“They’re bored,” he tells me. “And when you’re bored, you only want two things, and beer doesn’t last forever.”
So they’re different from other guys my age, how? I know what teenagers are into. I know what men want from women. I’m not a fragile rose petal.
His teeth work my palm, and flutters hit my stomach.
I look up at him, the fact that I now live with three healthy, semi-young males, all of who are also part of the “local guys” he’s warning me about.
“You don’t get bored up here during the winter?” I taunt, dropping my voice to just between us. “When the beer runs out?”
His eyes tighten at the corners, getting my meaning. Are he and his sons any different? Will there be more naked women hanging out around the bathroom?
He finally gets hold of the splinter and pulls it out, but I don’t look away, even as it stings.
He lowers my hand, rubbing his thumb over the small wound.
“It’s fine.” I pull it away, wiping whatever little blood was there.
“Are you sorry you came?” he asks me.
Surprisingly, I’m not taken off guard by the question. Probably because I wouldn’t be scared to be rude if the truth was in the negative.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly.
I’m not happy, but I wouldn’t be happy at home or at Brynmor or probably anywhere. I didn’t expect to be happy coming here, so it doesn’t matter.
I look out of the shop, all of the guys revving their engines and turning their bikes around to leave. Noah backs away, obviously not joining them.
“Do you like being here?” Jake presses.
“I don’t know,” I tell him again.
“Where would you rather be?”
I don’t know. Why does he want to know? I don’t…
I finally meet his eyes, chewing the corner of my mouth.
“I don’t want to be…” I trail off, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to be…”
But the sentence comes out sounding complete. Like that’s my answer. I don’t want to be.
His eyes turn guarded as he looks at me.
“I don’t want to be anywhere,” I quickly say.
I might’ve had some misperceptions about what to expect here, but I at least thought three single men wouldn’t desire a lot of touchy-feely conversation. This guy seems to want to connect, and it’s aggravating me.
I turn and start to walk out of the shop, just as the dirt bikes are all speeding away.
“Make some sandwiches, please,” Jake calls after me. “Just put them in the fridge to grab and go. Doesn’t matter what kind. We’re not picky.”
We’re not picky.
I walk into the house, head for the kitchen, and yank open both fridge doors. Then I pull open the crisper and freezer drawers below as I take stock of everything I have to work with.
He’s keeping me busy. I should be grateful. And he’s giving me a chore where I don’t have to talk to anyone. I like to cook. I can listen to music and be left alone.
And sandwiches aren’t hard.
I tap my fingers on the door handle as I hold open the fridge. I don’t know. He just rubs me the wrong way, like he’s enjoying his guardianship a little too much. My parents wouldn’t have cared if I’d had orgies in my bedroom as long as nothing wound up on Snapchat.
This guy, though…
Already he’s flexing his dominance. Mind you, I have no interest in orgies—or men right now, anyway—but I’ve been raising myself for years, and now I have to downshift. It’s too much to ask. I may only be seventeen, but that’s only on paper.
Why the hell does he want lunch now anyway? Breakfast was an hour ago.
And at that, my stomach growls. I falter a moment, holding my hand to my stomach.
I didn’t eat breakfast.
Or anything since the berries at breakfast yesterday.
Pulling out lunch meat, the condiments, and some lettuce, I get busy, building some sandwiches, taking bites of one to get something into me, and then I cut them diagonally and place the triangles onto a large plate. I find the Saran wrap in a drawer on the island and wrap up the tray, setting it in the fridge.
Not sure if that’s their lunch, but that’s all they’re getting out of me. I’ll see if he needs me to run into town for anything. I could use a drive.
But just as I go to close the refrigerator door, I see a drop of water hit the glass just above the crisper drawer. Bending down, I put my hand in a small puddle of water.