Disorderly

by Grace, Hazel

  “Yours bitch,” I reply. “At least your town has a pizza joint. We only have Mick’s.” Paige lives a few towns over, closer to her other job. I wasn’t happy when she told me we weren’t going to be living together, but I was a big girl and sucked it up. The towns here were super tiny, and she was only about ten miles away, so it wasn’t too bad.

  Noah: If we haven’t scared you off yet, you might just become a towner.

  Me: A what?

  Noah: *shakes head* Still a city girl.

  Paige oww’s and ahh’s over the smell of our dinner, as she plops back on the couch. “Fuck plates, we’re eating from the box.”

  I chuckle. “Just like high school.”

  “Just like high school, babe. Paige immediately dives in, as my phone vibrates again in my hand, but I toss it on the couch behind me. “Noah getting a little on the needy side?”

  “Nah. It’s the other one.”

  Paige halts her pizza from entering her mouth and stares at me. “The other one?”

  I look up at the ceiling. “And here we go, Lord.”

  “Who? When? How? And most importantly, how hot?”

  “Wyatt. Few weeks ago. During my flight of escaping Katherine and stupid hot,” I blab quickly so I can get back to my pizza.

  “Why didn’t you say anything? And why—”

  “Eat your pizza, Paige,” I scold.

  “But you can’t just not—”

  “When I’m done eating my pizza, Paige.” My best friend scowls like a child and collapses back on the couch. Paige mumbles to herself while I ignore her, too hungry and mentally exhausted to even peek through her thoughts.

  After three slices and another episode of The Blacklist , Paige is busting at the seams. She hasn’t stopped bouncing her leg off the floor, and I’m about to chuck the heaviest thing at her because her anxiousness is rubbing off on me for no reason.

  Still staring at the TV, I say, “Go for it.”

  Paige straightens from the couch, tucks her legs under her bottom, and the diarrhea of her mouth starts. “How have you been juggling two guys at one time when you can barely do the one? And can I say how disappointed and hurt I am that you never once mentioned the new guy. I know we’re busy, but you could have divulged in your little secret during one of your million cake recipes. Unless there’s a reason why he’s a secret. Is he married? Do you—”

  “Oh my God, Paige,” I exhort. “I don’t even remember your first question.”

  “Noah.”

  “What about him?”

  “Aren’t you dating him or something?”

  “No.”

  She looks at me with a blank expression. “You really have gone crazy, haven’t you?”

  I smirk. “You’re stupid.”

  “You’re stupid if you haven’t let him take full advantage of you in every way possible.”

  I close our pizza box and push it toward the middle of the table. “Hasn’t gotten to the point yet.”

  Paige leans toward me. “You went to a drive-in movie.”

  I raise a brow. “Is that code for something?”

  “Uh…yeah. Fucking. In the car.”

  “Well, color me dumb, I didn’t know that was a rule. You know how I am with Gone with the Wind.”

  Her shoulders sag. “Oblivious as shit.” I’m about to tell her to give me a physical handbook of these rules when my phone starts to go off. “Oohhh….I wonder which one it is.”

  My curiosity wants to know too, but I think I already know who it is. Noah would never call me this late, which leaves the one I’m avoiding. It’s better this way, I need stability.

  “You going to get it?” Paige asks, a sly grin appearing on her sweet, evil face.

  “Doesn’t it look super lame if I’m readily available for a phone call?”

  She props her chin with her palm. “Not if it’s for a midnight—”

  “Lord. Don’t even say it, friend. The word ‘easy’ was never in my description as a human being.”

  Paige rolls her eyes. “It’s called fun. A word you’re not accustomed to as of late.”

  I extend my arm to the room. “I’m having fun now.”

  “It’s a Friday night, and you’re in watching TV and eating junk food,” Paige scoffs.

  I raise a brow. “So, what does that make you?”

  Paige groans. “Ugh, lame as shit.”

  “Are you going to pass that blunt or what?” Levin asks me behind our garage. Leaned up against the siding, I take one more hit before passing it over to him. “Nervous about the race?”

  “Nah man, got a lot on my mind.”

  A girl with stunning eyes and a body that I want to lose myself in.

  I’m getting in way over my head. It’s to the point where I’m sending Flynn out to find a guy in town named Noah and to see what I’m up against. My brain hasn’t caught up with my cock yet because, while my head is telling me to keep my distance, my dick is urging me to make this woman mine.

  It’s like quicksand, the more I try to pull away, the deeper she sinks into me. I don’t have time for this nor should I even have taken this Jerry fuck on as a project. I have enough to keep me busy for days.

  “I’m not offering an emotional talk,” Levin replies. “But you wanna talk about it?” He takes a hit of the weed and passes it back to me.

  “I’m going to go talk to the bank tomorrow,” I tell him, placing the blunt between my lips. “See where we stand with the mortgage.”

  “Alright, I’ll come with you.”

  I nod. “We’ll need to, more than likely, fork up a huge amount of cash to keep it.”

  “I got some money saved.” Levin searches the yard, old, rusty cars are piled next to each other. Pops never did do anything with them, used them for spare parts but hoards them like crazy.

  I hear a window open, then the voice of my favorite little old lady. “I told y’all boys that if you’re gonna smoke that nonsense, to go way back in the lot.” Josie scolds.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Levin says, stepping back to be in her line of view, then points at me. “But it’s his.” I glare at him.

  “Wyatt Oliver, what’d I tell you about teaching your brother bad habits? Both y’all come upstairs and eat your supper before I tell Pops.” She isn’t going to squeal, and we all know it. Josie is the kindest, softest woman I know, and she’d let us get away with anything. Let’s just hope she stays that way because we were about to do some shady ass shit.

  Pushing Levin, I walk over to the backdoor and run up the stairs to Pops and Josie’s loft. The smell of pot roast assaulting the air as I enter the small outdated kitchen. Josie still has checkered red and white curtains hanging along the windows with a matching table cloth. The appliances are off white and back from the 60’s. Pops refuses to buy new ones because ‘the old ones still work’.

  Josie is placing down our place settings, looking up at us as we enter the kitchen. “Wash up before y’all grease heads sit at my table,” she scoffs with a smile. Pops is sitting in his favorite recliner, watching the Atlanta Braves game.

  “My boys home?” he yells, leaning over to peek around his chair.

  “They're here, Pops, go wash up.”

  Lev half ass washes his hands and scurries to the dinner table, piling food on his plate. I can hear Josie slapping his hands and scolding him to save some for everyone else. This was the life we were supposed to have. One with banter and scolds, a home-cooked meal, and people you loved at home who gave a shit.

  Walking behind my brother, I smack the back of his head and take my seat next to him. Lev is already cutting into his roast, shoving it into his mouth just as quickly.

  “Dude, slow your shit,” I quip, scooping up some potatoes. “Josie spends enough time cooking it, enjoy eating it.” Lev peers over at me, rolls his eyes, and places his utensils down.

  “My favorite time of the day,” Pops bellows. “Family dinner time.” I wish it happened more often, but with our scheduled races, picking up more
work and planning our revenge, Lev and I have been pretty MIA on family dinners.

  “I hope the pot roast isn’t dry,” Josie professes, taking her seat.

  “Never is, darling,” Pops chimes.

  “It’s great,” Lev states, back to shoving his face.

  Josie looks at his half-eaten plate and smiles. “Good.” Passing around the plates of food, we load up. “What have you boys been up to?”

  “Working,” Lev deadpans.

  “And racing,” I add.

  Pops points his butter knife at us. “What I tell y’all about that street racin’ stuff.”

  “It’s extra money, Pop,” I say. “We need it.”

  “We don’t need it.” Levin and I don’t miss the look Josie sends Pops. I don’t want to embarrass him, being a Vietnam veteran, he is prideful and hardheaded. He didn’t take shit from anyone, and he taught us to do the same.

  During one of his visits with me in prison, I was being taunted by a group of guys wanting me to be their personal bitch. One of them was cooing for me and making hand gestures about sucking his dick while Pops was there. It was then that a whole new level of respect emerged from me to him. Pops told me to choke the shit out of him until he thought I was going to kill him, then let him pass out. Then find his weakness, whether it be stupid shit like spiders or snakes. Come to find out ‘ole boy had a fear of the dark; he was confided in a closet by his old man for three months when he was six.

  That man was now my right hand.

  Flynn.

  “You used to race cars, Pops,” Lev put in.

  Pops chews on his food. “I was stupid.”

  “Yeah, ya were, you didn’t win any money or place any bets like these boys do,” Josie taunts. That gets both Lev and I rolling.

  “Back then it was about respect,” Pops reputes.

  Josie rolls her eyes while cutting into her food. “It’d be nice if that respect came with money, so we could have sent the boys to college.”

  Levin jeers. “Don’t be worrying about that. I don’t need school to teach me how to draw. Already know how to do that.”

  Josie places a hand on his. “And you do such a great job with those cars, honey.” Levin beams at the compliments before popping more roast in his mouth.

  I could never repay back the debt I owe them for the simplest of things. The laughs, the support, the light chastising, something we never had when Mama died. It was replaced by fear and survival, and I’d always be grateful for Josie and Pops for giving my siblings a new life. Isla and Levin were never bitter about our past, they continued on with the help of Pops and Josie. Something I could never fully compensate, but I was going to try by saving this garage.

  ___

  “Dude, it sounds fucking awesome,” Colt affirms, standing outside the window of my Chevelle. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken her out of the garage, but since our meeting with the bank yesterday, I needed more elements of surprise.

  I’ve shelved the car in the garage because I couldn’t bring myself to take her out. Isla and I were the last people to drive in this car together, two days before she was murdered. We bullshitted all night and raced against two Mustangs and a ‘Vette. She loved the car just as much as I do—the original vintage dash, the black leather seats, the way the car rumbled through your veins.

  Now I needed twenty grand to give the bank to pull it out of foreclosure.

  Scratch that.

  It was thirty-five before Lev took the middle-aged banker in the break room and showed her a good time. You might call it manipulation, I call it business with your dick. If it can sway you to our side, without blood, why the fuck not?

  “Thanks man,” I reply, rubbing the steering wheel with my thumb. I glance over at my competition, a Firebird. “What does he have in it?”

  Colt doesn’t say anything until I look back over at him. “Not sure. He hasn’t lifted his hood since he’s gotten here. But Flynn said he saw him purge, so he has nitrous on it.”

  I nod. “Did he agree to race for the pink slip?”

  “No, the asshole doesn’t want to give up the ride.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. How much did he bet?”

  Colt exhales a breath. “Didn’t do that either.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Then why the fuck is he here?” I turn off my engine. We don’t race for shits and giggles around here, and I don’t throw my cars, or any of the guys cars, on the line for just a race. The possibility of blowing an engine and choking on ten grand isn’t a good day if something breaks on it.

  Opening my car door, I exit. Colt doesn’t speak, he knows me too well by now, he just follows me as I round my car and approach the Firebird. Two of his guys eye me suspiciously, the exhaust off his car is deafening for a moment.

  More of a selling point.

  “Hey!” I call out to the driver. He glances at me and then away again; his two homies, whatever you want to call it, step in my way. I observe both of them, their so-call intimidation. I’m not going to talk myself up but let’s just say prison, murders, and thieves, I’ve lived it and made it out.

  “Yo!” I hail again. “We don’t race for kick here, you either bet or throw your car up, that’s how we do things.”

  “Step off,” one of his guys commands, crossing his bulky arms.

  “Listen fuck head,” I growl. “This isn’t the mob. Get the fuck out of my way.”

  “Fuck off,” he responds.

  I clench my fists at my sides. I’m not going to get into a fight over a race nor am I going to waste my time. Turning on my heel, Colt falls in line with me.

  “Call the race off,” I tell him. “No one races him from Disorderly unless he throws his car up or bets. Any one of these other morons can race him if they want.” I toss the keys to him. “Pull the car off the line.”

  “You got it,” he replies, striding toward my car.

  I motion for Rosco, who comes running up to me. “I don’t want to see that asshole here again. If he wants to blow his car out for fun, he can, but I’m not risking mine.” He nods and scribbles on his notepad.

  A brunette catches my eye in the crowd, and my breath stops. Short, with long dark hair...just like Rora. She is doing some weird motioning with her hands, and that’s how she got my attention. But when she turns around, I’m instantly disappointed. Rora would have no reason to be here, more than likely still pissed that I went MIA again or whatever. Stupid shit girls get pissed over.

  I need a drink, but the night isn’t over, nor are my problems. Pulling out my burner phone that is connected to Tasha, I text her. I need answers, I need information. I need some type of hope that my life isn’t going to always be a fucking shit show.

  “The Firebird said he’ll throw down a bet,” Rosco advises over my shoulder.

  “Too late, car is off the line. Tell him better luck next time.”

  “He threw up ten grand.”

  Fucking rich kids.

  I cover my eyes and bring my hand over my face. “Tell Colt to bring the fucking car back.”

  Paige: Hey lame ass.

  Me: What do you want, jerk face.

  Paige: To come up to my work and grab a drink with me.

  Me: Ehh….

  Paige: Ehhh…yes?

  Me: Tired.

  Paige: Tired of being in the house?

  Me: Dude, you’re annoying.

  Paige: I know but the guys like the attention.

  Be here at ten.

  Fuck it.

  I’m not doing anything else anyways. Even though I am tired as all heck from working, stressing, and dodging Wyatt, and I deserve a drink or two. Making my way into my closet, I swift through my clothes.

  Sweaters.

  More sweaters.

  Sweatshirts.

  More sweatshirts.

  Clothes that have holes. Just doing this and finding something that doesn’t make me look homeless is a struggle at this point, and I’m throwing way too much effort into this.

  Glanci
ng over to my right, Paige has a small little spot in my closet with her clothes. I hesitate at even looking, knowing that what lies on those hangers are going to be clothes you wouldn’t see me walking out of a store with.

  Right, because all you buy are clothes that a fifty-year-old lady with cats wears.

  I bite my lip. Alright, fine. Fuck it, again.

  Reaching over, I swift through her clothes.

  Red dress, negative.

  Skirt, no.

  Longer sleeved dress, perfect.

  Pulling it from the closet, I roll my eyes. The dress is a dark navy with sleeves that are three-quarter length, but the eye roll was meant for the high slit that rose up to your vagina.

  There is no way this dress is legal.

  Out of pure curiosity, and curiosity only, I pull off my shirt and leggings and dawn the dress on. The slit comes up to my upper right thigh, but the dress is perfect everywhere else. No plunging neckline, no sheer fabric to show off my stomach or anything else. I can live with showing off a little leg.

  Glancing back to the closet, my sneakers make a perfect line and scream don’t you dare ruin the dress with us. Back to Paige’s corner of my closet, I know there are shoes that match this dress. And low and behold, beige knee-high boots, that are upside down on the floor, appear. Pulling them out, I pull them on, taking a full ten minutes of lacing them up my calves.

  I walk over to my full-length mirror behind my bedroom door and take a look.

  Well I’ll be damned.

  The epiphany of wearing age-appropriate clothes echoes in my head. And I’m ready to rock the town.

  ___

  The bass of “I like it” by Cardi B ricochets outside the bar and hits me hard when I walk in. Purple rings of light hang overhead, displaying black painted walls and white dots of light that look like stars. The dance floor is packed with couples, mostly rowdy girls grinding on each other to gain attention. I don’t bother looking over the crowd to find Paige, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, so I stride toward the bar.

  A middle-aged man, we’ll call him the Silver Fox, watches me squeeze between the crowded bar top and makes his way over to me after handing off a handful of drinks.