Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl(28)

I pull back the curtain and peer out the window. “Really?” I scan the parking lot and spot a younger couple who lives three doors down standing near a trunk. They’re screaming in each other’s faces, the girl enraged because she thinks the guy cheated on her. I have flashbacks to the many times my mom was involved in a similar scene. “Isn’t that moving a little quickly? And they’re so young.”

“Yeah, but they’ve been dating for over a year, so I don’t think it’s that weird. Besides, they pretty much live together, anyway, either here or at Grey’s. At least when they get their own place, they can have some alone time. And I won’t walk in on them doing it on the couch again.”

I snort a laugh. “Holy shit. You walked in on them?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you about that?”

“No.”

“Oh, my God, it was so awful. Although, I think Luna was more embarrassed than anyone.”

“She gets embarrassed pretty easily, doesn’t she?”

“So do you,” she accuses. “In fact, sometimes, you’re worse than her.”

My pulse accelerates as the couple starts shoving each other. “I am not. I rarely get embarrassed.”

“With normal stuff, yeah. But when anything sexual gets mentioned or implied, you totally start blushing.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

I contemplate whether or not to go outside and break up the fight. They’re just pushing each other right now, but that’s how fights usually start, and things can quickly escalate, something I’ve seen happen a hundred times.

Before I can arrive at a decision, they abruptly stop shoving each other, and their lips collide in a deep, passionate kiss.

Yep, I’ve seen that happen before, too.

As the guy pulls back to peel the girl’s shirt off, right there in the middle of the parking lot, I look away, my cheeks warming.

Okay, maybe Wynter is right about me. Maybe I do get embarrassed by sexual stuff. I mean, look how I reacted last night. How I manage to work where I work is beyond me. Then again, I know what the alternative is if I don’t.

“It’s okay, though,” Wynter says with a laugh. “Once you start having sex, I’m sure you’ll grow up a bit.”

“Oh, whatever,” I retort. “Don’t act like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve had sex.”

“I’ve come closer than you.”

“So what? That doesn’t make you more grown up than me.” I move to let the curtain fall forward then pause as a figure standing in front of the abandoned motel across the way catches my attention.

At first, I assume it’s a random junkie waiting to buy drugs since that’s what the motel is notorious for, but the person is decked out in all black with a hoodie over their head and sporting boots that look too pricey for a crackhead to afford. At least the ones that live around here. Plus, a shiny Mercedes is parked behind them, like the car I saw last night that seemed completely out of place.

An uneasy feeling churns in the pit of my stomach as I note the person’s gaze is aimed at the front door of my apartment. Shit, Mom, what did you do this time? Sell drugs? Prostitute? Screw some rich guy over?

The person suddenly turns toward my window, and I instinctively crouch down. Maybe I’m overacting, but over the years, my mom has gotten herself into quite a few predicaments when she pissed the wrong person off. I can’t count how many times she’s warned me to lay low for a while and not answer the door.

I wish I could call her and find out if this has anything to do with her, but after losing three phones in less than a month, I couldn’t, and didn’t really want to, buy her another one.

“Oh, Willow,” Wynter singsongs through the receiver. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

I put the phone up to my ear. “Finals,” I lie.

“You sure?” Amusement laces her tone. “Because I was thinking maybe you were thinking about sex.”

I sit down on the floor and stretch out my legs. “Why would you think that? Especially after you implied that I get embarrassed over anything that has to do with sex, you know, because I’m a virgin and all.”

She chuckles. “So what if you get embarrassed? That doesn’t mean you don’t ever think of having sex. I know you have before.”

“Maybe a couple of times,” I admit, refusing to tell her the details.

“And I bet I can guess who was around you those couple of times.” Her insinuating tone makes me frown.

“No one, in particular, was around.” I recline against the wall and cross my legs. “But please, by all means, explain who you think has me all hot and bothered, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s what you’re getting at.”