Page 9 of You Had Me At Thirteen

Most of the women I’ve dealt with so far have been easy. Whisper a few pleasant words into their ear – or dirty words depending on which side of the kink scale they tip – and they happily spread their legs for me. With those women, though, there are rules involved. There are no attachments, and no relationships. A good fuck, that’s all it is. And they know what they’re getting into when they jump into bed with me, or my car, or anywhere else the mood might strike.

I’m not that much of a dick that I lead them to believe they’re going to get anything more from me than an orgasm. So, I’m left wondering how I can get Matilda under me, without the complicated feelings.

One thing I know about her is that she doesn’t date. Things are said around the boys’ locker room, one of them being that most of the guys at school want a piece of her, but they assume she’s stuck-up. My guess is that she doesn’t want to date any of those dickwads.

I also know that her dad died, but that was long before we moved here. One of the few occasions our mums had spoken, there was talk of his death around the time Matilda turned ten.

At least we have one thing in common. I’ve never been interested in doing relationships, either. I only have to look at my parents’ relationship to realise that they’re a lot of nonsense. One person spends most of their time wishing they were somewhere else while the other leaves for weeks at a time, only returning to act as though they gave a shit.

A tap on my door has me sitting up, straightening my boxers over the never-ending semi I just can’t seem to shake today. I push my hair back then swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, my elbows resting on my knees. ‘Come in.’

My mum’s smiling face greets me as she opens the door and steps into the doorway. Her slight frame seems to shrink with each passing day. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘Everything okay?’

I blow out a breath. ‘Yeah, you heading to bed?’

She nods. ‘I think I’ll read for a while.’

Mum is always reading these days. Just like Matilda.

When I don’t answer, she steps into the room. ‘What’s wrong?’ Her movements are slow as she shuffles over and plants herself on the mattress next to me.

‘I’m fine, Mum. First day back, you know how it is.’

Mum eyes me. ‘It’s a girl, isn’t it?’

‘What? No.’ I push the palms of my hands into my eye sockets with a groan. Am I that transparent?

‘Tell me all about her. Does she go to your school?’ She pats my knee, moving closer so her shoulder brushes against my upper arm.

‘Nothing to tell, Mum,’ I say, standing up, needing the space.

I focus on the dark blue wall in front of me, light from the hallway seeping in from my open door. As much as I love my mum, we aren’t having this conversation.

Mum sighs as she stands too. ‘Okay honey, if you say so.’ She pats my chest before kissing my cheek. When she steps back, she rests her hands on my shoulders, regaining her balance. They feel cold against my hot skin. ‘Good night.’

I try to smile, but all I can think about now is the fact that I’m a total dick. ‘Night, Mum.’

She shuffles to the door, turning once to give me a wink before closing it behind her. The scent of her lavender body wash lingers in my room, easing a little of the churning in my stomach.

I flop back onto my bed so I can stare at the ceiling for the next hour, my hands resting on my chest. I need to distract myself from all the bullshit going on in my life. Lucky for me, the perfect one is sleeping but ten metres away from me right now.

FIVE

Matilda

* * *

After a restless sleep, one infiltrated by gold and green eyes, I’m surprised I woke up at the crack of dawn. I’ve planned my entire morning, starting with Mr Hughes. And gone over my speech a hundred times already. So when I find him at his desk, feet propped up, glasses falling down his nose as he reads over a newspaper, I ready myself.

He glances up when he senses me, folding the newspaper in front of him, and pulling his glasses off. ‘Miss Maxwell, good morning. You just missed Mr Stevenson. He was in here telling me how much he’s looking forward to working with you on this project.’

‘What?’ My eyebrows shoot up, my teeth grinding into my ears.

I’m not prepared for this knowledge, but I should have known Wren would want to control the situation.

Prick.

Mr Hughes frowns as he leans forward, pressing his elbows into the desk. ‘Is there something wrong?’

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