by Ella Goode
She makes a face.
“You don’t like mangoes?” I’m surprised. What person doesn’t love mangoes?
“Never had them.” She shrugs. “Sounds like a rich person’s food.”
I start to protest and then stop because I have no idea how much a mango costs. Maybe she’s right and it is a rich person’s food. I’ve never gone to a grocery store. I tell Gertie what I want to eat whether it’s tacos and beer or Wagyu steaks and asparagus or, in this case, mango smoothies.
I nudge the glass closer to the waif. “Try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“I didn’t put drugs in it,” I say irritably. Fuck me. I try to do something decent in my life and she rejects it. Maybe Dad is right and I need to pull out my wallet.
“Fine.” She slaps down the spatula and takes a big gulp of the drink, grimacing slightly when the cold beverage hits her tongue.
“Good, right?” I want her to like it for some reason that I don’t understand.
She eyes the glass and sets it far away from her before returning to the pan.
“What? You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what?”
“The mango tasted good.” She acts like it was poisonous and for the life of me, I don’t understand it.
“Is that code for something because this shit isn’t making any sense. If you like it, keep drinking it. There’s more where that came from.”
“Not for me. It’s not going to be around in my future and I don’t want this to be the highlight of my dumb life.” She flips off the burner angrily and stomps down the hallway to the bathroom. A second later, I hear the door slam shut.
Chapter Eight
Mallory
I stand with my back to the door for a few moments after slamming it until I calm down. It’s then I decide that I officially hate mangoes and smoothies while I’m at it. It’s not the taste that has me disliking them but the fact that those are luxuries that I can’t afford. A life that I could never have. One Carter is trying to get me to want. He might not know it but he is. That realization has me in a foul mood. I proceed to the sink and turn the water on. I begin to wash my face rougher than I normally would.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. I had a small panic attack when I woke up alone in Carter's home. I looked everywhere for him but couldn't find him. Then I was scared to open a door thinking I could set off an alarm. I felt alone. I know it’s stupid to feel abandoned by someone you only met yesterday. So I’ve pretty much been in a mood for the last few hours. I feel terrible that I lashed out at him when he returned. I felt relief when Deuce came back and that feeling is one I can’t afford. I cannot rely on anyone but myself. I am more angry at myself than anything. The mango thing sent me overboard. It is such a ridiculous thing to get upset about but I’d been on edge already and that tipped me over. I have to remind him and myself that I am leaving.
I stare at myself in the mirror. “You have to leave,” I whisper to my reflection. I think of my mother as I stare at myself. We look a lot alike but life has taken a toll on her and you can see it in the lines on her face. I don’t think her chain-smoking helps much either. I can’t be like her. Making bad decisions and depending on men is not something I want. She always has to have a man in her life. I told myself that I would steer clear of them because with them always comes trouble. That’s what my mother’s relationships have taught me. She’s the reason I’ve never pursued a relationship of my own. I’ve never had the desire to.
I take a calming breath and open the bathroom door. My eyes meet Carter’s, who’s standing there waiting for me. “You don’t have to leave.” He heard me talking to myself.
“That’s where you're wrong.” I walk past him, letting my body drift across his even though I know I shouldn't. One last touch before I have to leave. I don’t have to look to know he’s following me down the hallway back into the living room area. I fold up the blanket he gave me last night before stacking the pillows on top. I peek over my shoulder to see him watching me. I can’t read his expression but I know he wants to say something. I’m just not sure if he even knows what it is. He seems like he’s having a tough time getting it out.
“Spit it out, Deuce,” I say. I’m sure he has some rude comments on the tip of his tongue. I brace myself for whatever it is. I’m never sure which way he’s going to go with his remarks.
“Carter,” he corrects. I turn my head so he can’t see my smile as I go through my bag to make sure I have everything. Crap. I still have his shirt on. A small part of me wants to keep it. Maybe he won’t notice if I leave with it on. Almost like I’ve forgotten. I could take a little piece of him with me. Maybe I should leave it, so that I’m not reminded of a life that I could have had if things were different.
“Sorry. I keep forgetting,” I lie. I guess I enjoy dishing out the rude comments as much as he does. Mine are always followed by me feeling guilty though. I know I am being a jerk. Carter, on the other hand, is a dick one minute and helping me the next, so I’m not sure what his true colors are. The only thing I know is that he’s helped me out more than any other person in my life and I’m grateful for that.
He laughs. I freeze, shocked by the sound. I stand, slowly turning to look at him. He’s got his head tipped back laughing. Damn him for looking even more handsome while he does it. The sound rolls over my skin and I wonder what it would feel like to be pressed up against him. I smile, knowing that I caused him to laugh.
“Of course you don’t remember my name.” He laughs harder, his words filled with irony that I’m not getting. His laughter is contagious and I let out a little of my own.
“I really am sorry.” I drop my bag back down onto the floor. “I’ve been a jerk and I really do appreciate the place to crash for the night and the food. It means more than you know.”
His face softens for a moment before he drops his gaze to the floor, looking at my bag. I follow it and see my cell phone and Ricky’s wallet have spilled out. I reach down to shove everything back into my bag but Carter beats me to it, grabbing the wallet. My eyes immediately go round when he lifts it up to inspect it. I snatch it from his hand before he can open it. His eyes meet mine in an instant. The smile he was wearing seconds ago has faded and a look that I can’t place now sits on his face.
“Whose wallet is that?” he says in a strangled voice.
“Since it’s in my bag, I believe that makes it mine,” I quickly reply. If I stole it from anyone else but Ricky the guilt would have already eaten me alive, but he deserved it. I don’t want to lie to Carter but I also don’t want him to think poorly of me. I’m not sure why I care but I do. He continues to stare at me as if he’s waiting for a different answer than the one I’ve already given him. A minute ticks by and neither of us says a word; we stand staring at one another. My breath catches as he closes the space between us. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. I refuse to not meet his eyes. I just don’t expect him to do what he does next.
Chapter Nine
Carter
I rip her shirt. Well, I guess my shirt. It’s violent and dumb but I need her to not run off. I know this will not only get her attention but she can’t make a break for it. It’s only a swift jerk with my strength and speed before it’s hanging in two pieces around her shoulders.
“What the hell, Deuce?” she screams, clutching the torn sides together. The man’s wallet dangles from her fingers. I pluck that from her grip and stuff it into the pocket of my sweatpants. Then I reach down and swipe her bag off the floor.
Ignoring her cries, I hustle down to my bedroom, toss her stuff inside, and then slam the door shut.
She stares at me, plump lips parted, shock evident in every feature.
While she stands there stunned, I retrieve the wallet. There’s a shit ton of twenties, a condom that looks a hundred years old, three credit cards and an ID showing someone old enough to be th
e waif’s dad. “This your old man?” I ask, holding the license up.
She starts to shake her head no and then changes it up mid-motion. “Yes. That’s my dad.”
She’s so obviously lying. “When’s his birthday?”
“March…” She rubs her lips together, trying to gauge her answer by my response. I stare stonily back at her.
“This man hurt you?” At first I thought it was her boyfriend and a red haze swept through me. Did she spend the night crying in her pillow because of him? Because he broke her heart? Then I remembered her fear. Even if this was her ex, it was an ex she was afraid of, an ex she ran away from, an ex she’s hiding from, so I beat back the anger and jealousy and strive for a calm and comforting tone. If it comes out odd, it’s because I have zero experience in this.
“I don’t care if you killed him or stole his wallet or crashed his car or all three of those things in some varied combination. Just be…” I fold my fingers around the license and search for the right word. Is it direct? No. I want her to confide in me. I want her to trust me and I know she doesn’t and that knowledge pisses me off even as I understand that I don’t have the right to her trust. We’re strangers. She climbed into my car last night and I basically kidnapped her. Can I really ask anything of her? Am I better than the guy she ran away from when I’m preventing her from leaving? But letting her go isn’t an option either. For some reason, ever since I found her in my car, I have this compelling need to own her, to keep her.
“I stole his wallet,” she blurts out.
I jerk my head up at this confession. “Yeah?” A flicker of pleasure kindles in my gut that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with all those other sickly emotional places that I’ve tried to snuff out.
She nods. “He was, or is, my mother’s boyfriend. I don’t know for sure. She’s had so many of them in my life.”
“Sounds familiar.” I know all about deadbeat moms although none of her boyfriends have ever tried anything with me. “What happened?”
“He was being...weird.” Her eyes drop away from mine. Is that shame I see there? Nah. I’m not having any of that. I look at the license again, note the address and start for the door.
“Where are you going?” she yelps.
“To bury this guy.”
“No.” She leaps for my arm and tries to haul me away from the door.
“Why not?”
“Because then he knows where I am. I don’t want him to know. I just want to get away. Please,” she tacks on when she sees her reasoning isn’t breaking through.
I heave a frustrated sigh. “I can’t let it go.”
“Why not? You don’t even know me. Why do you care if some jerk exists out there? Are you going to wipe all of them out?”
“Only the ones that hurt you.”
She grows still at this. Her eyes narrow and she searches my face to see what I’m angling for. She’s never had anyone in her life do anything for her and my desire to protect her is confusing. Trust isn’t something I can build overnight. I realize that. The reason the team has summer training camp is so that new players adjust to the old ones and vice versa. We have practice for hours every day, we train together, we eat together, we are supposed to goof off together and all of that is designed to get us to trust each other, because if we can’t rely on the other person to run their route or make that block then we can’t function as a team. Right now, the waif doesn’t trust me with even her name. What I need is time.
“All right. No beating anyone up today.”
She visibly wilts in relief, her hand sliding off my arm. I miss the warmth, but grabbing her fingers and placing them back on my biceps isn’t going to win any prizes—not after I ripped her shirt. It’s hanging open again. I reach behind me and pull off my tank. “Here,” I say, thrusting it in her direction. “Your tits are showing.”
“Oh my God,” she wails in embarrassment. She grabs the tank and stomps off to the opposite side of the room, muttering under her breath what an asshole I am.
“That shirt looked horrible on you,” I lie. I enjoyed seeing her in my shirt. It was stupid to have ripped it but I can replace it. I wasn’t thinking straight.
She flips me off.
“Go into my room and pick out some clothes. We need to go shopping today.”
“For what?” she says, refusing to turn around.
“Clothes for school.”
This gets her attention. “What are you talking about?” she scowls over her shoulder.
“You’re three months from graduation. If you aren’t going back to your old school, you need to get into another one.”
“I can’t just show up at a new school and say howdy. There’s registration and shit.” She waves an irritated hand in my direction.
“Watch and learn.” I grab my phone and call up Brad. He’s FU High’s resident hacker. There isn’t any information about the school and how it works that he doesn’t know.
“Hey, Brad, need a favor.”
“Oh, Carter, my man. How is it going? I heard your pool is heated and you use it even in the winter. Would be rad to have a party there this weekend.”
I grimace. The price for this favor is going to be too fucking high. I nearly hang up when a flash of blue catches my eye. The waif has flopped down on the sofa. My tank hangs around her smaller frame. She drops her head into her heads and while she’s not crying, I imagine she feels close to it.
“I can safely say that I’ve never wanted to host a pool party more,” I tell Brad.
“I am so happy to hear that. Now, what do you need?”
The payment made, Brad is more than willing to do as I ask. Records will be transferred along with a new student profile created. As of Monday, the waif will be a student at FU High. I just need her name.
Chapter Ten
Mallory
“I don’t think you can park here,” I say as Carter puts his fancy car into park in front of the mall.
“I’ll park anywhere I want.” I roll my eyes as he slides out of the car. Why do I find his confidence and arrogance attractive? There is something wrong with me. My door opens a second later and I see a man in a valet vest. Malls have valets? That’s new. At least to me that’s new. “Leave the car there,” Carter tells the guy as he slips him some money. “Don’t open my car door.” He issues more commands to the poor valet guy as I step out. The valet looks down at his hand, seeing the money, and doesn’t look put out by Carter’s rudeness. I’m not sure the man had much of a choice. It wasn’t taking much for me to see that Carter—or maybe it’s his family—has power. I’m guessing that comes from the money. It usually does go hand in hand.
I wonder if he issued the order about my door because he doesn't want someone touching his car or opening a door for me. I’m going to go with someone touching his car. He’s rather protective of the thing. It’s nice and pretty, I’ll give him that, but it’s still only a car. Carter walks around to my side and opens the door further for me. I step out and he closes the door behind me.
“Keep your eyes to yourself while you’re at it,” Carter growls as I begin walking. I turn around to say something sarcastic but when I do, I realize he’s not talking to me. He’s looking straight at the valet.
“Are you coming?” I put my hand on my hip and sigh in frustration. Carter’s mouth goes tight as he gives the valet one last look and begins to walk toward me. Actually doing what I tell him for once too. “About time. I thought you were going to stand there all day giving that poor guy detailed instructions on what you do and don’t want him to do with your precious car. Why do you even take it anywhere? You should keep it locked up in the garage so nothing will ever happen to it.” I say the words half joking but inside I almost wish Carter would do those exact things to me. Maybe not lock me up but keep me safe so that nothing will ever happen to me. So I don’t have to worry.
“You know I’m an asshole” is his response.
“Yeah. I’m getting that.”
His hand goes to my back as he uses the other to open the door to go inside the mall. “So why keep giving me shit about it?” His mouth turns up in a half smirk.
“I think you might need someone in your life to give you shit,” I counter. That smirk turns into a full smile. He shakes his head as he ushers me inside the mall. I don’t know what it is about our banter but it puts me at ease. I’m like a child pushing my boundaries with him but he keeps on letting me slide. I think he enjoys it as much as I do because he keeps on egging me on. Maybe I’m the first one to actually call him on his shit. I mean is that even possible? That people just allow him to do and say as he pleases? It sure looks that way.
We continue to walk through the mall side by side. We’re silent as we walk but he keeps his hand on the center of my back. Of course Carter had to take us to the high end mall on the rich side of town instead of the regular one. I don’t even recognize the names of half of the stores we pass. All I know is they look extra fancy. I begin to feel a little self-conscious about what I’m wearing. I push those thoughts aside and remember why we’re here in the first place. I am starting a new school. I’m not sure how but it’s happening. I have no doubt about that. I’m pretty sure it’s the same school parking lot where I first climbed into Carter’s car for my little nap. The place is super fancy. A word I find myself using a lot since I’ve met Carter.
“Here.” He points toward a store. I see a few people our age turn to look at us as we make our way to it. They stare at us dumbfounded and I wonder if they know Carter. He shoots them a look and they take off. Well, I guess he’s not Mr. Popular. I can’t blame them. His attitude is terrible about ninety-five percent of the time.
“Did you know those people?” I ask because I’m curious to see why they were in such a hurry. Hoping it wasn’t me that made them take off. They were all well dressed and looked like people Carter would be friends with. Did they take one look at me and already decide they don’t want to associate with me? I’m sure my regular department store clothes were the first clue that I don’t belong in their circle.
