Page 89 of 4th Degree

He must take my silence as consent because he steps impossibly closer, close enough that he can place a hand on my hip, and then slide it around me and down to my ass.

That snaps me out of the shock-fear-confusion tornado I’ve sunken into. Even after only being at the gym for a few weeks, my training kicks in, and I shove Craig away from me. Then my hand whips out to slap him across the face, hitting with the heel of my hand, the way Dominic taught me.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” I bite out at a stunned Craig. He doesn’t seem hurt, just surprised that I reacted physically.

Honestly, so am I.

Craig recovers quicker than I expect him to. He shoots forward and grabs me by the wrist on the hand that’s curled into a fist by my side.

“You’re a stuck-up little bitch,” he snarls. “You’ve been teasing me all semester. And now you’re going to act like you don’t want me? Fuck you.”

Before I can jerk away from him, he drops my hand and steps back, his gaze traveling the length of my body.

“You’re delusional if you think you’re going to get a better offer. You’re not as hot as you think you are, and everyone thinks you’re fucking weird. I was doing you a favor, asking you out.”

I swallow roughly and stand in place, hoping if I don’t respond, that he’ll go away.

But then his tone goes from hard and angry to soft and mocking, and dread drops like a stone into my stomach.

“But maybe I’m just not your type,” he says in a lilting voice. A pleased-with-himself grin stretches across his face. “Maybe I’m just not old enough for you.”

Every ounce of blood freezes in my veins.

He can’t know. He can’t know. No one knows.

I force myself to respond. Steeling myself, I say, “After this childish display, yeah—there’s a good chance I’ll date older from now on.”

The fact that my answer makes his grin grow makes me feel even colder.

He’s just guessing. He can’t know. And he has no proof.

“Good luck with that,” he says with a chuckle that has no warmth.

And as I watch him walk away, that dread inside me tangles with a sense of foreboding.

31

DOMINIC

I spend so much time thinking about why Skylar may have run out of the gym yesterday that when Joey walks in the next day, part of me wonders if I’ve started to hallucinate Skylar-things into my environment.

And then I take in his expression. And any concern for my sanity evaporates.

“Joey? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Skylar’s fine,” he hurriedly assures me. “I’m not here because of her.”

The squeeze in my chest deflates, and I can breathe again. “So then why are you here?”

Now he seems nervous. His eyes dart around the gym, looking everywhere but at me. I soften my voice and ask again, “Joey, what’s going on? I promise, if I can help, I will.”

Shoulders slumping, his words are mumbled. “I need help finding a job.”

That’s…not what I expected.

“A job? What kind of job?”

When he finally locks eyes with me, it’s pleading. “Any job. Just something that makes money. But…” He shuffles awkwardly. “No one wants to hire a fourteen-year-old. I get turned away before I can even ask for an interview.”

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