with a roll of his eyes, and then in perfectly coordinated sexy slouchy movements, the twins each pick up a box of cereal, pour, add milk, and then lift their spoons to their mouths at the exact same moment.

It's beautiful, like some sort of performance art or something. I'm mesmerized.

“So, where are you off to today then?” Tobias asks, breaking their twin routine again. Micah shoots him a bit of a dirty look, but I can't quite interpret the meaning, so I don't try to.

“I guess … if you can drop me off down the street from my dad's hotel, I'll walk the rest of the way and he'll never have to know I was here. I highly doubt Monica's told her parents that I left in a Lamborghini last night.” Dropping my spoon in the bowl, I stand up and head over to the sink to wash it out. Micah stops me with a hand on my wrist, pulling me away from the counter.

“We pay people to do that,” he says, and I frown. Yeah, people like my mom. She's basically spent her entire life working as a maid in either upscale hotels, or super-rich households. She was fifteen when she started, young and pretty, and practically a fucking sideshow for rich men. The thought makes me shiver, and I shake Micah's hand off, turning the sink on and washing my dish myself. “Do you like menial chores?” he asks, and I feel my shoulders get tight with nerves.

I don't want to talk about my mother with them. Seeing her is going to be hard enough. About four years ago, she started disappearing at random hours and coming home completely and utterly out of her mind. When she got arrested for possession of methamphetamine, Dad kicked her out and divorced her.

Since then, things have gotten bad. She still works as a maid, but this time it's for cheap motels in the worst parts of Los Angeles. She's still relatively young—she had me at age nineteen—but she's not so pretty anymore. The drugs have seriously done their toll. That, and when you only show up for work half the time you're supposed to, the fancy hotels and rich households don't want you anymore.

“I have secrets; you have secrets.” I shrug my shoulders. Every asshole has secrets.