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index finger at a page of the open book. “I need you to concentrate. Okay?”  
    “Or we could make out.” He g rinned. “There’s no one around.”
    Crazy enough, making out with him sounded… exciting. Especially since a preview had just played in my head. My heart sped up, but reason stepped in and I steeled myself when I remembered his latest conquest. “It’s over with Taylor already? Boy, you sure go through them, don’t you?”
    “That’s one way of looking at it.” He shrugged. “Or you could say they’re using me.”
    “ You are the user. And the thought of becoming a joke to your friends is enough to keep me miles away.”
    He held up his hands. “Whoa. Relax. I withdraw the offer. Man, you’re uptight.”
    “I’m going home. When you’re ready to take this seriously, let me know.” I rose and reached for my purse, knocking over my chair.
    Hayden captured my wrist. “Okay. I get it. We’ll stick to business from now on. I’m sorry.” He looked a little startled, like he’d never had a girl reject him before, especially one he was depending on for help. “Can we start over? I’ll be good.” He released me.
    I had so many things I’d rather be doing than catering to a cocky rich-boy. Maybe we needed to lay down some rules so Hayden knew the lines not to cross. “No more hitting on me.”
    “I can’t promise you that.”
    My eyes narrowed. “Really?”
    “Flirting comes so naturally; I do it without thinking. I’ll try though.”
    He looked sincere — at least I got that much. “Fine.”  I was reluctant, but righted my chair, sat and opened the book. “It seems to me that somewhere along the way you missed something or you wouldn’t be having trouble now. We’ll start at the beginning and see if we can figure out whatever you didn’t get.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Hey, Mom.” I stood in the doorway to the immaculate kitchen. Our house wasn’t a castle, but it was nice — wide windows and high ceilings throughout with all the most modern conveniences.
    “How was school?” She continued cutting vegetables without looking up or smiling.
    My parents never abused me, verbally or physically. They just ignored me. I learned long ago that they didn’t want to know about my day. They expected a socially acceptable answer.
    “Fine.”
    “Dinner’s almost ready. Your father will be home late and I’m going out shortly.”
    Typical. I left the kitchen without replying, knowing she wouldn’t notice or care.
    When I was little, my mom sang me to sleep and lovingly nursed me when I got sick. We explored every inch of Arizona from the Grand Canyon to the rivers and my dad would carry me on his shoulders or push me in the stroller. When we returned to our comfortable home in the suburbs of Phoenix, we’d plan our next trip.
    Things changed around my seventh birthday, but I was too young to understand why. Mom started crying a lot and Dad stopped planning trips. Maybe I could make sense of it now if I knew what actually happened. But the details had faded like an old pair of jeans.
    Now, we hid behind a façade of superficial words and fake smiles. To the casual observer we had the perfect life, complete with the pretty but modest house and late model cars. At home, Mom’s stellar performance as the loyal wife almost made me believe she didn’t sleep with any man who came near her outside the house. Dad seemed to work all the time but the only things he worked at that late were his girlfriends. My parents were so busy living in the moment that they weren’t even doing financial planning for their future — or mine.
    Or course, I wasn’t supposed to know about any of that. But I did. Worse, I’d fused into their world, succumbing to their apathy and pretending everything was perfect. I did my homework and chores, got good grades. But I wanted more for myself than this sterile existence.
    I wanted something real in my life, something I could depend on. I wanted love.
    Soft blond