The money sitting in my checking account thanks to Drew will ease some of that burden, at least for a little while. I didn’t put it in the account I share with my mom because I know the second she realizes that much money’s in there, she’ll blow it.

I can’t take that chance.

“How’d we meet then?” Drew’s deep voice breaks through my thoughts. I wish he would take the initiative and come up with some of this story.

“The bar,” I suggest because it sounds so trashy and I figure the only reason he’s bringing me is because he wants to look like he’s slumming it to his uppity family. “You came in with a bunch of friends and it was love at first sight the moment our eyes met.”

He sends me a look that calls bullshit and I smile in return. If I’m in control of making up this story, I’m going to make it the sappiest, most romantic thing out there.

There is no room for romance in my life. It’s so stupid, but I let guys use me because for that one fleeting moment, when he’s focusing all of his attention on me and no one else, it feels good. It helps me forget that no one really cares.

The second it’s over, it’s like I snap out of my mental fog and I feel cheap. Dirty. All those clichés you read about in books and see on TV or movies, that’s me. I am a walking cliché.

I’m also the town slut whose not as slutty as everyone thinks she is—again, another cliché. And I’m definitely not the girl you want to take home to impress your mama. There is nothing special about me.

Yet here’s Drew taking me home to impress his mama. Or more accurately, freak his mama out. I’m sure I’m that rich bitch’s (now I sound like Owen, from broke bitch to rich bitch) every nightmare come to life. The moment she lays eyes on me, she’s going to flip.

“I’m assuming you’re bringing me home to your mom so she’ll lose her shit, right?” I need confirmation. It’s one thing to think it and be okay with it. I need to face the facts head on and deal with the repercussions later. Like how this might screw with my head despite how much I need that money.

His jaw firms and his lips thin into a straight, grim line. “My mom is dead.”

Oh. “I’m sorry.” I feel like a jerk.

“You didn’t know. She died when I was two.” He shrugs. “I know my dad will love you.”

The way he says it kind of freaks me out. Like his dad is probably a creeper and that’s why he’ll love me.

“It’s just your dad and you then?”

“No. There’s Adele.” His lips virtually disappear when he says that name. And he has really nice full lips, so I’m wondering where exactly they went. “She’s my stepmom.”

“So you want to freak out your stepmom.”

“I could give two shits what she thinks.”

The tension radiates off him in visible waves. There’s something going on between him and his stepmom that’s definitely not good.

Ignoring his remark about the wicked witch named Adele, I forge on. “Have any brothers or sisters?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Oh.” His lack of communication skills could be a real problem since I’m wholly dependent on this guy for the next freaking week. “I have a brother.”

“How old?”

“Thirteen.” I sigh. “Owen’s in the eighth grade. He gets in trouble a lot.”

“It’s a tough age. Junior high sucks.”

“Did you get in trouble a lot when you were thirteen?” I couldn’t imagine it being so.

He laughs, reaffirming my suspicions in a heartbeat. “I wasn’t allowed.”

“What do you mean?” I frown. His answer makes no sense.

“My dad would kick my ass if I stepped out of line.” He shrugs again. He does that a lot, but I like it because it reminds me that he has those delicious broad shoulders. If I’m lucky enough, I’ll get to touch them during our fake relationship over the next seven days. I’ll lean my head on his shoulder too. Press my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt and secretly breathe in his scent. He smells good, but I want to get up close and really inhale him.

Sappiness is ready to overtake me and for once in my cynical, no room for fairy tales life, I’m ready to let it happen. After all, I need to be the best actress on the planet, right?

“Isn’t that what all dads say they’re going to do when their kids step out of line?” I ask.

“Yeah, but mine meant it. Besides, it was easier to do what I’m supposed to and not get distracted. I lose myself in the mindless stuff, you know?”

“And what are you supposed to do?” I add air quotes like those annoying sorority girls who come into La Salle’s. I really hate those girls and how they flip their hair and laugh too loud and say the stupidest things. They literally bat their fake eyelashes at the guys and everything. It’s pathetic, what attention whores they are.

Jeez, I sound bitter even in my own head.

“Go to class, study and get good grades. Go to football practice, stay in shape, play to the best of my ability and hope like crazy I’m impressing the scouts out there who are watching me.” He rattles everything off like some sort of list, his voice a dull monotone.

“And what are the distractions you need to avoid?”

“Partying, drinking, girls.” He slides me another look, his features softer, the earlier anger gone. “I don’t like losing control.”