"I'll take my chances," I told her stubbornly, not so much as flinching from her slaps. 

"Your mom threw you in a dumpster because even she thought you were trash, but that's not what made you trash.  You've done that to yourself."

And there it was.  Her slaps weren't the terrifying thing about her.  Her words were without a doubt her best weapon. 

She didn't just exploit weaknesses, she opened them wide, put her unfeeling hands inside, and sifted through you until she unburied new ones, uncoiled them, and let them plop down at your feet.

"Y-y-y—" I tried, but my temper, and my fear, and her damned slaps, had gotten the better of me.  I was so frustrated by it that I just got up and left, wearing nothing but a now soiled T-shirt and the first pair of jeans I grabbed off the floor on my way out.  I couldn't even get to a bra, she was blocking that part of the room with her body, and I needed out now.

"Good.  Get out!" she shouted at my retreating back.  "But remember, if you're running to that boy, he doesn't care about you!  He thinks you're trash, too.  You're just the little trailer girl he sticks it in.  Mark my words!  He'll leave you for one of his own kind, I promise you that!  He's never going to stay with some piece of filth that came from the dumpster!  Especially not a slut like you that gives it up for free!"

I ran and didn't look back.  I was trembling in rage as I made my way up to Gram's house, but in the short time it took, I'd nearly calmed myself, because I knew that as soon as I saw Dante, I'd feel better. 

That was the point of him.   

He made the world make sense again with just a look.     

I was so caught up in thinking about him that I forgot I was a complete mess. 

I remembered again as I caught sight of a pristine looking Dante.  He was already at Gram's house, hanging out in her front yard, wearing a suit and tie; his hair combed, parted, and slicked back. 

Oh, that's right.  He'd had some country club thing he'd told me he had to attend this morning.  He hadn't invited me along.  He never did.  He claimed I'd hate the country club, and I believed him. 

I didn't care about any of it—how clean he was or how filthy I was.  I nearly ran as I made my way to him. 

But as I watched, the front door of Gram's house opened, and out came Tiffany, looking even more pristine in a lacy white dress.

I stopped in my tracks, lingering at the tree line, feeling my temper begin to re-boil. 

She beamed at Dante, and he smiled back, his hands in his pockets like he didn't have a care in the world. 

She said something I couldn't make out and he laughed. 

My vision went red, and I must have made some noise because Dante, finally, noticed me. 

His smile didn't falter, in fact it widened, and he said something I couldn't hear to Tiffany and started moving toward me. 

I began to back away, painfully aware of the picture I made—bed-mussed hair, slapped red face, in a tight, soiled shirt with no bra. 

I couldn't have looked more different from the two of them in their country club uniforms if I'd been trying to. 

Still, Dante didn't even notice at first.  He was already talking as he approached, too intent on what he was saying to notice how I looked.  "Listen.  I have an idea.  I think you and Tiffany should spend more time together.  I had a long talk with her—"

"When?  Why?"  I interrupted without even meaning to, moving deeper into the woods.  What the hell was going on?  Hadn't we been over this? 

Never.  I would never give that girl a chance.

"She caught me on my way out at the country club brunch this morning, and I gave her a ride.  She asked me to hear her out, so I did.  She's never done anything to either of us.  She has nothing to do with my mother's schemes.  She's as baffled as we are about the things my mom claims.  We had a good laugh about the fact that my mom says I'm going to marry her after college.  Trust me, she's no more interested in that than I am."

I was glaring at him, hands clenched at my sides, and it was only after he'd finished talking that he seemed to notice something was wrong.   

Well, something other than the idiocy he'd just spouted that he had to know I wouldn't be swallowing as easily as he had. 

Tiffany wanted him.  I knew it in my bones.  Like recognizes like. 

He blinked a few times, eyes running over my face and down my body.  He took a step closer, his hand darting forward almost unconsciously to palm one of my breasts.  It was a casual touch that spoke of absolute intimacy.  He was so accustomed to having me under his hands that it was second nature at this point. 

His brows drew together.  "Why aren't you wearing a bra?  Do you realize how revealing that top is like this?"

His mouth twisted up in distaste as his roaming hand made contact with one of the still sticky stains on my shirt.  "What's all over you?"  

I wanted to punch him in the face.  "Long story," I gritted out.  I didn't feel like telling him anything.  I was just too frustrated by then.  The morning couldn't have been going worse.

He wiped his hand on his immaculate suit then brought it back, this time slipping it under my shirt to fondle me.  He backed me farther into the woods, until we were well hidden.  "I woke up dreaming about last night," he said, voice thickening, eyes on his hand inside my top.  "I wish you could have been with me."  He stepped closer.  "I wish we didn't have to sleep apart.  It seems wrong, doesn't it?"