At 19, I had my first taste of intimacy with the school’s golden boy, Julian Sterling. Afterward, I overheard him on the phone. "Three days. You guys lost." "No way, unless you send a pic to prove it?" Julian agreed, but at the last second changed his mind and only sent a photo of my sleeping face. From then on, he was addicted to me. And I was the perfect, obedient girlfriend. Until I left for a college on the other side of the country, blocked him on everything, and vanished. I heard Julian went crazy looking for me. I just laughed. He pursued me because of a bet; I went along with it because a girl from the trailer park only gets one shot at a guy like Julian Sterling. Once I slept with him, the spell was broken. 1 Nineteen-year-old boys have infinite energy. even the arrogant, high-maintenance trust fund kids like Julian Sterling. This was seven days after graduation. Three days after he "confessed" his feelings. We were practically strangers. The first time was quick, but he recovered fast. After that, he was relentless. My body was a new toy he couldn't put down. The stubble on his jaw, clean-shaven earlier, had grown back, scratching my chest raw. I bit him. It only made him more aggressive. When it was finally over, he held onto me, satisfied but greedy. "Chloe." He kissed my earlobe, his voice low. "Shower? Round two?" Then his voice softened. "Unless you’re too sore? Since it’s your first time." I bit my swollen lip, closed my eyes shyly, and nodded. He carried me to the bathroom. An hour later, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Who would have thought Julian Sterling—the ice prince of our high school, whose family owned half the town—would be obsessively kissing every inch of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks? 2 It was almost dawn when he finally stopped. He collapsed on top of me, face buried in my neck. "Chloe, you like it?" he mumbled. "If you like it, want to come over every day?" I was too exhausted to open my eyes and just hummed a response. His phone buzzed. He got up, answered it, and collapsed onto the sofa near the bed. "What’s with the noise?" His voice was raspy, smug. The guys on the other end were loud. "Did you just finish?" "Yeah." Julian couldn't hide the pride. "Three days. Pay up." "Did you take her V-card?" "Obviously." "Damn, dude. She looks so innocent." "So what? It's me. You think there's a girl I can't get?" "I don't buy it. Chloe is a prude. She blushed when I said hi to her last week. You expect me to believe you bagged her three days after finals?" "Believe what you want." "Unless you got pics. That was the deal. Pics or it didn't happen." Julian didn't hesitate. "Wait." He walked back to the bed. 3 I was curled up on my side, a habit from sharing a small bed. My black hair stuck to my face. I had cried twice during the night. My eyelashes were still wet, casting shadows on my pale cheeks. My lip was swollen where I’d bitten it. I was deep asleep, breathing steadily, occasionally letting out a small, soft whimper. Julian reached for the blanket, then stopped. Instead of pulling it down, he pulled it up, covering me to my chin. Only my face was visible. He snapped a photo. His phone buzzed again. "Lame, Julian. Where's the rest?" "Fuck off." His voice was colder now. "She's my girlfriend now. Watch your mouths." "Okay, okay, chill." "How long you gonna keep this up, though? A week?" "Maybe. Until I leave for Stanford." "Right. You're going to California. What if she follows you?" Julian laughed. "California is huge. Finding someone there is like finding a needle in a haystack." "True. A girl with her background? You guys live in different universes." 4 They weren't wrong. My mom did two years for assault. Now she ran a food truck selling breakfast tacos. My dad was dead. Every holiday, I worked the truck—cooking, cleaning, taking cash. I always smelled like grease and onions. No matter how much I scrubbed. When Julian first approached me, he asked, "What's that smell in your hair?" "Helping my mom at the truck," I said honestly. "Maybe don't stand so close. You'll smell like grease." "Who cares?" Julian smiled, unbothered. "Your mom's tacos are supposed to be good. Bring me one tomorrow? I'll pay." He shoved a twenty in my hand. I tried to refuse, but he insisted. The next day, I brought ten tacos. I gave Julian the loaded special. The rest went to his friends. His friends wouldn't touch them. Julian took a bite, frowned slightly, and threw the rest in the trash the second I walked into class. He never asked for tacos again. Instead, he bought me expensive shampoo and body wash. Brands I couldn't pronounce. I looked them up; they cost more than my weekly grocery budget. Before coming over tonight, I used them. I smelled like expensive flowers. Julian was satisfied. No frowning. 5 Julian kissed me awake. "Chloe." His chest was hot against my back. "Stay the day?" I bit my lip. "I can't. The food truck..." "I'm your boyfriend. I don't want you working like a dog. Here." He kissed my neck, his hands roaming. "I'll give you money. Lots of it. Just give me your time." I shook my head, pushing him away, tears welling up. "I like you, Julian. I don't want your money." A single tear rolled down my cheek. Julian looked genuinely moved. But I knew men. In bed, they'd promise you the moon. Especially since I was his "first" too, in a way—his first conquest for a bet. He felt guilty. "I know you're not like that," he soothed. "If you were, you wouldn't have rejected all those other guys." I cried silently. "Don't cry, baby. The money is just because I care. No strings attached." I hugged his waist. "Julian... I'm doing this because I want to, too." When I got home, I had a transfer notification. $10,000. Memo: Gift. I lay on my creaky metal bedframe, counting the zeros. My family had never seen this much cash at once. It wasn't enough. My mom's victim was paralyzed. His family came every month for "medical expenses." It was a black hole. But now, I saw a way out. I'd be good. I'd make Julian want to keep me around. I'd get more money. Then I'd go to college, pay off the debt, and take my mom far away.
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