A Boy Called L: A Taboo Love Story by Amy J. Heart

Author:Amy J. Heart [Heart, Amy J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-04T16:00:00+00:00

SIX

Eden - one hour later

“DID YOU ENJOY your birthday, Eden?” Cooper asks as he pulls up outside my apartment block. He flicks on the car’s interior light, beady eyes burning into mine.

Did I?

The restaurant was fancy, but I barely ate a thing.

Coop noticed and, like the control freak that he is, forced a bag of greasy fries down my gullet on our walk back through the seedy part of town. He loves to remind me where I’d be if it weren’t for his so-called benevolence. Believe me, kind and caring this guy isn’t.

Now where was I? Right. My eighteenth birthday…

All night, Coop had been edgy, sick plans and schemes clearly brewing beneath his furrowed brow.

The rain on Jackson Street was heavy. My mood gloomy.

So the truth is… no, I didn’t enjoy my birthday.

But the smile currently stretched over my face tells a different story—the version I hope he’ll swallow down without question. It’s all gratitude and oh-my-god-you’re-the-best-guy-ever. What crap. “Thank you,” is the most I can force myself to actually say on the matter.

He looks pleased, the fool. “Good. You’re only eighteen once. Live it up.” The navy suit jacket strains as he pulls an expensive wallet out of his breast pocket. He’s putting on weight. “I nearly forgot to give you your present.”

Heaven forbid!

The wallet flips open and pudgy fingers dip and delve inside it. A creased photo lies across the middle. His thumb keeps it in place.

Who goes to the trouble of printing photos these days? I’ve unfortunately known Coop for two repulsive years now—far too long—and I’ve never seen this thing before.

“Who’s that?” I ask, leaning a little closer. I hate the smell of his aftershave. Expensive. Overpowering.

His grin flickers as he flaps the photo between us. “An old friend.” He chuckles like a slob. “Or should I say a young old friend.”

Yuck, Coop is gross. “Can I see?”

Eyes narrowed, he studies me. My long brown hair in a wet tangle from the rain. Silly black dress, tight like a bandage. Dark red lips pretending to smile. I don’t know why he looks so suspicious of my appearance, he made me like this.

After giving the picture a cherishing fondle, he hands it over.

I grip it hard, because Coop is likely to change his mind any moment and whip it away. He loves to power trip like that.

I look down at the photo. “Oh,” I say as I press a shaking palm against my chest.

“Oh, indeed,” he agrees.

A boy who could be my age sits on a couch. It’s Coop’s couch. Broad back to the camera, the guy wears jeans, swirls of intricate ink—and that’s about it. Torso twisted, he looks through chunks of dirty blond hair over his shoulder, directly at the photographer. Or, in this case, the person viewing the image. Lucky me!

He’s laughing but he doesn’t look happy. Arrogance shapes scorn into every feature. Even his eyes—his electric blue eyes—are bitter and mocking as they hook me hard, drag me close, and ruin me.

I stutter in confusion.

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