by Nikki Prince
Swagger
Nikki Prince
The right of Nikki Prince to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permissions of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover Design by
Rue Volley
Dedication
First and foremost, I want to thank Rue Volley for asking me to do this project and providing the lovely cover.
Secondly, I want to thank my wonderful publisher for always believing in the stories I write, no matter how big or small.
Leanore Elliott, I want to thank you for editing this for me and making it the best it can be.
Thank you to my beta readers, Tiffany, Susan and Beverly, without you girls, I’d lose my sanity in thinking this story shouldn’t see the light of day.
To Tempe and Shyla, you two are a blessing, thank you.
To my readers, this is something different, from my heart and one that I hope you will embrace.
To my kids Tamar and Grayson, Mommy loves you. Thank you for putting up with my need to write and being the best kids an author mom could have.
Places to find me:
Website: www.AuthorNikkiPrince.com
Twitter: @AuthorNPrince
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NikkiPrinceAuthor
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/ebondreamz/
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/nikkiprince-amazon
*Nightmare*
Definitions
Urban Dictionary’s definition of Swagger: A demeanor of confidence, coolness, and togetherness. Someone with Swagger gives of an aura of comfortability with his/her self. Swagger is commonly referred to as Swag or Swagga. Swagger is not to be confused with cockiness. Cockiness is someone thinking they are the shit, but if you have swagger you probably are the shit.
Medical definition of PTSD: Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event.
Chapter 1
Roxie
I remember the last time I laid eyes on Cruz Montoya. I’d been sitting in the back of the bus for school. My usual spot, as I always wanted to see him step on to the bus and walk towards me with that crazy wicked smile of his. He had those intense green eyes that always seemed to look right into me, almost like they were all shrewd and shit. He got on the bus and started his usual stride with that delicious smile. Then, there was the sound of a collective gasp and I saw him turning away from me.
I peered around the other kid’s heads to see what was going on as well. Just in time to see him being escorted off the bus by the police to never be seen again. All of this happened, but not before our eyes met. His eyes seemed to hold regret and I’m sure mine gave the impression of horror and confusion. I jumped up, only to be told by the bus driver to get back into my seat. I of course, complied; I wasn’t the type to intentionally rebel. Oh, how times have changed since then—but I digress.
I recall the laughter and the jeering that accompanied him being taken away and it still rubs me the wrong way. People who I thought were his friends who were saying things like, ‘they’d seen this coming and it was about time.’ Really? I’d heard the rumors about him and his brother being bad seeds. I just thought for the most part, it hadn’t been true. It reminded me how evil, vindictive and backstabbing people could be. These very people knew Cruz for just as long as I had, if not longer and they already judged and juried him.
The sound of the bell on the motel desk brought me back to the present and the reason for my daydreaming, stood a little ways off from the desk. I would know him anywhere. Sure, his hair was longer, but it still looked dark and wavy with the length to his shoulders now. He also sported a sweet soul patch under his bottom lip and damn—if he still didn’t have the most kissable looking full lips. It suited him well. It’s his eyes though, one of the very things which captured me so long ago. They always stood out and made me know instantly who he was.
How can it be that Cruz still sets my heart to beating so fast with just a look? I seriously feel butterflies in my stomach. It makes me wonder if this is the look for most guys who ended up in Juvie or what one would call juvenile hall and then did the rest of their time in an adult prison. Well, I couldn’t actually confirm the fact of him doing adult prison time, it’s just what I heard. I always tried to keep tabs on him but since I wasn’t family, I never found out much.
Of course, in this town, there’d been whispers that Cruz was back, but for me—I hadn’t even wanted to believe it until I saw him for myself. God, what was he about 6’3 now? I closed my eyes briefly and heard a clearing of a throat as a customer walked up to the counter to secure a room. I couldn’t stop staring over to where I’d last seen Cruz. I saw a smirk on his lips and I knew instantly he was aware of my staring at him.
I had to admit that boy still had swagger. He’d always caused double looks and now as a man—damn if he didn’t make my panties wet. I became so wet that my underwear felt soaked. Not to mention how the other female staff, along with guests seemed to be falling all over themselves while staring at him too. I quickly finished giving the woman in front of me a room, and then glanced over to where I saw Cruz before. Yes! He was still there.
I eyed him as he strode forward, while trying to act as if I were busy with some receipts and tried not to notice how good he looks under that black t-shirt and black jeans which fit him sinfully well. Around his neck were some dog tags. I wonder if they were real or of the faux pas variety. Heck, his hair looks long and definitely not military issue, so who knew? The closer he got, the busier I tried to look. God I’m sad.
“Hey Roxie,” Cruz says with that perfect smile on his lips. A panty dropping smile, I might add. He might just be the only one who still calls me by that old nickname.
I have to stay focused. One thing I noticed when he got closer is how his eyes seemed sadder and tired..Not that they were any less gorgeous. I clear my throat. “Cruz, I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Yeah, I’ve been back in town for a few days now.”
He didn’t offer up any more information, so I figured it wasn’t my place to ask, though the questions were burning and at the tip of my tongue. He was back in town from where? What’s with the dog tags? So on and so forth.. What was that military saying? ‘Don’t ask don’t tell?’
“So what brings you to Motel on the Rox?” Yep, my dad had a sense of humor. I just wish with that sense of humor, he’d possessed more staying power. The motel sat up on this gigantic hill. He named me Roxanne and christened the motel with the name Rox. I missed my dad—boy did I miss him. Before I got too nostalgic, I stare at Cruz and wait for him to answer.
He held up the army green duffel bag and grinned.
Duh! A duffel bag in a motel is a serious clue for what he wanted. Damn! I was acting like I wasn’t playing with a full deck.
“I need a place to stay. I remembered this motel and figured it would fit my budget.”
So…He planned to stay at least for a little bit. Why the heck am I so excited about it? Hell, he could have a girlfriend for all I know. “Well, we have a daily rate and a weekly rate. Which one would you be interested in?” If he answered weekly, I knew he would be staying for a while. If he chose the daily rate, it m
eant he could skip out of town at any moment. I found myself chanting in my mind…weekly, weekly, weekly. I held my breath, waiting to see what his answer would be.
“I need a weekly rate for now.”
Score! Yeah…I am just a little bit keen for him to stay. “A weekly rate it is Cruz. How will you be paying? Will you be using cash or credit card?” Oh God, could he hear the eagerness in my voice?
“Cash and I’d like to have one of the rooms that face the ocean, please.”
Yeah the kind of room most people wanted and I had to chuckle at that. I was hoping I could score him one. I searched the computer to see what I had vacant. “You’re in luck. I have one more room left that does, it’s not the best though and it isn’t facing it totally.”
“That’s okay; I’ll take it if I can possibly switch rooms if another becomes available?”
“Sure, don’t see why not.” It’s something the motel did all the time, so what harm could it do? “Do you have any more bags that you need help taking up?” I am being nosy but damn, I didn’t care. We didn’t even offer that here for the most part, unless you were elderly or someone else who needed help, but I couldn’t resist asking him to see what I could find out.
The look on his face seriously told its own story. He knew exactly what I was doing but he didn’t embarrass me. “No, this is all I have, thanks.” Cruz held up his duffle bag.
I nodded and handed him the key card to his room. “We have a continental breakfast here in the mornings. It’s nothing fancy but you can find something to fuel you if you need. There will be croissants, cereal, donuts, some fruit, coffee and milk.” I didn’t want him to leave and I found myself stalling to keep him around a bit longer.
“Very enticing, sounds good.” He was grinning.
“You’re in room 360.” I felt a tug on my hand, then I realized I was still holding his key card and I chuckle. “Oops, I’m sorry.” His fingers brushed mine as he took the keycard and once again, the butterflies started.
“Don’t be. I’m going to go and get settled in the room. Maybe we can go for some coffee or something later and catch up?”
“Oh, okay.” I smiled at him. I’m sure my grin looked rather silly on me, showing my eagerness. I didn’t care at this point.
“Cool. What time do you get off?”
“I get off at 5 today.” I bit my bottom lip, anxious to see what he says.
“So, I will come down around then and we can head out for some coffee?”
“Or something.” I grinned some more.
He chuckled.
“Meet me at the front desk at 5.”
“Right on, see you then.” Cruz turned away and made his way to the door as the rooms were entered from the outside of the building. He walks out and didn’t look back.
I felt glad about this, as it gave me a chance to watch his ass walk away and to breathe in some much needed air.
Chapter 2
Cruz
Roxanne Waters, the girl who’d gotten away, well the girl I basically made go away—when I got arrested. I told myself I would stay away from her, yet here I was back in her life. I mean I have issues. Deep issues that may possibly never be healed and she didn’t deserve any of it. I can’t shake the feeling though, that she might be the one thing that could get me on the road to being healed. I try to argue with myself about how I should’ve definitely stayed away. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to see her again and I guess that’s a bit selfish of me.
In the last nine years I’ve been away, all I thought about was her. The memory of her along with a few other things is what got me through a lot of the tough times. I mean the last time we saw each other was pretty crappy. I’d been taken off the bus and handcuffed by the police. Not a stellar way to endear oneself to their high school girlfriend.
Wait—I hadn’t even asked her out back then, so she wasn’t even technically my girlfriend. This in itself when I thought about it, made the whole situation with Roxanne even sadder. I hadn’t gotten to the point of asking her out before the whole arrest fiasco. I’d planned on it and yeah well…we all know where that plan fell through. I chuckle as I got to my room and opened the door. The room though older, didn’t smell stale and for that, I felt grateful.
I feel like I should’ve just stayed in the background and not asked her to have some coffee, but I did and she accepted. It’s only to catch up. Yep, I’m arguing and lying to myself. It’s more than that and I know it. I want more with her. A chance to go back in time to see what happened to the pretty girl who’d turned into such a beautiful woman. In the back of my mind, an old tape plays, repeating the saying…You can never go back. I always argue with myself about this belief—if I can’t go backward, why can’t I go forward?
I close the door behind me and toss my keycard on to the dresser, placing the duffle bag on the large king size bed. The room has a small table with a chair, TV stand with a TV. I swear the room is a throwback to the early eighties. With its gaudy shag carpet in a mustard yellow, but it was a roof over my head and would do for now. It must be the time Roxanne’s dad acquired this place and I remember Roxie telling me, how her dad wanted to preserve the ambience. This place would do for my purposes. I don’t need anything fancy.
All I really need is a place to lay my head at night, so I could try to get a decent night sleep. Decent sleep might just be an illusion. I shook my head and unpack my clothes, placing them in the drawers. After all the clothing is put away, I searched in the bag and brought out the sleeping pills I received from the doctor a while back. There were eleven pills, minus one.
It was zolpidem, and I hated how it made me feel. So, I didn’t take it. Seriously, who wanted to go around feeling loopy all the time? My doctor said it was supposed to slow my brain down, so I could get some sleep. Yeah, it helped me get to sleep but then afterward, I would feel as if I were moving in slow motion. The drug itself had a shit load of side effects, but I’d been willing to try anything when they prescribed it.
Constipation, red eyes, muscle aches, cramps, back and neck pain just to name a few. So yeah, no zolpidem for me unless I couldn’t help it. The bottle would stay closed and only broken into in case of an emergency. I had enough problems without feeling extra shitty. I set the pills on the tall dresser, folded the duffle bag and put it in the closet. Just in case I did fall asleep, I set the small clock on the nightstand to get me up at four, so I’d be able to go make good on that coffee with Roxie.
The thing is, I haven’t had a decent sleep since being a kid and even then, I had dozens of nightmares. Oh yes, my nightmares stemmed from the childhood I had. From a mother who basically, checked out on life and was never there once she hit her breaking point. An alcoholic father who was always there and always abusive. My back became a tapestry of scars while my dad had beaten me with a belt—or anything he could find for that matter—causing enough scars and leaving it as his artwork.
Let me change that, mom was there for a bit when I was like six and then my father’s life spun out of control. So, I spent most of my time drinking coffee and energy drinks to stay awake. Healthy? No, not in the least but it was a survival tactic I’ve used since I can remember. I even tried the holistic route and that didn’t help either.
I should feel guilty about asking her to coffee because it wasn’t just to get to know her as much it was to get the caffeine my body craves to keep itself awake. It’d been getting harder and harder to use coffee for that. My body seemed to be building a tolerance to it. I didn’t want to become addicted to the pills the doctor gave me, but I held on to them like a life line—thinking I may need them later. When I did sleep, it would be like the friggin dead. In those instances, it was because I’d not slept for so long that finally when I did…I’d be totally gone. I didn’t want anything disturbing me.
I took a look at the drapes in the room; they were nice and thick and wouldn’t let much light in. Lovely, just what I needed—complete darkness. I turn on the TV with the remote, hoping the sound
will help lull me into a stupor long enough to fall asleep. Perhaps now, that I’m in a more permanent sort of situation, I’ll be able to sleep. I sat down on the bed and tested its firmness it felt good. Curling up and grabbing the pillow, I hope because it’s earlier in the day, I could sleep and the demons would stay at bay.
I laid there for what seemed like forever. I told myself I needed to think good thoughts which inevitably meant they would turn ugly. So of course, my thinking turned inward to the darkness that always simmered to the surface. Whenever this happened, I would think of the fresh faced Roxie. When I was in juvie, she was the one thing that would help to keep my dark thoughts away. Between her, exercise and writing, I stayed preoccupied. One of the psychiatrists I saw while I locked up by the state said the night terrors would eventually stop. Years later, I still had them. Some days were worse than others.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything but sleep. The paint up there seemed to be peeling in places, letting the age of the motel show through. Granted, I think it gives the place a lot of character.
I hadn’t slept for two days so far.
I want to rest, so that I can be presentable in a few hours for her. So, I do the one thing my therapist said should help me rest. I close my eyes and picture Roxie with her beautiful and engaging smile while I chant her name over and over in my head as if I’m counting sheep. Roxie, Roxie, Roxie, Roxie, for the love of all that’s holy—Roxie. I feel my eyes close and I have a feeling that being close to her and saying her name was like a miracle drug.
I think about touching my lips to her lips. I’ve been dreaming about how she’d taste for years. I kissed her for the first time, when we were at study hall and no one was looking—it’d been mind blowing. She’d dropped a piece of paper and we both leaned down to grab it when our eyes met. She made a little strangled sound and closed her eyes. Her lips pursed and I knew right then and there, that I should kiss her. So, I did. The taste of her had haunted me for years now.
