“Babe,” he says in a voice that makes my stomach turn to butterflies, “will you just read my paper and mark it up with your sexy red pen?”
Well, when you put it that way…
It’s not just his words or voice. It’s everything about him. He’s cute—adorable—standing out the window in his Sierra Academy sweatshirt and pants. His number is stamped below his hip, the mammoth faded and worn. He’s barefoot, which is ridiculous in this weather, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I sigh and hold out my hand, and he gives me the paper along with a smirky smile.
I read over the essay quickly and it’s not that bad. A few misspellings, but that’s normal with his dyslexia. “How many words does it have to be?”
“A thousand.”
“How many is this?”
“Four hundred.”
I hand him back the paper with the corrections in pencil—not red ink. “It looks good. Make sure you add in a few comments about elitist society and Gatsby’s role in it, but I think you can get that done tonight. Call me if you have any problems, okay?”
He nods and folds the paper in half, sliding it in his hoodie pocket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stands there with a cheeky grin on his face. There’s one thing he’s waiting for.
“Come here,” I say, gesturing with my finger. He doesn’t hesitate, moving to the edge of the window sill. He’s tall enough that bottom of the window hits his chest but I have to bend down to reach him. “I’m proud of you for reading that book.” I press my lips to his, feeling the warmth and strength of his kis
s. I pull away. “I’m thinking if you get that paper turned in on time and you get a good grade, maybe we can set up a new reward system.”
His eyes light up and he checks out my chest again; I’ve forgotten to cover it. What the hell? He’s into boobs. No surprise. I lean over again and I sink into the kiss, much longer than the first one and much more compelling too. If only Jake could read as well as he kisses. He’d be a straight A student.
A loud clatter against the fence breaks us apart. My heart is pounding, both from the kiss and being startled. Jake looks down the fence that separates our houses. A shadowy figure steps into the faint light from my bedroom.
Sierra.
Shit.
“Hey, Sierra,” Jake says, running his hands through his hair. It’s a hot mess from my fingers.
I feel queasy seeing her standing there—the judgement clear on her face.
“You guys know the rules,” she says, arms crossed over the chest. I look down at my flimsy shirt and do the same.
“Technically—”
“Go home, Jake.”
“Yep. Got it.” He gives me a tight smile. “Night.”
“I’ll read over it in the morning.”
He goes the way he probably came, climbing over the fence like a superhero.
“I’m sorry,” I say once he’s gone. “We were working on the phone and he showed up and…”
She sighs and tugs on the tip of her dark ponytail. “I know. I get it. I was a teenager not that long ago, and those boys? They’re charming as hell and persuasive. But I’m serious when I talk about having to follow the guidelines for foster care. I don’t want to break any rules. Destabilizing any of them right now would be a disaster.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“Thanks again for helping him. He really struggles.”
“I know, but I think he’s trying.”
“Only because you reward him with kisses.” She rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. “Good night, Starlee.”