Scandal by Jay Mirano (fiction books to read .txt) 📕

I nodded in agreement, but I still felt uneasy. Something Tyler had said had struck a chord. I looked out the window, watching as black, pregnant stormclouds rolled in, and wondered if he was right.

Come over

That's all the text said. No Hey Tali, how you going, no What are you up to tonight? Just 'Come over'. It wasn't a question, because Evan wasn't asking. Evan was telling me to come over.

I had painted seven toenails when the text came through, the crimson polish shining like burst grapes against my skin. For a while I had just stared at the screen, reading those two words over and over again. It was 10:30pm on a Friday night, and Evan was asking―no, telling―me to come over.

I forwarded the text to the three people who could give me the most sound advice. Evan had sent the text exactly two minutes ago, and I still hadn't responded. Oh god, what if he thought I was ignoring him?

Booty call, was Tink's response. That bitch ain't gon give you no respect, hunny. Helpful. I couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

Skank!! Typical Sahara. Go for it... Hope you kept those condoms.

And, as I had expected, no response from Peyton. It was youth night at her church, after all. And if those kids were anything like Peyton, who knew what kind of debauchery they'd be up to right now.

My fingers were shaking so bad I could hardly tap out my response. Sure, I said. Pick me up in 10?

K.

K?! And to think I'd put so much thought into my response. 

Ten minutes gave me just enough time to finish off the last three tonails, find something cute―but still sexy!―to wear, and put on a little more makeup. Hopefully. 

I picked out a red dress (I remembered Evan had said I looked good in red) that cinched in tight at the waist, with pleats fanning out to the knees. It made me look bustier than I actually was, but I still had that girl-next-door vibe going on. A lick of winged liner and I deemed myself satisfactory. Hell, I looked quite good actually.

Evan's pickup truck came screaming into my drive like a cavalry charge. Some indistinguishable screamo music was blaring from the speakers (it all sounds the same to me), and he honked out three, long horns to announce his arrival.

"Who the Hell is that in our drive?" Ugh, Mom's drunk again. She was blocking my exit at the bottom of the stairs, swaying in place. She took a swig of scotch and waved the empty cup at me. "You look like a slut. Going to meet some boy, are ya?"

I shouldered past her, her boozy breath making my own head spin. "I'm going to hang with a friend. Anywhere is better than this hole you call a home."

Mom narrowed her eyes at me, greasy strands of hair falling over her face. "Make sure you get the money from him before you spread your legs. That's all the advice I can give ya."

Oh Jesus. I had to get out of here before I did something really drastic, something involving my fist and her face. I slammed the door in my wake, trying to block out the sounds of Mom's slurred words as she screamed after me.

I gave Evan my most charming smile as I slid into the passenger seat of his Chevy Silverado. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, his Calvin Klein cologne lingering in the air between us. As we drove back to his house, he lay a hand over my thigh; a fleshy, warm comfort.

The windows at his house were dark, save for the porch light slicing through the night. "Where are your parents?" I asked.

"Out," he shrugged, cutting the engine and jumping out of the truck.

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest as I followed Evan through the darkened hallways, my palms cold and slicked with sweat. Was it hot in here? It definitely felt hot in here.

The air in Evan's room was thick and smelled of boy. Piles of clothes―I assumed dirty―were heaped in the corner. His desk was cloaked with papers, books and old fast food packets. But there were also candles arranged on the window sill, casting the scents of jasmine and rose into the room as the wax burned away. And his bed was pretty much the only thing in the room that actually looked clean. It was kind of... Sweet.

"Take a seat," he said, indicating to the bed. I did so, trying to slow the frantic pace of my heart, and to shove the doubtful thoughts from my mind.

Evan walked over to his wardrobe, digging around in the bottom drawer. He pulled out a bottle of tequila, waving it in my face and grinning like an idiot. "How about we make this a real party?"

He poured us both a shot, and I knocked it back as fast as I could, scrunching my eyes shut as the burning liquid seared down my thoat. As soon as it was gone, Evan poured me another, doing that innocent half-smile as he did so.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk," I said, downing the shot. "And you're butchering this fine tequila here. We need salt and limes."

Evan shrugged. "I don't buy into all that bullshit. A shot's a shot. Is a shot." He tipped his glass at me and poured me another. "Drink up."

By the fifth shot (in almost as many minutes) the room was really starting to tilt and blur. My stomach felt warm, and I could swear I could feel the tequila sloshing around when I moved. My skin was tingling all over like a thousand little pinpricks, sweat beading on my forehead and upper lip. I flopped back on the bed and waited for the spinning room to settle down a little. 

"Psht, you're such a lightweight," Evan could hardly talk, he was staggering too. He went back to his bottom drawer, pulling out a bag of weed and most probably the tiniest pipe I had ever seen.

"Is that a baby's pipe?!" I was giggling uncontrollably. "Or are we in The Hobbit?"

Evan suddenly looked pissed. "I need a small one so it's easier to hide. I can't have a massive bong just sitting around in my room, my Mom would find it."

I tried to stifle the laughter. "I'm sorry," I said, a smile breaking through. "Come over here and light it up for us."

I'd done weed a few times, always at some random party. It never did much to me, besides making me really sleepy and a little uncoordinated. I figured a little weed might help take the edge off this tequila, anyway. It was really starting to kick in now, and the bed felt like a boat bobbing on the ocean.

Evan stuffed a pinchfull of pot into the pipe, sucking on the end as he charred it. Once he'd got it burning, he passed it to me. I took a long, deep drag, ignoring the tight, clawing feeling in my throat as I held the smoke in. Oh man, this stuff was strong. Like really strong. By my third puff I was feeling awful; weed had never done this to me before. My vision was starting to darken at the edges, the room wavering in and out of focus. I tried to sit up, but a wave of vertigo knocked me back down again.

"What the hell was that?" I tried to say, but I don't think it came out as much more than a garbled mess.

Evan lay down on the bed next to me, propped up on one elbow. He wound his free arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. His fingers idly traced the line of my dress strap, before he pulled it down loose around my shoulder and placed a kiss on my bare skin. He smelled like tequila and smoke and sweat. His hair was tumbling down over his face, tickling strands against my neck.

Even though my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, I was able to push his face away from my shoulder, holding it inches above mine. His pupils were huge and black; he barely looked like himself. "Let's do another shot!" he said, leaping from the bed with surprising speed.

"I don't think so," I said, making an active effort not to slur. "Not right now."

"Oh, don't be a wuss," he said, shoving another shot glass in my direction. Droplets of tequila sloshed out and fell onto the carpet. "Here."

He was staring at me expectantly, so I gulped it down. Evan did the same and returned to his place on the bed, sitting up on his knees. He pulled me up next to him, his hands cradling my hips. I gripped onto his shoulder to keep myself upright, the dizziness threatening to overtake me. 

Evan's hands were fumbling for the zip of my dress, tugging it down before I could protest. The air stung my bare back, making goosebumps spring up all over my skin. He slipped the dress down around my waist, his hands moving to the clasp of my bra.

Was I ready for this? Even in my tequila-drowned mind, the question stood out loud and strong. I was sixteen, almost seventeen, and the last remaining virgin in my group. Every time the others would talk about sex, I couldn't help but feel left out. And this is Evan we're talking about here; the star of all my fantasies since the moment I had met him.

Evan lay me back down on the bed, positioning himself over me. His eyes ravished my face, before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. Oh god, he tasted awful. I guessed I probably did, too. I was trying to get into the moment, but all I felt was a rising nausea and a desperate need to just fall asleep. The room was still fading in and out of focus, like a dream that I couldn't wake up from. I was only dimly aware of Evan's searching hands all over my body, of the sound of a belt unbuckling, and an unfamiliar weight on top of me.

Just before I passed out, I heard Evan whisper something into my hair, something like 'Are you ready?' or 'Are you okay', and all I could do was nod. I felt a sharp, twisting pain, and then the darkness closed in.

I