Victoria Fox - Temptation Island

‘We should leave,’ said Lori when they were in his room. ‘Just go.’

Rico put music on. ‘Where?’ He lit a cigarette.

Lori sat cross-legged on his bed. It was a mess, strewn with unwashed clothes, and Rico hauled his T-shirt over his head with one hand and tossed it on to the crumpled mound. She knew he had it worse than she did. Her family was poor, the women were unkind, but at least she knew when she got in at night that she wouldn’t find her father overdosed in a chair, vomit down his front and his tongue bit in half. The first time Rico had found his mom, he’d been only ten.

‘Anywhere,’ she said. ‘Anywhere’s better than here. I’m tired of LA.’

Rico inhaled smoke. ‘You’re tired of your end of it.’ He opened the window and leaned out. A group of boys were fighting in the dusty street and the sound of it washed in, a dry shower of curses and the exploratory flare of violence. ‘We just got the bad deal, didn’t we? Everything you dream about is right here, Lori, just around the corner. You’re on top of it. It’s that close.’

‘Hollywood?’

Rico lifted his shoulders. ‘Something like it. You’re pretty enough. Damn it, you’re beautiful.’ He set his jaw. ‘You can do anything you want.’

‘That’s not what they say.’

‘What do you care what your family thinks?’ Rico’s voice tightened. He knew the Garcias looked down on him. They and their stupid Spanish friends treated him like shit because he was poor, from a bad lot, and his parents had been first-generations. Hadn’t they all started out in the same place? Hadn’t they all crossed a border at some point? Just because the Garcias had been in this city longer they felt able to spit on him, judge him, dismiss him.

‘Move in with me,’ he said bitterly. ‘Forget them.’

‘You know it’s not that easy.’

Rico tossed his smoke out of the window and joined her on the bed. ‘I wish you knew how special you are,’ he said, gathering her into his arms. Perhaps Lori was right—they should pack up and leave, go somewhere no one could find them. But his mother needed him. He wasn’t going to quit on her as his father had.

Lori breathed in her boyfriend’s scent: salt and sweetness, heat and hard work. Was this love? It must be. She didn’t want to lose Rico; he was all she had. And yet, as she felt his hands begin to roam, she was already preparing how to turn him away. Was there something wrong with her? None of the girls she knew had a problem with sex.

‘You drive me crazy,’ murmured Rico. He trailed his fingers down the front of her dress and over her curves. Man, she was hot. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait. It would be her first time and she wanted it to be right, he got that, but this was sending him wild. He was far from inexperienced himself, but recently he’d forgotten what sex felt like.

Lori let herself be kissed and reclined uncomfortably, putting her head back when Rico buried his face in her neck. Every so often she experienced a brief, sharp dart of desire, but it fizzed and died like a match in water. Maybe she was incapable of it—some people were. Other girls talked about getting so turned on by their boyfriends they were prepared to do anything, anywhere, but, as always, the moment Rico’s attentions became too fervent, a sense of claustrophobia overcame her and she had to get away.

‘Rico, don’t …’

He was moving down her body now, his hands on her breasts, attempting to free them as he kissed and bit her skin.

She didn’t want to offend him, knew she kept leading him on only to let him down. What was he doing with her? ‘No, Rico.’

‘Relax,’ he responded, just a muffle, ‘I promise I won’t hurt you.’ She felt his touch trail the inside of her thigh and hook the elastic of her knickers.

Roughly she pushed at him. ‘I told you, I’m not ready.’ She sat up, pulling down the hem of her dress, her face flushed.

Rico bit back his frustration. Instead he put his arms around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have …’ The early evening sun spilled in and drowned his golden chest with light, the pool of ink there blacker, more absolute, because of it. ‘You know I’ll wait however long it takes. I’d never force you. I promise.’

Lori felt guilty. She was being unfair. What was she holding out for? She had to do it eventually—and it might as well be with a man she knew adored her.

‘Do you trust me?’ Rico asked.

‘Of course.’

He nodded. ‘I love you.’

She met his eyes. ‘I love you, too,’ she said, but she didn’t know what the words meant.

Aurora gunned the engine of her cherry-red Ferrari Spider. It purred beneath her as she waited at the lights. The sky was apricot and the air smelled sugary, the sun a melting orb that dipped hot below the horizon.

She and her girlfriends were on their way to Basement, their favourite Hollywood hangout. It was Friday night, which meant all the names that meant anything would be out and ready to party. Kids of famous parents, heiresses and socialites, child stars, models, they’d all be there: wholesome favourites with secret coke addictions, virgin starlets who’d spend the night promising a blow job to their managers, alpha-male young actors with an eye for the boys as well as the girls … Inside the car, a bottle of vodka was being passed round. Joints were being rolled. Lines being cut. They were totally baked and the night hadn’t even begun.

At a red light, Aurora caught sight of a super-hot Latino guy on a bike next to her. He had more than a passing resemblance to Rafael Nadal, who she had a major thing for. A pretty girl was clinging to his waist—she looked like a gypsy, with masses of black hair and long, tanned legs. For a fleeting moment Aurora imagined being in bed with both of them at the same time. Maybe she was a fucking nympho—the thought had occurred to her before.

The lights changed and the boy sped off. In his place, an open-top Jeep packed with surfers on their way back from the beach. They were shirtless, still wet, whooping at the girls to get their attention, their piercings glinting in the fading light. One of them made an obscene gesture at Aurora.

‘You strapped in?’ she asked the others. Farrah Michaels, her best friend and daughter of the head of a mega Hollywood production studio, sniffed and coughed. Her eyes were glassy.

‘Your dad’s gonna freak if you waste the car.’

Aurora revved the engine. Someone beeped. The driver of the Jeep winked. One of the guys stood up, pulled down his shorts and slapped his bare ass. The girls squealed. Jenna Reynolds, in the back, lifted her top and jiggled two enormous breasts in response.

‘Jerk-offs.’ Aurora floored it and the Ferrari roared to life, nought to sixty in a matter of seconds. The other car didn’t stand a chance. In the rear-view mirror Aurora saw the Jeep recede to a pinpoint before vanishing completely.

Jenna was thrown back against the seat. She struggled to get her top down. ‘Ow!’ she complained. ‘Fucking hell.’ Farrah was laughing.

Aurora took another swig from the bottle. She turned on to Sunset at speed. The Ferrari’s tyres squealed.

‘Uh, hello?’ complained Farrah, grappling to retrieve her smoking paraphernalia. ‘Some of us are trying to get high?’

Moments later they pulled up outside Basement. Aurora was striking in a clinging white minidress, killer heels and statement arm jewellery. Her pale blonde crop looked incredible against her bronzed skin. Her blue eyes were lined with kohl. The other girls, though each attractive in her own right, paled in comparison.

The paparazzi were out in force. They clamoured for Aurora the instant she exited the vehicle. ‘Aurora! This way! Look this way, Aurora! Aurora, over here!’