Page 4 of Anchor

I missed breakfast, no thanks to Mom flirting with the neighbor opposite our apartment on 5th Street. I don’t need to witness her next conquest, and honestly, I’m looking forward to turning eighteen; at least then I won’t have to be dragged all over the place just because she keeps finding duds.

I feel some people looking my way, but I don’t look up. I get it—I’m the new girl right near the end of a school year—but making friends isn’t a part of my plans while I’m attending Brooklyn Heart High School.

I want to get my grades and move on with my life, where I’m actually living for myself and not for my mother. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, I do, but her infatuation with having a man to depend on is a crappy look, especially when she then unloads on her daughter when they hurt her.

Ignoring everyone, I walk into the cafeteria, my main focus the lunch line, my stomach grumbling for a large slice of pizza, but before I can get there, I crash into a hard body, making me gasp.

Dammit, I really should have looked up instead of focusing on my feet.

I squeeze my eyes tight, feeling my body falling off-kilter, and just when I think I’m going to fall on my ass in front of the whole student body, strong hands grip my arms, causing me to spring my eyes open in shock.

Standing at least several inches taller than me is the boy from this morning, or more like a man, even though he’s only eighteen.

Travis….

I’ve heard nothing but gossip from the girls in my classes about him and his friends, Colt and James.

Apparently, they’re part of the Huntsmen MC, a motorcycle club that most of New York loves.

You can’t grow up in New York and not know about them and the work they do regarding hospitals, women's shelters, food shelters—you name it.

The three “men” also love sex and have screwed half the school, but apparently, Travis prefers cheerleaders, or that’s what one of the girls got giddy over because she’s applied to be on the team.

I clear my throat and step back, causing him to drop his arms. I whisper, “Sorry….”

He nods, his dark eyes spearing into my soul, making it really difficult to keep eye contact.

I don’t know what it is about this guy, but being in his orbit makes my legs feel like jelly, and my stomach tightens as my heart rate spikes.

Is this how Mom felt every time she met a guy she was attracted to?

And that is like an ice-cold bucket of water.

I clear my throat and whisper, “Uh, um, thank you for not letting me fall," then I move to walk around him, but before I can pass, he gently takes my hand, sending tingles all up my arm and over my body, making me gasp as we make eye contact.

His dark eyes race between mine, and he asks, “What’s your name, angel?”

I blink, then blink again and reply, “Heaven.”

He nods, a small smile forming on his plump, kissable lips, the scar on his cheek stretching, making him look even hotter….

Crap, no, Heaven, no!

I take a step to move again, but he pulls me back, shocking me. His eyes race between mine before he asks, “Have dinner with me?”

My eyes widen in shock, and he smirks, clearly happy he got that reaction.

I’ve never had a date, never even been kissed. Growing up with a mother who relies on men puts you off, and this guy is the first one to ever get a reaction out of me. He also has player and heartbreaker written all over him.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stutter.

His grip tightens on my hand. “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking for, and if you don’t like it, then we can be friends, because everyone needs a friend.”

I swallow hard. “I, uh, thought you only dated cheerleaders.”

I wince, hating that I’ve just said that, but he grins and says, “Well, let me prove you wrong, then.” My pulse races as he keeps eye contact, and my mind swirls.

Can I do it? Can I go on my first date and not become my mother?

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