Secrets on West Oriole

Chapter 1: A Dangerous Deal

Roy Eberhardt bolted out of his house, his sneakers slapping the pavement as he bypassed his usual bus stop and pushed on toward West Oriole. His pulse raced—not just from the jog, but from the electric anticipation of seeing Beatrice Leep. Her street was quiet, the morning air crisp, and no one else had arrived at the stop yet. Roy darted to her house, pacing the sidewalk like a nervous animal, trying to concoct a believable excuse for lurking there. His mind was a whirlwind of half-baked alibis when the front door swung open, and there she was—Beatrice, all sharp edges and untamed energy, striding out with a smirk that could cut glass.

Roy charged forward, nearly toppling her in his haste. 'What the hell happened yesterday? Where’s your brother? Did you see the paper this morning? Did you—'

Beatrice’s hand shot out, slapping over his mouth with a force that made his teeth click. Her palm was warm, slightly calloused from soccer, and it pressed against his lips with a commanding weight. 'Easy, cowgirl,' she drawled, her voice low and teasing, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. 'You’re gonna blow a gasket before we even get to the good stuff. Let’s hit the bus stop. We’ll talk—and I’ll let you touch my ass on the way.'

Roy’s eyes widened, his words muffled against her hand before she pulled it away. 'What? Why would you—'

'Relax, Eberhardt,' Beatrice cut in, her tone as sharp as a blade. 'It’s part of a deal. You want the dirt, don’t you? All the juicy secrets about my messed-up family? Well, that’s the price. You keep your mouth shut, and you get a little… bonus.' She arched an eyebrow, daring him to balk.

Roy blinked, his throat dry. 'What’s the deal, exactly?'

Beatrice grinned, a predator’s smile. 'I spill everything—every last twisted detail. In return, you zip it. No blabbing to anyone. And as a sweetener, you get to cop a feel while we walk. Fair trade, right?'

Roy hesitated for half a second, his teenage brain short-circuiting at the offer. But curiosity—and something hotter, more primal—won out. 'Deal,' he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

They fell into step side by side, heading toward the bus stop. Roy’s hand hovered awkwardly for a moment before he let it rest on the curve of Beatrice’s ass, the denim of her jeans rough under his fingertips. The contact sent a jolt through him, his nerves buzzing as he tried to act casual. Her stride didn’t falter; she owned the moment, her posture all confidence and control. 'Feels good, doesn’t it?' she quipped, shooting him a sideways glance. 'Don’t get too comfy, though. This ain’t a free pass.'

Roy swallowed hard, his palm still pressed against her, feeling the subtle shift of muscle as she walked. 'So, spill. What really happened with that tooth?'

Beatrice’s laugh was a bark, sharp and unapologetic. 'Not a damn staircase, I’ll tell you that. I bit a ring off my stepmom’s toe. A little topaz charm my mom left behind—Lonna snatched it from Dad’s sock drawer and turned it into some tacky toe bling. I wasn’t having it.'

Roy’s jaw dropped, his hand tightening slightly on her ass without thinking. 'You… bit it off? How?'

'Wasn’t a picnic,' she said, flashing a grimace that showed the jagged stump of her broken incisor. 'Snapped the tip clean off. They’re gonna cap it, make it look brand-new. Lucky for me, Dad’s got dental.' She smirked. 'Lonna was awake for the whole show. Probably wishes she wasn’t.'

'Holy shit, Beatrice,' Roy breathed, his fingers still tracing the edge of her jeans. 'You’re insane.'

'Only half,' she shot back, her voice dripping with dark humor. 'Anyway, what’s in the paper that’s got you sweating bullets?'

Roy fumbled with his other hand to pull out the crumpled news clipping, showing her the ad for Mother Paula’s groundbreaking. Beatrice groaned, rolling her eyes. 'Just what the world needs—another greasy pancake dump.'

'Where’s Mullet Fingers?' Roy pressed, his voice low as his hand lingered, the heat of her through the fabric making his head spin. 'You think he knows about this?'

'Haven’t seen him since Sunday,' she admitted, her tone hardening. 'That’s when the shit hit the fan. He was hiding in the garage, waiting for me to grab him some clean shirts, when Dad walked out for a Mountain Dew. They’re chatting, all friendly-like, until Lonna storms in and loses her damn mind.'

Roy’s breath hitched, both from her story and the way her ass shifted under his touch as they neared the stop. 'Then what?'

'He bolted like a scared dog,' Beatrice said, her jaw tight. 'Meanwhile, Lonna and Dad go at it—huge fight. Dad wants him back home, but Lonna’s screaming he’s a ‘bad seed.’ Whatever the hell that means. Now the house feels like a damn powder keg.'

Roy shook his head, his hand still on her, reluctant to let go even as they approached the bus stop. 'Sounds like a nightmare. Need a place to crash?'

Beatrice laughed, a raw, jagged sound. 'Nah, Dad says he feels better with me around. Lonna called me ‘dangerous and crazy.’ She’s not wrong.' She winked, and Roy felt his face heat up, his fingers twitching against her.

As other kids started to gather at the stop, Roy reluctantly pulled his hand away, not wanting to draw eyes. Beatrice, ever the strategist, hooked up with a soccer teammate, diving into a loud recap of last night’s game—her winning penalty kick the star of the story. Roy hung back, keeping quiet, his mind still reeling from the feel of her under his hand.

On the bus, though, Beatrice surprised him. She ditched her teammate and plopped down next to him, deliberately sitting so his hand was trapped beneath her ass again. The pressure was maddening, her warmth seeping into him as the bus rattled toward school. She leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. 'Don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal, Eberhardt. You’re gonna keep that mouth shut, right?'

Roy nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. 'Yeah. I’m all yours.'

Her smirk was wicked, her eyes promising trouble. 'Good boy. Stick with me, and I’ll show you just how dangerous I can be.'

His heart pounded, his body already responding, hard and aching under the weight of her. He knew they were teetering on the edge of something wild, something that could ignite at any moment—and he was ready to burn.