“Are you sure the casino’s going to be okay with a bunch of kids showing up on their doorstep? I mean, it’s illegal for us to even set foot in there, right?” Zayd lifts his dark brows at me, running his tattooed left palm down his equally inked up right arm. There are so many designs twisted together on his skin, it’s hard to make them out without getting a little closer. I’m just fine across the room from him, thank you very much.
“The casino’s been out of business for, like, years.” He shrugs his shoulders again, and I get chills down my spine. “But it’s all set up for gaming.” He flashes a grin at me, and I imagine how easy it must be for him to woo crowds. Note to self: look up some videos of Zayd Kaiser later. I’ve never actually listened to or seen any of his work. “They even have a racetrack.”
“Like, for racing cars?”
“No, dummy, for racing greyhounds.” He rolls his green eyes at me, and I frown. “Yeah, duh, of course it’s for cars.”
“Why would a casino have a racing track?” I ask, and Zayd groans, reaching up to twist his gelled hair into spikes.
“Seriously, you ask a lot of stupid questions. Get dressed, and let’s go.”
“I’m not riding on Creed’s lap for hours.” I’m serious about that, too. I don’t care if a whole month of freedom’s on the line here. It’s not happening. Just those few scant minutes were enough to be … confusing.
“Yeah, no worries then because I’m driving you.” Zayd moves over to the wardrobe in the corner and throws the doors open. My mouth gapes open, shocked at his forward behavior, but he’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s tossing the Manolo Blahniks that Miranda got me onto the bed. He adds the black dress to the pile, and then goes for my underwear drawer.
“Hey!” I shout, scrambling off my bed and over to him. I try to yank him back, but it’s like tugging on cement. “Hands off, asshole.” Zayd fingers a pair of the red lacy panties I wore on Halloween. It’s the only nice pair I have, and I got them as a last minute gift from my mom. Yeah. That’s the kind of gifts my mother gets me: slinky dresses, high heels, and lacy lingerie. Pretty sure her exact words were: snag yourself a rich one, Marnye, you’ll be glad you did. Look how that turned out for me!
Part of me wonders if I hate her, but then I feel guilty for even thinking that, and I banish the thought.
“Wear these,” Zayd continues, adding the matching red bra to the mix. “You’ll look fly as fuck.”
“Right. And then you’ll all call me Working Girl and tell me to fuck you and then crawl back to my Brothel. Sorry, but it’s not happening.” I reach around him to grab a t-shirt from the stack, my breasts brushing up against his back. Zayd stiffens and flicks his gaze down to me, but I’m already blushing and pulling away, clutching a white t-shirt in my hand. It says Lower Banks High on the front, and honestly is probably the ugliest thing I own. I only ever intended to wear it as a pajama top.
“You want to wear like, Goodwill shit instead? How is that better?” The scowl forming on his face infuriates me, and I shove past him to get access to the drawer on the bottom of the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of raggedy black jeans, a worn leather belt I inherited from my dad, and some sneakers.
“Be right back,” I say cheerily, snagging the red bra and panties when he’s not looking. I’m not squeezing past him again to grab a different set. Slipping into the bathroom, I change into my new outfit, realizing as I pull the shirt over my head that it’s literally covered in holes. The red of my bra shows through, and I sigh.
When I open the door to grab a new shirt, Zayd’s waiting for me, leaning against the wall near the kitchenette. He gives me a wicked-slow onceover, running his tongue over his lower lip and flipping one of his rings around.
“I figured you’d look like a charity case in that, but it’s actually pretty edgy.” He steps forward and fingers one of the rips near my shoulder. I slap his hand away, but it only makes him grin. “Hey,” he purrs, lifting his eyes from my chest to my face. “We’re all alone right now, whole school to ourselves.”
“So?” My voice comes out a bit shakier than I intended. Great. I have no problem standing up to these jerks when they’re being cruel, but when they start with the flirting, a different sort of heat mixes with the anger.
