One Week Girlfriend part 1

shrugs, his flannel shirt stretching across his shoulders. Drew has a really fine set of shoulders. “I don’t do relationships. Sex is too—complicated.”
    Interesting. I find it far too easy. “Maybe you’re having the wrong kind of sex.”
    “Maybe the wrong kind of sex is all you can get.” His strong jaw goes firm and his eyes darken. He’s angry. I know this is all sorts of twisted, but he looks incredibly sexy. His fierce expression alone makes my heart go pitter-patter.
    His answer is way too mysterious for me. “Sounds like you’re definitely having the wrong kind of sex.” I try to laugh, flicking the ash of my cigarette over the railing, noticing his undisguised look of disgust.
    Drew’s not laughing either. I wonder if I offended him.
    The cigarette is because I’m nervous and it sucks that he doesn’t approve, but I can’t help it. I smoked off and on through high school because I thought it was cool and for whatever reason, the summer after I graduated I up and quit cold turkey. For the most part.
    But I keep a secret pack on me at all times, like a security blanket, only pulling one out when I’m extremely nervous or agitated and I need to calm my nerves.
    Like tonight. That introduction to his parents was intense. Normally I go through a pack of smokes in six months. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be smoking a pack a day by the third day of this so-called vacation.
    “If my dad saw you right now, he’d flip,” Drew said, drawing me from my thoughts.
    I take another drag of the cigarette before stubbing it out and flicking it out as far as I can. Not that it’ll hit the ocean, but I like the image of it, the sizzle and hint of smoke the cig lets off upon hitting the water. In reality, I’m a common litterbug and I feel like crap, but Drew’s not chastising me. “It’ll be our little secret, right?”
    “We’re going to have a ton of secrets between us by the end of the week, huh.” He’s not asking a question, it’s more like a statement and he’s right.
    “Yeah, we are.” I smile at him, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he turns on his heel and leaves the deck, slipping back into the house, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.
    Leaving me all alone in the cold dark night with my cold dark thoughts.

 
     
    Chapter Five
     
     
    Day 2, 2 p.m .
     
    Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs . – William Shakespeare
     
    Fable
     
    Rich people suck. They’re rude, they act entitled to everything and heaven forbid you look like a poor person. I’m wearing jeans and a sweater, nothing fancy, and they all sneer at me like I’m some sort of bum. They flash me dirty looks like I crawled out of a gutter and then they have the nerve to look scared when I approach them. Like I’m going to pull a knife on them or something and demand all their money.
    This is happening to me as I wander the cute shops that line Ocean Avenue in downtown Carmel. Drew dropped me off at the top of the hill, explaining there’s an endless amount of shops and art galleries that line the main drag as well as the side streets. He said I could explore the area for hours if I wanted to and I eagerly agreed to the arrangement since I knew his dad wanted to talk to him privately.
    That’s what they’re doing right now. Sitting in some restaurant pretending to eat lunch while his dad drills him with the ‘what are you doing with your life’ questions, I’m sure. Luckily enough, Adele had a standing hair appointment and she couldn’t go, though she was ready to cancel. Drew’s dad stopped her, saying he wanted to talk to his son alone.
    Her bitter disappointment was obvious to all over that one.
    A shiver went down my spine. That woman gives me the heebie jeebies. I don’t like her and she doesn’t like me. At all. She tries her damnedest to spend time with Drew and he tries to avoid her at all costs. I don’t get it.
    Of course, who am I to judge when it comes to screwed up families? Mine is an absolute mess.
    I stop in front of a store window and peer through the glass. The shoes on display are probably so expensive, I figure I can’t afford to look, let alone walk into the place. Luckily my ringing phone saves me from doing something so daring.
    “Tell me everything’s okay,” I answer.
    “Everything’s okay,” Owen replies. Damn, even his voice sounds like he’s smirking.
    “Shouldn’t you be in school?” It’s only two o’clock. He’s not out until