Money
isn’t everything, of course, but it’s a lot. If you’ve never
been poor, you wouldn’t understand. When you have no means, you
have no choices. Even something as simple as choosing the scented
Secret deodorant at the grocery store was revolutionary for me when I
first started dealing. Being able to grab a snack I want at a gas
station, or buy one notebook for each of my school subjects, rather
than a five-subject spiral notebook that would have to work for all
my classes.
You
know how they say ‘it’s the little things’? It so
is. Like eating cheese. Not the boring, WIC-approved kind, but the
good stuff: asiago, halloumi, havarti. When you have one pair of
shoes, and it rains, guess what? They start to stink, because you
have to wear them the next day, and the next day, and the next. Call
me petty, but I don’t like stinky shoes.
I
like crackers. Do you know how expensive a box of Cheese-Its is? Plus
or minus four dollars. What about jeans? I like jeans that fit my
curves in all the right ways; not the cheap ones. I like painting on
canvases that don’t come from the discard pile behind Michael’s.
Almost all my art from high school and my freshman year is done on
ripped canvas.
I
don’t want to be second-rate.
I
don’t want to always be reaching.
I
don’t want to be a cashier, or a gas station clerk, or a mill
worker.
I’m
so close to all my goals, I can’t give up now. Even if I have to
spend a couple weeks at Kellan Walsh’s illicit river mansion,
sticking my ass into the air for him.
It’s
not as if I mind that,
I remind myself. Sharing my body with him can be done without too
much heartache, I think, if I can only manage to remember the
limitations of our arrangement.
A
strand of hair falls into my eyes, and I swipe it off my face. In
doing so, I get a glimpse of Kellan, striding a half foot in front of
me. He’s got my backpack slung over one muscled shoulder and my
overnight bag hanging from the other. I notice, as I pull ahead to
walk beside him, he’s still holding the sack.
“What’s
in there?” I ask. My stomach rumbles at the sight of the grease
stains on the paper bag.
He
looks down at his hand, as if he’s only just remembered he’s
carrying it. He gives me a small, lopsided smile—a smile that feels
distracted, as if he’s only peeking out at me from wherever he is
inside his head. He says, “You’ll see.”
He
holds his free hand out, and I stare down at his forearm. The skin on
the inside of his arm is smooth and pale, softness stretched over
taut, rippling muscle. He’s so beautiful and well-hewn, he reminds
me of the male gymnasts I used to watch in the Olympics.
I
glance up at his eyes. They’re steely and blue, the color of the
ocean. He raises his brows disapprovingly, urging me with just that
look to take his hand, and me being me, I fold after only a moment.
“Skittish,”
he murmurs.
“What?”
“You’re
skittish. Like a deer.”
With
a tug of my hand, he steers me to the right, toward a wall of
bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling.
I
open my mouth to tell him I’m not a deer. I’m a sloth. It’s my
longstanding nick name, from back in middle school, and it’s
evidenced by my favorite little necklace—now tucked safely into my
bookbag—but I get the feeling he’d give me grief for it. Instead
I say, “I’m not skittish. I’m suspicious.”
“Don’t
be,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”
RELEASE
DATE: February 25, 2015
I
whirl around, because I need to go now. Need to run.
He
grabs my arms, snatching me around to face him, holding me in front
of him. Holding me still as he tries to tell me things I never want
to hear.
"Stop
it! Shut up! Shut up, Kellan! Fuck you!"
He pulls me closer, and I slap his face.
The
sound echoes through the foyer. His smooth, tanned check stains
brilliant crimson.
He
doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't even blink as I look at him for what I
know will be the last time.
I'm
sorry. His lips move silently. I don't care. I can't. His secrets
ruined my life. He ruined my life!
If
I live to be hundred, my heart will never be the same.
Note:
Sloth is the first in my new Sinful Secrets series. Each intense,
erotic story is inspired by a sin, and centered around a
life-altering secret. Each "sin" stands on its own, so they
don't have to be read in order. After Sloth, I'm writing Murder.
Between these two, I'm releasing a stand alone: a more traditional
romance called The Boy Next Door.
Ella
James
is a USA Today bestselling romance author. Her books have appeared on
numerous bestseller lists, including the Movers & Shakers list
and the Amazon Top 25 overall; two were listed among Amazon's Top 100
Bestselling Young Adult Ebooks in 2012. To find out more about Ella's
projects and get dates on upcoming releases, you can stalk her on the
following social media sites:
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