Jailbait Read Online Free PDF Page A

past them, but it’s too late. The two guys checking out my bike are getting on their own bikes, and soon all I see are taillights going down the alley across the street.
    I blink and rub my temple, recalling the second-long glimpse I got of one of the guy’s jackets. It was gone before I got a good look, but I swear the emblem was familiar.  
    Fuck. I should have known a clean slate was too good to be true.  

Chapter Three
    Pepper

    Olson’s hand is clammy, and he keeps resting it on my lower back, which is exposed in this dress. He presses his palm against my flesh and inches his fingers under the satin fabric, reaching for my ass. I remove his hand for the fifth, sixth? time—I’ve lost count, and turn away, mumbling under my breath.  
    Savannah is busy being arm candy for her movie director boyfriend, standing next to some hideous painted canvas done by an actor, posing for pictures. I stare in her direction for several seconds but am unable to catch her eye. I grab a drink off a tray when a server walks by, and swallow a big gulp of Champagne.  
    I take a few steps and Olson follows, leeching himself back onto me. I grit my teeth, fingers tightening around the black satin clutch in my hand.  
    “Two more hours until we can get out of here,” Olson whispers, moving in close. His hand lands on my back again, and he brushes his lips against my ear. Not once did I give him even the smallest of hints that I’m interested in him sexually. He will argue that I agreed to go on a date with him, hence I want him bad, and the whole thing just pisses me off.  
    I close my eyes in a long blink, feeling my skin crawl. In any other setting, turning and whacking him across the face with my purse and shouting that being his date tonight doesn’t give him a ticket to v-town would be met with cheers and men scowling at Olson for being such a jerk.  
    There are others like me peppered throughout the crowd tonight, but I’m surrounded mostly by those brought up to believe that appearance and reputation are more important than, well, anything. I’ll never forget the day my paternal grandmother told me that the key to a happy marriage was to “shut up and take it”.  
    Some days I couldn’t care less if I pissed off those in my social circle. That line was drawn around me without my choosing, anyway. But tonight, I’ll do what I was raised to do and hold my tongue. I twist my mother’s ring around on my finger and wonder how different things would be if she were still alive.  
    She ruffled feathers in her short time on earth, I know from the stories my father fondly tells of her. She died when I was five, and my memories of her fade each day. I wish I knew what she would do right now if she were in my shoes. Something tells me she would leave Olson standing here stunned, rubbing a red mark on his cheek.  
    “Now that,” Olson starts, pushing my shoulders to turn me around, “that’s disgusting. Someone obviously doesn’t know what art is.”  
    I scan the photo before us. It’s a large black and white photo of a nude Caucasian mother nursing a newborn African American baby. The photo is tastefully done, and in just one look I can feel the love of the mother for her child. I take a step forward and read the caption on the plaque below the photo, and get chills.  
    “It’s beautiful,” I say. “The mother gave birth to a still-born and a day later, the mother of that baby died during childbirth. It’s beautifully tragic and shows the power of a mother’s love.” Tears sting the corners of my eyes, so I look up, blinking, to push them back.  
    “If I’m gonna see a naked woman, I want her to at least be hot,” Olson chuckles like his statement is actually funny.  
    “She just gave birth and lost a child,” I retort. “I don’t think—” I stop mid-sentence. “I don’t need to explain it to you. You’ll never understand.” I drain the rest of my drink, put the empty glass in Olson’s hand,