Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

I shove my shoes in my bag, pulling out a pair of dollar store flip-flops, not ideal for this, but better than the muddy sneakers.

My hand finds my waistband next and I start to slide my bottoms down.

“What’s she doing?” comes from Cap, followed up with a, “Fuck if I know,” from Royce.

“Stop fucking looking,” growls Maddoc and then his hands hit my upper thighs, forcing my bottoms to stay where they are, halfway off my ass.

“I’m wearing Spanx under. Let go.”

“What are you doing?”

“Distracting.”

His eyes flare. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“I’m not asking,” I force through clenched teeth and his fingertips dig into my skin, making my blood boil for two very different reasons. I downplay my reasoning. “I don’t know about you, but I gotta get back.”

Obnoxious laughter hits our ears and Maddoc glances over, giving me enough leeway to shift away from him.

I slide behind Captain, who boldly doesn’t move when Maddoc tries to reach for me.

Their glares hit each other.

“Can’t get caught, brother. Not here.”

“You expect me to let her—” He cuts himself off before finishing his sentence.

Left in nothing but flip-flops, Spanx and my sports bra, I tap Cap’s shoulder. “Give me your wife beater.”

He doesn’t hesitate to slip it off, leaving him shirtless.

Not a bad view at all – strong, solid back.

Maddoc growls as I pull it over my head, the black cotton hitting just at my thighs.

It’s a little loose, obviously, but my ass cheeks are out and my legs look long and lean, so it does the job.

I pull my hair from the bun braid I’d thrown it up in and fluff it out so the waves fall along my shoulders and back. I lift my sweater and wipe away any dirt and blood that might linger near my lips and stuff it in my bag.

“Damn, Rae.” Royce licks his lips and Maddoc steps for me again, but he’s too late, I’m already rounding the back of the car.

I lick my lips and walk out as far right as I can before I hit the edge of the parking lot and head right for the men.

They spot me almost instantly and stand to attention.

I take a deep breath, lift my chin and sway my hips as I walk, just like mother showed me.

Draw them in with the twist of your body, lock them with your stare, and tease them with your mouth – it’s the only way to fish, she’d say.

“Well, hello,” one of the guys calls out, shining his flashlight in my face. “Can’t say I’m mad to see you, but this is a private ground, sweetheart.”

I can’t simply say I was on the card for tonight, because then they’ll dismiss me quick, telling me to get lost and I need to keep their attention longer than that.

I don’t flinch or squint. I keep my eyes open. “And I just got done with a private party for two. I’d offer services, but my carriage is waiting up the street.”

The light lowers to my body, so I can finally see to quickly count the men.

Four, all grown and if their beady eyes, twitchy movements, and sweat sheathed skin when it’s pushing sixty degrees tells me anything, no one’s clean. They’ve all got something running in their veins.

This is so stupid of me.

And for what? So the assholes that followed me here can slip out? To keep them from being seen or heard?

Stupid.

I would have hung back and waited for Bass to be done and walked back with him, now look.

“A private party, huh?” The flashlight lowers to their feet as I plant mine in front of theirs.

I shift with a smirk, purposefully moving to stand two feet to their left, forcing them to have to turn in order to look. And they want to look.

I’ll have to scrub my skin extra hard with overheated water to rid myself of the things they’re showing they want to do to me.

“Who was this little party with?”

“Can’t tell. If his wife finds out, I’ll lose him as a client. And he’s too good to me for that.” I spin my hair around my fingers, slowly licking my lips.

God this shit’s exhausting.

The boys sneak past us at the rear of the vehicles, Maddoc’s eyes hitting mine for a brief moment as they silently pass.

The men, clueless as ever, chuckle lightly, one thumping the other with his elbow as if he knows who I’m talking about.

There’s always a married sleaze mixed in a group of trashy men.

I give a sultry laugh on purpose and cringe internally at the way I sound.

I place my foot on the bumper, pretending to dust something off my ankle in order to get them to shift one more time so the boys can exit the yard.

One of them inches closer so I spin, quickly planting myself against the hood. They move in and my pulse spikes as I start to feel crowded.