It's Tuesday Again!

So you know what that means! Teasing time. This is a scene from much later in my WIP than the first two. So, some context:

The main character, Vivian, is currently hiding in her biology teacher/ex-lover's closet with her co-conspirator Shane. They jumped in the closet because two other teachers entered the room unexpectedly, looking to steal the same piece of evidence that Vivian was after. Evidence for what, you ask? Well, that part is a sekrit! That's why it's a tease, right?

“That Vivian girl was the worst. Couldn’t write to save her life. No idea how she got into NYU. Probably screwed half the admissions team. But age will catch up with girls like that soon enough. When the looks wear off and you’re working at a gas station with three kids to three different guys, you learn your lesson.” Ms. Zimmer finally reaches the locked drawer, and her eyes spark. “Help me with this, Anna.”

The two of them bend over the desk as my legs buckle beneath me.

Only Shane holds me up, holds me together. He has both arms around me now, my head cradled in the crook of his shoulder, and I can’t believe she just said that, I can’t believe how much it hurts.

Is she right? Is that all I am? A glorified prostitute?

How many guys do you have to screw to qualify as a girl like that? Or maybe there’s no set number. Maybe it’s just a badge people pin on you when you aren’t looking. Maybe you don’t even know you’re like that until someone takes pity on your poor shitty life in the gas station and informs you how you messed it all up.

“It is not your fault,” Shane hisses in my ear as I watch the two teachers stick letter openers into the edges of the desk drawer to pry it apart.

How can I believe him? He raised a psychopath, who at this very second could be out there murdering my sister.

I’m going to be sick. I gulp in oxygen. Shane clamps a hand over my mouth and I inhale his scent, sharp and musky. Masculine. Like Aaron. He doesn’t understand.

The scream rises at the back of my throat, hysterical, uncontrollable. He drops his hand from my lips, grabs my chin instead, and kisses me.

This isn’t like when I kissed him. He throws his whole body behind his lips, so I’m pressed into the coats behind us, the wall behind that. He’s crushing me to him, my hip bones grinding into his, and I’m kissing him back, soft lips over hard teeth, hard as I can, unable to process anything but the heat that fills this tiny space.

He gasps, draws away, and the world rushes in between us. My pulse rushes in my ears so loudly I can’t hear the women talking. They’ve heard, they know we’re here, they’ll call the police.

I push him aside. “What the hell was that?” I hiss under my breath.

“Payback,” he mouths in the crack of light from the gap in the door.