Page 24 of Breaking You Open

I sit up to get a better look, but at that moment, Louis turns around and catches my eye.

“Slept well?”

“Um, sure.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if he knows I’m lying. “It’s Monday. Don’t you have class?”

“Oh, right,” I say with more urgency and rise to get my clothes on. But then I stop in the middle of pulling on my sweater. “I-I can’t go.”

Louis pours two mugs of coffee and sets them down on the table alongside a plate of eggs and bacon. “And why not?”

“Aaron might be out there, looking for me.”

“And you think this Aaron guy is going to pull up on the side of the road and tug you into his car?”

“Given the chance, yeah, he will.”

“You must be a mighty good lay, then,” Louis says with a tilt to his mouth, not quite a smile, “for him to go through so much trouble to get you back.”

“Maybe I am.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, an immediate flush to my cheeks follows suit. Why can’t I just be brash and confident like Lilith? Why does my voice have to shake and my eyes refuse to keep contact as soon as the embarrassment flares? I look away, hiding my heated cheeks with the coffee cup.

“I want to make a couple things clear,” Louis says. “As long as you live in my home, you’ll follow my rules.”

“Rules?”

He holds up a hand and starts counting on his fingers. “One: No late-night activities. I’m a light sleeper; I sleep, you sleep. Two: Clean up after yourself.”

“That’s fine,” I say, nodding.

“I don’t want to see any fucking cum stains on my couch either.”

“I-I wouldn’t,” I stutter, face burning.

“Mm-hmm, of course not. Third rule: Language. No swearing or acting up.”

“You curse sometimes.”

“Yeah, but I’m old.Older,” he corrects himself, scowling. “I don’t want you learning bad habits.”

“Maybe I like bad habits.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t, and you’re living in my house, so that means you don’t either.”

“What happens if I refuse?”

“You really want to find out?” When I just shake my head, wide-eyed, he continues, “Four: Keep up with your schoolwork, and that means not skipping classes.”

“If you want me to go to class, you’ll have to take me.”

“That so?”

“I can ride at the back of your bike.”

Louis just looks at me with a challenging glint in his wolflike amber-colored eyes, and I force myself to keep his gaze. When he finally breaks eye contact, I’m sweating, and a strange heat that can’t be entirely caused by the coffee pools in the pit of my stomach. I don’t usually drink the stuff, but Louis seems to assume I do, so just to avoid his potential judgment and to seem more like the adult I want him to perceive me as, I force it down.

“What time?” he asks.

“Nine thirty.”

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