"Right in here, Matthew," the lady in the main office directs me.

I got called to the Principal's office midway through my remedial math class. I thought that was pretty cool...but when the door closed behind me, and I was faced with Principal Chase and a cop, I changed my mind.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask immediately before I even sit down.

"No, not at all," the principal tries to reassure me, "I want to make that very clear. You are not in any trouble."

"So, I'm here because..." I raise an eyebrow.

"This officer would like to ask you a few questions regarding an— incident the department has received some information about."

"I don't know anything," I shrug.

"Well, how about I ask anyway," the cop suggests, "you may know more than you think."

"Fine," I say unamused. I know all the little cop tricks, he thinks he can trip me up and I'll end up talking.

"First off, I'm officer Mendoza, it's nice to meet you, Matthew. You seem like a good kid."

"How do you figure?" I cross my arms.

"The fact that you're in school right now," he smirked. "I was afraid this visit would be a waste of time, but here we are."

"Mm," I nod unimpressed.

"How about we get this over with so you can get back to class. Does that sound fair?"

"Sure," I agree indifferently.

"Recently, there have been multiple reports of car radio thefts on this side of Manhattan. A couple of days ago, a car was stolen off of Houston Street. A 1991 red Ford Mustang, to be exact."

"So, what?" I shrug and avoid eye contact with either of them.

"We're looking into an...anonymous tip that names Spencer Jensen as our main suspect."

Anonymous, my ass.

What the hell did you do, Leo?

"It wasn't him," I say confidently.

"No?" Mendoza says skeptically, "is it only a coincidence that your other brother, Thomas Jensen...is currently serving a two-year sentence for that exact crime?"

"Coincidence, yeah— that's a good word," I agree.

He sighs at my response, "Matthew, I should tell you...the Mustang was recovered last night. We've collected fingerprints...they'll be processed and searched against local and state fingerprint files. Spencer is in the system, you are not, but if I find that you've lied to me today, that will provide reasonable doubt and a means to collect yours too. There were multiple sets of prints in that car."

"Prints, huh?" I say slyly.

I watched Spence wipe down everything we touched. If there's prints like he said, they will only match his friend in New Jersey.

"Yes," he said simply and glared at my arrogance. "Blood too, but that was on the passenger side."

"...blood." My face seemed to drain of it.

"Type AB...though, the owner is O-negative. It was in the crease of the window frame," Mendoza said smugly.

"Maybe, he's a serial killer."

"He's a 78-year-old man who only goes out for groceries and afternoon chess in the park...but I'll check again, just in case."

"Great, I guess I am free to go then," I stand up.

"You were always free to go," He says just before I turn the doorknob, "let's hope you stay that way."

"Are you stalking me now?" I say in amusement.

"I went by the bar and saw that it was closed for renovations...I found your address in the phone book," Elizabeth explained.

"And why were you looking for it?" I cross my arms and smirk at her.

"I need money," she sighs.

"I'm not a bank."

"I'll work for it."

"I already have a bartender," I say slyly, knowing exactly what she was implying.

"...I'll dance."

"You assume that offer is still on the table after you told me to— what was it? Go screw myself?" I raise my eyebrows at her.

"I'll lose my apartment if I can't come up with the money soon. I'm already behind..."

"Why should I care? You said you can't even dance," I shrug.

"I can try...besides, you said it doesn't matter as long as I'm comfortable taking my clothes off."

"And are you?" I raise an eyebrow.

"...a thousand dollars a week, right?"

"We'll see," I say slyly. "You will have to audition first, of course, and I'm not holding those for another two weeks. Stay in touch, goodbye-" I try to shut the door, but she puts her hand out and stops it.

"What if I audition now?" She pleads, "I don't have two weeks...they'll throw me out."

I sigh and scan her up and down.

"You don't seem very prepared."

"Just let me try," Liz says frustratedly.

I step out of the way and direct her, "do come in."

"Thank you," she pushes past me.

The nerve of this one...

I will not pay her for her poor attitude.

"Leave your jacket, and follow me," I say as I head into my father's office. It's less personal than a bedroom and more secure than one of our sitting rooms. "You may want to shut the door," I instruct when she joins me in the office.

"What now?" Liz asks.

"Oh, did you want music or something?"

I sit in my father's chair, hands clasped, and my eyes burning into her.

Elizabeth hesitantly shakes her head...

And then looks down to unbutton her shirt.

"Look at me," I urge and smirk when she eyes me, "go slower."

She does as requested, and I lean back in my chair when the shirt finally comes off.

She takes a deep breath before continuing, her hands now on the hem of her jeans.

"What pace would you like this time, sir?" Liz said sarcastically.

"How far do you expect to get by sassing me?" I narrow my eyes at her. "Now, keep going," I nod toward the pants that are still on.

She glared at me as she undid her jeans, sliding them down her legs...slowly.

Good guess, Elizabeth.

Her bra is pink and lacy, and her panties are white...kind of innocent in a way.

She looked nervous standing in front of me so bare.

"I've seen enough, thank you," I said simply and stood back up.

"I'm sorry?" Liz reached down to gather her clothes from off the floor.

"You looked nervous."

"I'll do better next time. I was just a bit scared with it being only you here."

"Oh, so you're only nervous around me?" I challenge.

"Forget it," she rolled her eyes and began to redress herself.

"I'll have a check mailed to you by the end of the week. Stay on call, and don't make me regret this, Elizabeth."

"It's Liz."

I press my back against the wall and turn my head to look around the corner.

No sign of Karlie.

I sigh in relief and finally head over to my locker. I haven't heard anything about me and Evan...and I definitely would have if she said something. I'm afraid that when I see her— is when she'll explode.

"You're a jerk."

"Jesus Christ," I jump and drop all of the things I was about to put in my locker.

Karlie stands cool and collected above me as I kneel to pick everything up.

I try to gather my last two papers and she puts her foot out and steps on them.

I sigh and look up at her.

"You and Evan? For how long?" She asks.

"A few months, I don't know..."

"So, you guys just date girls to make fun of us or something?" Karlie scowls at me.

"Evan likes girls," I reply, "now, can you get off of my papers, please?"

She steps off, and I stand up to face her.

"But, you don't," she says harshly. "I thought you were nice, but you're actually worse than half the assholes I know."

I scoff, "you can't be mad that I don't like you."

"Get over yourself, Zach," she snaps, "I'm not mad that you don't like me. I'm not even mad that you're gay. I'm mad that you went out with me and let me think you weren't."

"What if we don't present?" I sigh.

"We go down two letter grades," Heather laughs off my suggestion. "Why, are you shy?"

"Do I seem shy?" I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Sometimes," she shrugs.

I can only assume those "shy" moments she's thinking of were just me being stupid and nervous around her.

"I'm not, but I don't want to do the whole 'standing in front of the class' thing," I admit.

"It'll be fine, I promise. I'll do all the talking, all you have to do is hold up a few signs, and hold my hand once or twice," she grabbed my hand as if I needed a demonstration.

"Yeah?" I say slyly, "alright, butterfly."

She smiles almost instinctively at the sound of the nickname, and I eye her adoringly...I wonder when she started to like it so much.

"There goes that look again," she playfully rolls her eyes.

I chuckle, her hand still in mine, "you know, Heather, maybe I don't look at you like you're out of your mind. Maybe that's not even close to how I look at you."

"Is that so?" She says skeptically, "because it sure makes me feel-"

"Butterflies?" I smirk and watch her jaw slightly drop. For a moment it's almost like I can hear her heart racing, but I know how quiet it really is. "I'll stop if you want me to."

"You'll stop looking at me?" She says disbelievingly.

I nod, "the way that gives you butterflies. Though, I don't want to stop...you can tell me to."

"No," she said faintly as she shook her head, "it's okay."

I sit up from where I was leaning against my headboard so that I can be closer to her. "I really don't get you, Heather. But, I don't mind so much."

"Why?" She asks teasingly, her gaze locked in on mine...though my eyes shifted down to her lips more times than I could count.

"You make it fun to learn," I reply with a smirk...

And then lean in to kiss her...because I just had to.

Her face so close to mine...it was like trying to resist oxygen.

I pressed my lips against hers quickly so that I wouldn't wimp out if I took my time. It was a short kiss, I only wanted to feel it...and it was nice, her soft lips— the little gasp she did.

I was about to pull away, but then her hand moved to my face, and suddenly we were pressed together again. It was more feverish...deeper, she hummed against my lips, and I grabbed her by the waist to bring her closer to me, if possible. Her lips parted, and I let my tongue lightly glide in as we moved against each other. Her hands slid down to my chest, and I began to lay back with her on my bed.

She pulled away in shock, "oh, my god," she covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm so sorry," Heather left the bed and started to rush over to the door.

"What— no, why?" I say breathlessly in confusion.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," Heather said worriedly.

"I kissed you," I corrected her, "I wanted to...I still want to."

"We shouldn't," she shakes her head, her back pressed against the door as if that's as far as she can get from me.

"Why not?" I challenge and move to meet her where she stands. "You don't want this?" I say temptingly, my hands back on her body, fingers slowly tracing down her spine.

She lifts her head up to look me in the eyes, we are so close. "I don't want this..." she says softly as our lips brush over each other.

"No?" I smirk at how she's subconsciously leaning in.

"No," she replies infirmly before we're longingly reconnected. Her hands were used just to pull me onto her, as if we could get any closer with our clothes still on. We only stopped in between breaths, and then her lips were against mine again like she couldn't breathe air unless it was mine.

"Heather..." I pull off of her for a moment as a means to control myself. This is going somewhere fast...and I wonder if the thoughts going through my head...and the shocks jolting through my body...are in hers too.

I gently tilt her head up and am pleasantly surprised at how hungry her eyes are.

Damn...you should have kissed me a long time ago.

My thumb brushes over her bottom lip that's wet and red. She looks at me intently, probably wondering why I stopped us, but I just wanted to see her like this...

I slip the tip of my thumb past her lips and watch as a fire ignites in her eyes. The thought of her being excited made my breathing heavier...

Like this was a test to see what we could do to each other.

I hear the front door open outside of the room, and I close my eyes and groan internally. She seems to sigh in disappointment as well, and we stand there, forehead to forehead.

"Leo, are you home?" My mom calls out.

Heather backs away from the door so that I could open it.

"Yeah, mom, I'm here," I say with a small, insincere smile. Of all the days you could have come home early...

"Oh, Heather, I didn't know you'd be here," my mom says when she sees her walk from behind me.

"I was just about to leave, it's nice seeing you again, Isabel," Heather says politely.

"It's always nice to see you," she smiles.

"Let me walk you out, butterfly."

"No, thank you," she says quickly, "I'm okay."

She doesn't even look at me before she hurries out of the door.

Why do you have to be so difficult?