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She smirks at me and nods her head. “Sure. Why not?”
Honestly, being in her presence feels strangely inevitable.
7
Harley
As I lie in bed after ditching the party, my mind cannot rest. My body is tingling, and I keep replaying the night in my head.
I bummed a few hits off of one of the stoners in the yard before leaving. It helps me relax, but it also makes me think too much. Tonight, Adam’s look of surprise is what I can’t forget.
Of course he would never “pursue” a girl like me. He’s a straitlaced farm boy, apparently. He’s probably on the hunt for a virginal innocent, not a tattooed foster kid, years past virginal status. I feel like a moron for even assuming he would be interested in me. Well, interested in anything more than sex—they all want that. He seems different, but he’s still a guy, thinking with one head at a time. If I know anything for certain about the male species, that’s it.
Whatever it is that’s so different about him, I will not waste my time with it.
That body though…
The door bangs open, interrupting my impure reverie.
“Harley,” my roommate whisper-yells, “are you awake?”
I briefly consider pretending to be asleep. She tiptoes into the room, sneaking over to her side of the tiny space.
“Back so soon?” My voice is raspier than usual.
She freezes, her head turning back to look at me.
“Oohhh, yes, I am back. I did not—did not drink much at aaaall.”
Wow, my four-year-old foster brother was a better liar than her.
“Hmmm.” I snicker as she trips on a stray heel on the floor, falling into her bed.
“Ouch! Dad-blam-it!” She groans, gripping her shin.
“Watch your language, would you? I have sensitive ears,” I deadpan.
She bursts out laughing. “I’ve literally heard you use the F-word!”
“Yeah, well, that’s less offensive than whatever the hell you just said.” I roll over on my back as my phone pings.
It’s a text from my mom.
mom: hey, sweetie, missing you! been saving up to come see my baby bird. would love if you could send me some cash for the ticket by next week. I want to celebrate your birthday with you. sleep tight, honey, xo
I cringe at the message. Gotta love when your mom forgets when your birthday is. My phone reads one a.m. I’m surprised the writing is legible at this hour. Maybe she’s so strapped for cash that she can’t afford her preferred “self-care.”
“Is that Adam?” Kenna has propped herself up on her elbow, an excited tone in her voice. “Y’all are such a hot couple.”
“No, my mom,” I correct her as I roll over so my back is facing her.
She doesn’t get the hint.
“Your foster mom?” she asks.
“No, my birth mom. I don’t talk to my foster momster,” I clip.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, do you and your real mom get along?”
