Page 66 of Hired Help

Which means Brooke didn’t complain to anyone. A development that makes me think my next step might be okay.

I watch her closely in the cafeteria each morning and each night. Lunchtimes, she’s gone back to her previous haunt, out by the playing fields where the girls can sit back to ogle the rugby team.

There’s more than one glance in her direction where I see her eyes rapidly cut away from mine in an attempt not to be caught looking. An attempt made far too late.

On Thursday, the urge still hasn’t gone away. As I walk out of my final lesson for the day, I decide it’s as good a time as any.

The worst thing she can do is say no.

It’s an hour past the last lesson before Brooke drags herself back to her room. I’m on her bed, waiting.

From the look of her, you wouldn’t know that anything was off kilter. In the week since the dance, all the nervousness, the shitty nail-biting habit, her unkemptness, have gone into remission. Even her hair is back to its customary perfection, pulled back into a ponytail so tight it gives me a headache to look at.

“You returned my key,” she says with a frown, closing the door and tossing her main set onto the desk at the foot of the bed. “How’d you get in?”

“Magic,” I respond, putting my arms behind my head like I don’t have a care in the world. “Thought you might prefer a private chat.”

She snorts, a sound of amusement which never reaches her expression. “Now you decide to talk privately? After spilling your lies to the entire senior class.”

“What lies?” I stretch out my leg to touch her as she presses herself flat against the wall, pretending nonchalance. “You were terrible in bed.” I tilt my head to the side, studying her for signs of shame, of regret.

All I see is the mask she wears when she doesn’t want anyone to notice her. The one she uses when she tells a lie or pulls on as cover, preparatory to being hurt. It’s a mask she used to wear when calling her father. She’d long given up on her mother before I arrived on the scene.

My chest pulls tight at the thought that’s where I sit now. In Brooke’s big list of people who’ve hurt her, abandoned her.

I’d be sorry if I hadn’t already spent all that sorrow on myself.

“I don’t want to continue on the way we have been.” I sit upright as I talk, pretending my attention is elsewhere when it’s arrowed in on her face. “This hatred is exhausting.”

Brooke gives a guarded smile, her eyes cautious as she examines me, trying to see whether I’m telling the truth or feeding her a lie.

I must pass her test because she offers a short nod. “I agree.”

Slowly, I stand, straightening my back as much as possible to get the tallest possible height advantage over her. “Since I’m not about to throw myself back into the dating pool with less than five months left until we finish school, I thought we could come to some arrangement.”

Her nostrils pinch together, a crease appearing on the bridge of her nose. “Arrangement?”

My hand touches lightly on her shoulder. When she doesn’t squirm away or throw it off, I increase the pressure, forcing her back against the wall, amused to see a flicker of lust leak through her staunch façade.

“The arrangement where I come here and fuck you any time I need a release.”

Her chin juts out, mouth twisting. “And what do I get in thisarrangement?”

“You get fucked.”

The double meaning has her jerking her eyes to meet mine, before they lower again. I know she’s avoiding the contact as part of going into hiding but it makes her look demure. The exact opposite of what I need her to be.

I touch my forefinger to the underside of her chin, applying light pressure until she’s once again locked to my gaze. “That’s better. I prefer you make eye contact when I’m speaking to you.”

“And why should I give a damn about your preferences?”

I lick my lips, watching her eyes widen as they catch the gesture from their periphery. Her chest angles towards me, a response I doubt she knows she’s making.

“Because if you fall into line, I’ll give you everything you need.”

This time, it’s her tongue darting out to wet her lips. I move my hand so my thumb strokes along the line of her jaw, feeling the muscles bunch in behind her ear as she clenches, trying to fight her automatic response.

“And what do you think I need?”

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