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“Why don’t we get back to work?” Mark suggested, picking up his pen.

“No!” I cried, and slapped the pen right out of his hand. It flew across the room and hit his flat screen. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Cadence, you’re adorable, and I wanna keep you that way,” Mark said, looking me square in the face.

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“If you touch me, it changes things,” Mark said.

“What? I’m not innocent Cadence anymore?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you realize how stupid that sounds? You’ve seen me naked,” I said.

“I realize that.”

Silence.

“Don’t you want me to touch you?” I asked softly.

“Yes,” Mark replied just as softly. He gripped the tops of his thighs while he said it, like the words were painful leaving his lips.

“I’ll still be innocent. It’s not like I’m going around touching and blowing a bunch of guys. It would only be you. Ever.”

Mark nodded.

“Look at me,” I demanded. He did. “How do you expect to ever have sex with me if you won’t let me touch you? You have to give yourself to me like I’m giving myself to you. It’s not wrong. It’s not dirty. It won’t change me in a bad way. It’ll draw me closer to you. And that’s good, don’t you think?”

I saw the tension go out of his body then. He actually sunk a little deeper into the couch as he nodded.

“You’re so interesting and insightful,” he said after a time.

“And can you believe I’m only seventeen?” I joked.

“That’s what I like about you, Cadence. You’re definitely seventeen in many ways. You like your little fashion magazines and gossiping and shopping. And I love to hear all of it. But you also have a wisdom and maturity that not many girls your age have. I like that dichotomy.”

“I know that word!” I teased.

Mark grinned. “That’s why you’re irresistible. That’s why you turn me on.”

I moved on top of him, straddling his hips.

“You didn’t know what a doctoral program was when I mentioned it to you, did you?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “I went home and looked it up.”

“I know you did. But you could have just asked me.”

“I didn’t want to sound stupid,” I confessed.

“You’re not stupid at all. How can you even think that after saying something so profound to me?” He cupped my face and studied my eyes. “I like you without make-up.”

“I just wanna be able to keep up,” I said. Whatever that meant.

“You do.”

“So are we cool?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re cool. But I’ll be honest, I’m not ready for you to touch me right now. Kind of not in the mood.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m totally over it.”

Mark laughed as I climbed off his lap. We went back to our work, chatting pleasantly in intermittent conversations about random things.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked after five minutes of silence.

“Green.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s pleasant to the eye.”

Ten minutes went by before a break in the silence.

“I read somewhere that women’s brains look like cooked spaghetti, and guys’ brains look more like a grid,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” Mark replied. “How do you figure?”

“Well, the spaghetti is supposed to represent how women multitask. How we have a bazillion things going on in our brains at one time, and they all kind of run together.”

“Uh huh.”

“But guys compartmentalize things. That’s why your brains look like grids. Everything is organized in nice, neat little boxes,” I explained. “And you can focus on one thing at a time.”

“Interesting,” Mark said. He grabbed his HTC tablet off the coffee table and typed something. He held up the device so that I could see the screen. “Cadence, this is what a brain looks like.”

I laughed. “Shut up! I meant metaphorically.”

“Oh, okay. Just making sure.”

Another bout of silence before I piped up.

“What’s it like to suck a dick?” I asked. Perhaps at the wrong time. Mark was taking a sip of his beer and he choked. It was exactly like something out of a cartoon. The beer went flying out of his mouth in a violent spray, and I fell over laughing.

“Cadence, how would I know?” Mark said, grabbing some tissues from the end table.

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I think I need to do some research.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t put too much effort into it.”

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you what I like when you’re doing it.”

“Okay.”

It was all so matter-of-fact, like we were planning our dinner menu.

A few minutes passed.

“Your name means ‘rhythmic’,” Mark said.

“I know.”

“Is that how you move through life?”

I giggled. It was so cheesy. “Um, sure.” I had an instant vision of performing a gymnastics routine with one of those long ribbons. Twirling it in pretty patterns above my head while I followed the gang into the convenience store. “Even when I’m committing a crime.”

“Man, that’s sexy,” Mark said.

“And what about you?” I asked. “Your life is set to music. You’ve got a song for everything.”

“Only the important events,” he explained.

I grew warm with flattery.

A long stretch of silence before Mark spoke again.

“I’m so glad I met you, Cadence,” he said.

“Me, too.”

That night we cooked together, and just like Mark promised over breakfast, he had me wrapped in a full black apron completely naked underneath. He spent most of the time directing me while his hands were glued to my bare bottom. We decided on the same shrimp couscous he fed me the first day I visited him. He hovered over my shoulder while I minced the garlic, guiding me every step of the way to make sure I didn’t mince my fingers. He walked behind me and stood holding my ass while I scraped the garlic in the pan with the sautéing spinach. He popped my bottom when I didn’t immediately fluff the coucous at the sound of the buzzing timer.

He didn’t do a damn thing but squeeze my ass the whole time. I made the dinner per his instructions, and all he did was spoon it into a big bowl once it was finished. Oh, and he sprinkled the feta on top. Big deal. I pulled out a chair to sit, and he shook his head. He picked me up and placed me on the edge of the table, nudging my legs apart to stand between them. He fed me while he ate: a bite for me, a bite for him. Back and forth until the bowl was empty.

“More?”

I nodded.

He filled the bowl once more, sprinkled the cheese, and returned, standing between my legs. We ate, mostly in silence, until the bowl was clean.

“More?”

I shook my head.

“Good.” He tossed the bowl on the table and knelt between my legs. He flipped up the apron and pulled me closer to the edge.

And then he had dessert.

***

“Something’s up with you,” Oliver said, eyeing me suspiciously on our way to school Monday morning.

“Is it?” I grinned from ear to ear.

“Yeah. What’s going on?” Oliver asked. “All of a sudden you like school or something?”

“I like that I have a friend,” I replied.

It wasn’t exactly true. Avery wasn’t my friend by the classic definition, but she helped me see my mystery man, and that was a friendly gesture.

“Yeah, Avery seems pretty cool,” Oliver replied. “A little too good if you ask me, though.”

“Totally boring, I know.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Cay,” Oliver said after a time.

“Yeah right.”

“Seriously. I really am.”

“Why?”

Oliver shrugged. “Because you’ve been miserable ever since you got out of juvie.”

“And why do you care that I was miserable for all that time?”

“I’m not a total jerk,” Oliver said. “You should know that by now.”

I thought back to our conversation in my bedroom on the first day of school. He wasn’t a total jerk. He wasn’t anywhere near it.

“You’re right,” I said, pulling the car into an empty space.

“And what are we listening to?” Oliver said.

I grinned. “This is DJ Shadow.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You’re not cool, Cay. Don’t even try to be.”

“Whatever. I’m not trying to be cool.”

“Where’d you even get a CD like this? No. Correction. Who do you know that would recommend something like this to you?”

“No one,” I lied. “I discovered him on YouTube.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Oliver laughed. “But I gotta admit this shit’s good.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “You’re not cool, Ollie. Don’t even try to be.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, my misguided older sister. I beg to freaking differ.”

I giggled all the way from the car to the school building. Oliver walked with me, explaining that I didn’t have “the look” to go along with listening to, what was it, he asked? Oh yes. Instrumental hip hop. That I didn’t have the instrumental hip hop look. When I asked him to describe the look for me, he said, “Cay, you just know it when you see it.” And when I walked into first period and saw Mr. Connelly standing at the white board, I did.

I followed Oliver into the restaurant. I had no choice. My parents were determined to show the world that they had a normal, functioning, happy family. And I went along with the ruse because I wanted to continue “spending the night” with Avery. The irony of the entire situation was that for two months after my release from juvie, I worked my butt off to be good. Genuinely good. And it got me nowhere. Now that I was sneaking around with Mr. Connelly and lying to everyone, my parents trusted me more. It was totally messed up.

The hostess sat us and took our drink orders. It was an especially busy Friday night, and I was glad Dad called ahead. I was starving now that my appetite was back in full force. I had even gained three pounds since I started seeing Mr. Connelly. He seemed relieved about it. I completely understood. I had weighed myself right before the start of the school year and was an alarming 97 pounds. Not healthy.

I listened halfheartedly to the conversation between Dad and Oliver. It had something to do with new cleats and off-season practices. I was distracted, though, because I kept hearing a familiar voice. A deep, steady male voice somewhere to my right. I looked over, and there he was: Mr. Connelly. With a woman.

I gasped and accidentally spilled my drink.

“Shit,” I hissed, and blotted the water with my cloth napkin.

“Cadence, do not use that language around us. Or at all!” Dad barked.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I looked over at Mr. Connelly once more.

He was completely oblivious to my presence. I studied the woman. She looked like my exact opposite: tall, curvy, dark hair styled in an angled bob. Mr. Connelly must have said something clever because she laughed, placing her right hand over her ample chest. I guess she wanted to draw attention to her breasts. It worked. I caught him glance at them before looking at her face again.

I excused myself and walked as fast as I could to the bathroom. I barely closed myself in a stall before I burst into tears. How could I be so stupid? Why would I ever think a grown man would be interested in me? Faithful to me? I was a teenager with no experiences. No perspective. I lived in a cocoon. It made me easy bait. I was naïve and trusting—perfect prey for a predator.

At least you didn’t have sex with him
, I thought. It was little comfort, however, when my heart was cracking in two. I really liked him. I thought I loved him. I was a fool, and I waited for my conscience to throw it in my face. But she didn’t. She remained silent. I guess she was mad at me.

It took every ounce of strength to leave the bathroom and sit through an entire meal with my family, pretending Mr. Connelly wasn’t yards away on a date. He never once suspected that I was there. Never looked my way. Never took his eyes off that woman. He listened to her with the kind of attention he paid me when I sat on his lap and chattered.