Page 14 of Burn With Me

“I’m not twenty-one,” I point out.

Avalon throws her head back, her long black hair flying around her face as she roars with hilarity. I blink at the motion and when she’s done, she bends over, wiping beneath her dry eyes as if I really almost made her cry tears of laughter. “Shit, neither am I,” she says. “Why do you think I brought Dean? He’s gonna buy us a beer. Let’s go.”

I let her reach out this time and take my wrist in her grasp. Although small and feminine as it is, it feels like steel, strength, and something else that I hope like fuck I’ve got in me, too.

I like this girl, I realize. A hell of a lot.

6

ISAAC

She knows. She has to know. It’s the only excuse. It’s either that or something I don’t even want to think about. Regardless of what she does or doesn’t know, Aurora Summers is watching me. The same way I’m watching her—with suspicion and some unnamed emotion that’s digging into my head, making me … curious. Curiosity is dangerous.

I can’t even say that I don’t like it either. I do. I like her eyes on me. I like her attention, and I find that I want more of it. She is, quite possibly, the least boring chick I’ve seen or met in a long while, and having her focus on me as much as mine is on her gives me a heady feeling. Like I just smoked a shit ton of weed and every muscle in my body has finally released the tension I’ve spent years building up. Maybe this will be fun—breaking the girl my father thinks he can use.

“She’s in this class too?” Paris leans forward over the back of my seat from the row behind me.

Yeah, she is. Of the seven courses I’m taking this semester, she’s in at least four of them. Statistics 101, Psych 103, Business Admin 100, and now this one—Art Theory and History 200. It’s a throwaway class to me—an elective—but to her, I know it’s required because she’s in the Fine Arts department.

Why?

What could she do with a Fine Arts degree? Most chicks are in this for the potential of meeting their husbands—find that rich upper-class guy that fits what Daddy and Mommy dearest want for their preciousinnocentlittle girls. It’s laughable. Most girls these days are far from innocent. Throw a little money into their background and they’re even worse than the guys. Sex. Drugs. Parties. They like it all.

There is no difference between good girls and bad girls. Good girls are just bad girls who haven’t been caught.

All except for Aurora Summers, it seems.

From what I can tell, she doesn’t party. She doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t have sex. But one of her roommates does. Selene Reynolds is exactly the type of girl I expected Aurora Summers to be. Beautiful, though a little empty-headed. Easily influenced by her friends with likes similar to other girls of her class and age. I thought Aurora would be easy to get to, but in the last week she’s done little more than watch me in the same way I watch her.

Paris pokes me in the back. “Who’s the other one?” he demands.

My eyes go to the girl at her side, and I frown. “Her roommate,” I inform him. The one I don’t like. Selene will be easy to use, but this one—Helen Argos—is far more difficult. I don’t even know how to use her. She’s quiet and she’s almost always at Aurora’s side. The only thing I do know is that, unlike Selene and Aurora, Helen doesn’t come from money.

A thought occurs to me. Would money be enough to sway her into spying on my new stepsister?

“She’s hot,” Paris states, reaching up and rubbing the industrial bar pierced through the top of his ear thoughtfully.

I roll my eyes. “You think any chick with a working pussy is hot,” I remind him.

“Not true,” he replies. “I wouldn’t fuck your new sister if you paid me.”

I turn back and glare at him. “She is not my sister,” I grit out.

Paris’ mouth curves into a knowing smile and his sharp gaze meets mine. “And aren’t you fucking happy about that?” he taunts.

Ass. I twist as the door opens and the professor walks in, carrying a small easel under her left arm and a bag overflowing with rolled-up papers on the other. Class begins, and the entire time I’m left sitting there, watching my recent obsession as she ignores me for a change to actually pay attention to the instructor. Is there a reason she chose to sit at the front this time? Every other class she’s done her damnedest to get behind me.

I don’t like it. She’s trying to get herself into a position of power, and that just won’t do. It’s time to put plans into action. I lean back and tap the front of Paris’ table. "How fast can you get to work on the rumor mill?” I ask, lowering my voice as the instructor moves across the front of the classroom with her back to us and her hands on the whiteboard as she writes down a list of names and influential figures in the History of Art.

Paris tilts his head to the side and then glances around the room. He considers his options and then nods. “I’ll have something done by the end of the day.” That’s it. He already knows what I want from him. I lean forward once more and focus on the back of Aurora’s head. Her hair is twisted up into a braided crown today, little flurries of strands hover around her face. The hairstyle leaves the nape of her neck bare. It’s a temptation, that naked skin. I lick my lips.

Fuck, Paris is right. It’s a good thing she’s not my real sister. A damn good thing.

As soon as class ends, Paris is up and out of his seat. “Hey, Jasmine, wait up!” A small smile graces my lips as he slings an arm around the shoulders of a tan blonde near the classroom door and the two disappear out into the hall. Jasmine Thomas is one of the most gossipy girls on campus. She’s a good choice to start in on ruining Aurora Summers’ reputation.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, scowling at the name on the screen. Briefly, I debate not answering, but I know that’ll only make him suspicious. I hit the green button with more aggression than necessary. “Isaac.”

My father doesn’t even bother with the formalities of a greeting. “What’s the girl up to?” he demands.

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