Better off Dead A Lucy Hart, Deathdealer - By Eva Sloan Page 0,2

except for the short, green and blue plaid catholic-school-girl skirt she’d coerced him into wearing, was starting to turn her on.

Guys will let you do anything to them if they think it is foreplay.

“What are you doing with that?” Jeff said when he caught sight of her.

She froze for a moment before she said, “Tara texted me.” And since they exchanged texts roughly every half-hour, she silently blessed plausibility and routine.

Jeff’s expression lightened, but then his brow furrowed. Oh no, he’s having an actual thought.

“But it didn’t ring.”

She held up the razor-thin device and gave it a dainty shake. “Got it on vibrate.”

He suddenly had that “Oh” expression on his handsome face. Flimsy excuse bought, thank god.

I wonder…will he fall for it again when I ask him to kiss my Zac Efron poster? That would be a hilarious shot to text everyone when she ultimately tired of stringing him along and broke up with him. She wasn’t about to sleep with him, not now or ever.

She was saving herself for when she married a multimillionaire, a prince, or for her senior year in college. By then she’d know whether she would be a kept woman, or if she’d be the one doing the keeping. She had plans: places to go, things to buy.

But if he’s a good boy, he might make it to second or third base in that get up. She’d told him to ditch the underwear, and she was now dying to see if he had. An “accidental” grope would tell her.

Jeff was captain of the football team in the fall and captain of the wrestling team in the winter. To say he was buff would be a waste of the language. Jeff’s shoulders were huge, broad and marble hard, as was his smooth, hairless chest, and bulging arms. All of it wrapped up in the dreamiest tan skin. A strict diet of cheddar-chili fries, cheeseburgers and pizza had failed to obscure his washboard stomach with even the thinnest layer of fat.

His hair was short and brown, and could never, ever be messed up—she’d tried, in earnest. And with a face like his you’d think he wouldn’t have to play dress-up just to get some action. This, most of all, amused her. Jeff Haas could have any girl in the school, and yet there he was, letting her degrade and humiliate him, all for the chance to get in her pants.

Well, he is in my skirt, or at least my mother’s skirt from when she actually was a catholic school girl. What more did he really expect tonight? Jeff really looked great shirtless, and his legs were not only strong but rather shapely, accented by a thin dusting of brown hair.

She had to give herself snaps. Not two weeks into her senior year and she had the captain of the football team in naughty school-girl drag.

She could feel heat rise up under her skin and lick up her spine and ribcage. Her cheeks burned. She looked into the mirror of her vanity; she was starting to blush. She smiled into the mirror. Ever since she could remember, the mirror had always been her friend: she had yet to find one that wasn’t.

“Oh, dude...” She looked up to see that Jeff had caught his reflection in the looking glass, and from the panic in his eyes, he didn’t like the view.

Just then two men with guns drawn and bulletproof vests with FBI emblazoned on them smashed through her bedroom door. Their guns were big, sinisterly shiny, and pointed right at her.

She shrieked and dropped her cell phone, and shot up out of her chair.

The two agents moved in forcing Lucy and Jeff back to the opposite wall.

“I wasn’t really going to have sex with him…” she blurted. “I swear!”

From behind her Jeff muttered, “Oh shit...”

The two FBI agents shot Jeff an ugly, disgusted glance, both agents moving their big shiny firearms between Jeff and Lucy. They seemed unable to discern which was more of a threat: the muscular, nearly naked seventeen-year-old boy in the skirt, or the girl who’d gotten him into it.

“I can’t believe you’re going to arrest me for maybe having sex.” She shook her head, as tears welled up in her eyes. “It’s so unfair!”

Thoughts rushed through her head, none making much sense, a few making her want to throw up. Then suddenly she screamed a hysterical “Daddy!”

The agents gave each other a look, and then one shook his head bitterly as he pressed the button