Too Late Read online

  "Let me taste," I say. I kiss her, licking the sweet aftertaste of both of them off of her tongue. She arches her back and it doesn't take her long before she's writhing beneath me. I pull back from her mouth and continue to rub against her. When she finally starts to reach her peak, I can feel the scream wanting to escape her lips, so I do to her what I just did to Sloan. I cover her mouth with mine and let her scream her little heart out, while she shudders and shakes beneath me. I close my eyes and groan as I lift up slightly and press my dick against the girl's stomach, releasing myself all over her.

  When she's finally calm beneath me, I roll off of her and hand her a shirt from the floor to clean up with.

  "Get dressed," I say. "I have a date tonight."

  I slip into the bathroom before class for a quick hair and makeup check. I've never cared before if I looked like I just rolled out of bed, but knowing Carter will be sitting inches away from me for the next hour has me more concerned than usual.

  The fluorescent lights are unforgiving. The bags under my eyes tell their own truth about last night. Just looking at my reflection, all I see is a girl who stayed up way too late worrying about the guy who promised her a date but never showed.

  Asa left with his friend Jon while I was in the shower yesterday, getting ready for him to take me out for the first time in over five months. Despite the fact that neither of them was home, the house was still full of people. I stayed up worried about him until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. When he finally crawled in bed, then proceeded to crawl on top of me, I was so pissed I just started crying.

  He didn't even notice. Or he didn't care.

  I cried the entire time he was on top of me, fucking me like he didn't give a shit who was under him, as long as someone was under him. When he finished, he rolled over and fell asleep without a single word. Not an apology. Not a thank-you. Not an I love you. He just rolled over and fell right to sleep without a single thing on his conscience. I rolled over and continued to cry.

  I cried for the fact that I allow him to do what he does to me. I cried for the fact that I feel like I have no other choice. I cried for the fact that I'm still with him, despite the person he's become. I cried for the fact that I have no way out, no matter how much I want to leave. I cried for the fact that despite everything horrible about Asa, I was still worried sick when he didn't come home. I cried because I realized that no matter who he's become, a part of me is still in love with him...because I don't know how not to be.

  I turn away from my reflection and head to class, because I don't want to look at myself anymore. I'm ashamed of who I've become.

  Carter is already seated at our table when I walk into Spanish class. I can see him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look at him.

  After spending an hour with him in class the other day, I think it's safe to say I developed a slight crush. The thought of getting to spend time with him three days a week had me giddy; a feeling that had become all too foreign to me. But seeing him in my house, with Asa of all people, crushed any fantasies I may have had. I never intended for anything to happen with Carter. How could it have? There's no way I can get out of the situation I'm in with Asa, and I'm not a cheater. I was simply looking forward to having a crush. Looking forward to flirting a little bit. Looking forward to feeling desirable.

  Knowing now that Carter is more like Asa than I could have imagined, I don't want any part of it. Any part of him. The fact that he's now another constant fixture at our house makes him even more off limits. If Asa even had a suspicion that another guy was speaking to me, that guy would be dead. I'd like to say that isn't a literal statement, but it is. Seeing as how he doesn't seem to have a conscience, I one hundred percent believe that Asa is capable of murder.

  Which is exactly the reason I'm not putting Carter in that situation. I keep telling myself that Carter is just another Asa, in different clothing. Not worth the risk. I treat this situation with Carter exactly as it is: another roadblock to my eventual escape.

  I glance around the room for a vacant seat that isn't next to his. I must have spent too much time in the restroom, because the class is almost full. There are two seats on the second-to-top row that are empty, but they're directly in front of the seat Carter is occupying. I avoid his gaze and walk to the empty seats with my head tucked down. I don't know if I can pull off pretending I didn't notice him, but I'm sure as hell going to try.

  I take one of the seats and sit down, then pull my books out and place them on the table in front of me. I hear a sudden commotion coming from the top row and can't help but turn around. Carter is scooting across the table behind me with his backpack in hand. He hops off the table and pulls the empty chair out next to me, then plops down into it.

  "What's this all about?" he asks, twisting in his chair to face me.

  "What's what all about?" I ask, opening the text to where we left off on Monday.

  I can feel him staring at me, but he doesn't say anything. I continue to pretend-read, and he continues to silently stare at me until I can't take it anymore. I turn to face him.

  "What?" I ask, irritated. "What do you want?"

  He still doesn't say anything. I slam my book shut and turn my body toward his. The fact that our knees are pressed together doesn't go unnoticed. He glances down at our legs and I can see a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

  "Well," he says. "I sort of liked sitting by you the other day, so I thought I'd do it again. I take it that's not what you want, so..."

  He begins to gather his books and a huge part of me wants to rip them from his hands and make him stay here, right where he is. But an even bigger part of me is relieved that he's taking the hint.

  He shoves his notebook in his backpack and I keep quiet. If I say anything, I know it'll be nothing but a pathetic plea for him to stay put.

  "You're in my seat," a flat, monotone voice says.

  Carter and I both look up to see a guy standing in front of us, staring down at Carter with an indifferent expression.

  "I was just moving, man," Carter says, pulling his backpack onto the table.

  "You should have never sat there in the first place," the guy says. "I sit there." The guy turns to me and extends his arm straight out, pointing at me. "And you don't sit right there. A different girl sat there on Monday, so you can't sit there."

  The guy's expression is troubled. He's terribly disturbed that we're in different seats today. I feel sorry for him, recognizing features of one of my own brothers when I look at him. I start to tell him we'll move--that he can have his seat--but Carter's anger intercepts my response. He stands up.

  "Get your finger out of her face," he says to the guy.

  "Get out of my seat," the guy replies, turning his attention back to Carter.

  Carter laughs and drops his backpack on the floor. "Dude," he says. "What is this? Kindergarten? Go find your own fucking seat."

  The guy drops his arm and looks at Carter in shock. He starts to reply, but snaps his mouth shut and walks toward the back row, defeated. "But that's my seat," he mumbles, walking away.

  Carter pulls his notebook back out of his backpack and sets it on the table in front of him. "I guess you're stuck with me," he says. "No way I'm moving seats now."

  I shake my head and lean in toward him. "Carter," I whisper. "Give him a break. I think he has Asperger's, he can't help it."

  Carter snaps his head in my direction. "No shit? Are you serious?"

  I nod. "My brother had Asperger's. I know the signs."

  He runs his hands over his face. "Shit," he groans. He quickly stands up, reaching for my hand when he does. I stand up with him.

  "Get your stuff," he says, pointing to my backpack and notebook. He turns around and throws his stuff on the table behind him, then reaches for my backpack and does the same. He looks up at the guy and points down to the seats we were just occupying. "Sorry, man. I didn't realize they were your seats. We'll move."

 
The guy quickly walks back to the row we're in and claims his seat before Carter changes his mind. Realizing most of the class is probably watching the commotion between the three of us, I still can't help but smile. I love that he just did that.

  We both walk back to the seats we occupied on Monday, then unpack our stuff onto the table.

  Again.

  "Thank you for doing that," I say to him.

  He doesn't respond. He gives me a half-smile, then looks down at his phone until class starts.

  Things are a little awkward once the lecture begins. Not wanting to sit by Carter has left him questioning me. I can tell, because it's written clearly in front of me in black ink as I stare down at the paper he just scooted toward me.

  Why didn't you want to sit by me?

  I chuckle at the simplicity in his question. I pick up my pen and write a response.

  Dude. What is this? Kindergarten?

  He reads my response and I swear I can see him frown. I was trying to be funny, but he missed the humor, apparently. He writes something down, something long, and slides the note back to me.

  I'm serious, Sloan. Did I cross some sort of line the other night? I'm sorry if I did. I know you're with Asa and I respect that. I honestly just think you're fun and want to sit by you. Spanish bores the hell out of me and sitting next to you makes the urge I have to gouge my own eyes out a little less imminent.

  I stare at his note for a lot longer than it actually takes me to read it. He's got incredibly impressive handwriting for a guy, and an even more impressive way of making my heart race.

  He thinks I'm fun.

  It's a simple compliment, but one that affects me way more than I wish it did. I have no idea what to say in response, so I press my pen to the paper and don't even think when I write.

  People in Wyoming don't really exist, and I can never find the right outfit to wear when I shop for penguins.

  I slide the paper back to him and when he laughs out loud, I put my hand over my mouth, covering my smile. I love that he gets my sense of humor, but hate it at the same time. Every second I spend with him just makes two more seconds I want to spend with him.

  He slides the paper back to me.

  Mosquitos whisper sweet nothings into my barrel of monkeys that took too long to bring me the pizza I ordered.

  I laugh, then clench my stomach. Seeing the word pizza reminds me of just how hungry I am. I was too upset to eat dinner last night, so it's been over twenty-four hours since I've eaten anything.

  Pizza sounds good.

  I lay my pen down but don't slide the note to him. I'm not sure why I wrote something down that I was actually thinking this time.

  "It does," he says aloud.

  I glance up at him and he's looking at me with a smile that actually hurts. He's everything I want, and everything I don't need, and it literally, physically hurts.

  "After class," he whispers. "I'm taking you for pizza."

  It comes out of his mouth so fast, it seems like he knows he shouldn't be saying it, much less doing it.

  But I nod.

  Dammit, I nod.

  After class is over, she walks next to me as I lead her toward the parking lot. I can tell by the grip she has on her backpack and the way she keeps looking behind her that she's about to back out. When she pauses, turning toward me on the pavement, I don't even give her the chance to speak.

  "It's lunchtime, Sloan. You need to eat. I'm taking you for pizza. Quit trying to make it more than it is, okay?"

  Her eyes widen in shock that I knew exactly what she was thinking. She presses her lips together and nods.

  "It's lunch," she says with a shrug, casually trying to convince herself that this is perfectly okay. "I eat lunch. You eat lunch. What's the big deal if we eat lunch at the same time? At the same restaurant?"

  "Exactly," I say.

  There are smiles on both of our faces, but the fear in our eyes speaks volumes.

  We're crossing a line, and we both know it.

  When we reach my car, I naturally start toward her door to open it for her, but change my mind and go straight to the driver's side instead. The less I treat her like my date, the less it'll feel like a date. I don't want to make her more nervous about our "casual lunch" than she already is. The truth is, I'm nervous enough for the both of us. I don't know what the hell I think I'm doing, but whenever I'm around her, all I can think about is how much more I want to be around her.

  We both shut our doors and I crank the car, then pull out of the parking lot. Pulling away from the college with her alone in my car feels almost like playing a game of Russian roulette. My pulse is racing and my mouth runs dry, knowing my being with her is potential career suicide. Not to mention what would happen if Asa found out.

  I wipe him from my mind and look over at her, deciding that if this may very well be my last day on Earth, I'm going to focus on her and enjoy the hell out of it.

  "I have a confession," she says, looking at me, embarrassed.

  "What is it?"

  She clicks her seatbelt into place and folds her hands in her lap. "I don't have any money."

  I want to laugh at her confession, but in all honesty, it makes me sad for her. "My treat," I say, because it would have been, regardless. "But if I hadn't taken you to lunch today, how would you have eaten?"

  She shrugs. "I usually don't eat lunch. Lunch costs money, and money is something I don't have in abundance right now. I'm saving up for something more important."

  She glances out the window, a clear sign that she doesn't have intentions of elaborating on what it is she's saving up for. I don't push it. But I do push for an answer as to why she doesn't have money to eat on.

  "Why don't you just ask Asa for money? He's got it. I bet if he knew you weren't eating lunch, he'd make sure you had some."

  She shakes her head. "I don't want his dirty money," she spits out. "I'd rather starve."

  I don't respond. I don't want to remind her of the fact that she's under the impression that I'm working for Asa, so I'll be paying for our lunch with that same dirty money. Instead, I change the conversation to a lighter subject.

  "Tell me about your brother," I say as I steer the car in the direction of the freeway.

  "My brother?" she asks, questioning me. "Which one?"

  "The one with Asperger's? I don't know a lot about it. I had a neighbor kid back in Sacramento who had it. I didn't know it was something you could overcome, but you said your brother had it...like as in past tense."

  Her eyes drop to her lap and she laces her fingers together. "It's not something you can overcome," she says quietly.

  But she referred to it in the past tense. Or...I guess she referred to him in the past tense. I'm an insensitive dumbass. Why the hell did I bring it up?

  "I'm sorry." I reach over and give her hand a quick squeeze. "I'm really sorry," I repeat.

  She pulls her hand back to her lap and clears her throat. "It's fine," she says, forcing a smile. "It was a long time ago. Asperger's wasn't the only thing he dealt with, unfortunately."

  And on that note, we reach the restaurant. I pull into a parking spot and turn off the car. Neither of us moves. I think she's waiting on me to get out of the car, but I feel like I just ruined her good mood.

  "I officially sucked the fun out of that drive," I say. "Got any remedies?"

  She laughs lightheartedly and grins. "We could take the writing game to another level," she says. "Try to lighten the mood a little bit. Instead of writing random things without thinking, we could just spend lunch saying random things without thinking."

  I nod and gesture toward the restaurant in front of us. "After you," I say. "Walrus tusks cloud my vision like chocolate pudding."

  She laughs and opens her door. "One-legged tiger sharks are better for you than vegetables."

  "Jon!"

  I'm gripping my phone so tight, I wouldn't be surprised if it crumpled in my hand. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, calming mys
elf, attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt before I completely flip out.

  "Jon!"

  I finally hear his footsteps bounding up the stairs. My door swings open and he walks into the room. "What the hell is it? I was taking a shit."

  I look down at the GPS report on my phone. "What's at 1262 Ricker Road?"

  He looks up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against the doorframe. "Ricker Road," he repeats to himself. "Mostly just restaurants, I think." He looks down at his phone and types in the address. "Why? We got a delivery?"

  I shake my head. "Nope. Sloan's on Ricker Road."

  Jon cocks his head. "Did your car break down? She need a ride somewhere?"

  I roll my eyes. "She doesn't need a fucking ride, dumbass. She's on Ricker Road when she should be on campus. I want to know what the fuck she's doing there and who the fuck she's with."

  Realization finally dawns on his face. "Oh, shit. You want to go check it out?" He scrolls through his phone some more. "Looks like Italian. Something called Mi Amore."

  I toss my phone across the mattress and stand up, pacing the room. "No," I say. "It's half an hour away. Forty-five minutes with traffic. She'll be gone before we even get there." I take a deep breath and grip the bridge of my nose between my fingertips, willing myself to remain calm.

  If she's fucking around, I'll find out. And if I find out, she's fucking dead. The bastard she's fucking around with won't be as lucky.

  "I'll figure it out," I say to Jon. "Tonight."

  Carter holds the door open for me. It's the first time I've been inside a restaurant in months; I forgot how good they smell.

  Thoughts of Asa finding out I'm here keep flashing through my mind, despite doing my best to focus on the fact that I'm just eating lunch. As innocent as I can pretend this is, if Asa found out...

  I don't even want to think about what Asa would do.

  The hostess smiles at us, grabbing two menus. "Table for two?"

  "Yes, please," Carter says. "Bananas like boiled water in Reno," he adds with a straight face.

  I bust out laughing. The hostess shoots us both a confused look, then shakes her head. "Follow me."