Flip Trick

by Amo Jones

  I nod, but follow with, “I need to get out of here.”

  I try to step away, but end up stumbling on my own heels, right into Kaz’s chest. My head is foggy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the vodka or the fact that I’ve just been battered with a past I’ve worked over a decade to keep buried.

  “I’ll get her home,” he pipes up. Haze and I both shoot him an unforgiving glare, prompting him to raise his palms as a sign of innocence. “That’s all, I promise. The Square is about to be crazy once everyone finds out who’s here. Neither one of y’all should be rolling alone.”

  Haze looks at me. “I can come with you now if you want. Just say the word.” I know she means it, but I also know she doesn’t want to leave. I can’t ruin her night, especially since it took an act of God and a jar of Vaseline to squeeze her into that dress. And just because my love life is pretty much bankrupt that doesn’t mean I should deprive her of a little momentary bliss.

  I kiss her on the cheek and muster a smile. “Have fun, girl. I’m good.” I peer over to Kaz who pretends to not eavesdrop. “I’ll be fine.”

  I follow up by simply touching the bridge of my nose, which Haze mimics. It’s been our unspoken signal since high school house parties, telling the other to stay alert, and if need be, use the pepper spray tucked in each of our purses.

  Honestly, I can’t get out of there fast enough, and I can tell Kaz is surprised by the way I power walk through the crowd to the exit. The crisp night air tastes of sea salt and impending rain, and I suck in as much as my lungs can take, hoping to sober myself.

  “Damn, girl. Not a Riot Blu fan?”

  I shake my head without looking up and pull out my phone to call a Lyft. “You could say that.” I start walking towards a well-lit area towards the street.

  “I’m surprised,” Kaz remarks, following closely beside me, yet making an effort not to come off as intrusive. “Most women love him. ”

  “Don’t believe the hype. This woman definitely doesn’t.”

  Head down and preoccupied with summoning my ride, I lose my footing on the ridiculous heels Haze insisted I wear to complete my ensemble of tight ripped jeans, lacey black bra top, and coordinating lightweight blazer, which sends my cell flying from my fingertips. Kaz plucks it out of the air before it collides with the pavement while also catching my forearm before I do the same. Clearly, he’s some kinda circus freak with octopus arms and can handle his liquor much better than me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. He hands me my phone then pulls out his.

  “What’s your address?”

  “For what?” I snap.

  Noting my tone, he peers down at me, his expression pinched. “For your ride. They need to know where we’re going.”

  “We’re?”

  “I told your roommate that I’d get you home, and I meant it. I’m not leaving your side until I know you’re safe.”

  Too tipsy to argue, and admittedly a little touched by the chivalry, I tell him. In the few minutes it takes for our ride to arrive, I learn that Kaz is an only child, originally from Colorado, and a Pisces. Over the short car ride, I tell him that I have an older brother who serves as a doctor in the military, grew up in Redmond, and am a Virgo. By the time we pull up to my apartment building, I decide that he’s cool. At least cool enough for me to invite him up for coffee.

  I throw on a chill R&B playlist and go to prepare our hot brew while Kaz checks out the cluttered shelves of books and music.

  “Holy shit. You still have CDs?” he calls out, his tone touched with mirth. “Do they even manufacture CD players anymore?”

  I grab our mugs and make my way over to where he’s inspecting my coveted collection. “Hell if I know. I’ve had the same stereo since ’98.”

  “You’re kidding.” His eyes are wide as he takes the offered drink.

  I shake my head. “No bullshit. Sure, I’m a big fan of modern technology and all; I’m not a dinosaur. But there’s nothing like opening that CD jacket, reading the lyrics and discography, and remembering the excitement of hearing the new Jodeci or SWV or 112 for the very first time. Then playing it on repeat until every lyric feels like it was dedicated especially to you. And just like that, you’re thirteen again, transported to your very first dance, and the way your date’s hands felt on your body as you rocked and swayed to a slow jam. You relive those butterflies, those sweaty palms and the exhilaration of falling in love. Music is memories. And these are my photo album.”

  I don’t even realize I’ve let my eyes fluttered closed until I open them and find Kaz staring down at me, the look on his face so thoughtful yet intense.

  “That’s…” he begins, his tone raw. “That’s fucking beautiful.”

  I don’t know if it’s the vodka, or the quick trip down memory lane, or knowing that after tonight, my entire life will forever be altered, but I respond, “I think you’re fucking beautiful too.”

  And as his hand snakes around my waist to pull me closer into his body and his mouth covers mine so his tongue can lick silent questions and taste my responses, I know that it’s a combination of all three.

  track two.

  There’s a fucking car alarm blaring inside my skull, yet it sounds oddly similar to my ringtone. The ringtone that belongs to the phone I can’t find. The phone I can’t find because every time I attempt to move or even peel open my eyelids, a stampede of baby rhinos Cupid Shuffle from temple to temple.

  Fuck. Me.

  What did I do?

  I don’t need to do a body check to know that my pants are missing, which probably means my bra and panties are too. Great. A hangover and a messy hookup with some guy I just met. And where the hell is my phone?

  I dare to open an eye and bite through the ache that rips through my head. Surprisingly, the space beside me on the bed is empty. Hallelujah for small miracles. Drunken one-nighters are bad enough. The awkward morning after thing is damn near unbearable.

  I manage to move my limbs enough to feel around for my phone, which stops ringing, only to resume seconds later as if the caller really, really needs to get in touch with me. Shit! Bari told me he’d hit me up with the Riot Blu interview details today. But more than that, Haze could be stranded somewhere and need me. I shoot out of bed with a renewed fire under my ass, squinting against the throbbing in my sockets, and rummage through the blankets and last night’s strewn clothing.

  “Hello?” I croak into the receiver the second I snatch it from its hiding place under my bra.

  “Rox, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Bari. I couldn’t find my phone. I’ve been searching for it since early this morning,” I lie.

  “Never mind that. Your first meeting got moved up to this morning.”

  “This morning?” I’m instantly sober.

  “Yeah. His camp had a scheduling conflict and needs to get started right away. Jot down this address.”

  I grab a pen and the closest scrap of paper I can find, which funnily enough, is a receipt for condoms. Definitely not mine. “I’m listening.”

  Bari prattles off the address, but before I can even record a single letter or digit, the pen tumbles from my grip. “Wait. Where am I meeting him?”

  “His home.”

  “His home? He’s not staying at a hotel?” I was expecting a quick interview in the restaurant at Loews or the Four Seasons. Some place nice and public, yet tucked away from paparazzi.

  “Nope. He bought a spot weeks ago, and just moved in. How did you not know this?”

  Because I’d rather gnaw off my arm than occupy my thoughts with where Riot Blu lays his head.

  “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  “Well, get your game face on, Lee. They’re expecting you in half an hour.”

  I glance over at the numbers illuminated on my digital clock display and curse.

  “Don’t be late,” Bari commands. “Remember: this story could make or break your entire career.”

  We hang up and I jo
lt into action, sprinting to my closet and damn near tripping over my discarded clothes and shoes. I’m in such a hurry that I almost miss the little scrap of folded paper sitting on my dresser, marked with unfamiliar handwriting.

  Rox,

  Last night was great, and I wish I could have stayed. Early morning grind. I want to see you again, sooner than later. Call me.

  Kaz

  His number is scrawled under his name, but I don’t have time to save it in my phone, let alone call him. My focus is completely singular right now: I’m about to see Riot for the first time in over ten years.

  I once believed that nothing could fracture what we had. He wasn’t just the boy next door, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. There was nothing on this earth that I wouldn’t have done for him, including defy my parents to be with him. And I did…more than he could ever know.

  Still, he left me.

  No goodbye. No note. Not even a phone call.

  It was so easy for him too, as if those precious firsts I had surrendered to him had meant absolutely nothing. And being a young fool in love, I even tried to rationalize his disappearing act. He had left me behind to become a star. So I did what I thought was best for the boy who had left his mark on my soul and his music in my heart. I kept our secret so he could shine.

  That was easier to do when my only access to him was in the form of MTV appearances and radio interviews. But when the loneliness became too much to bear, I soon realized that my Riot was gone. Maybe he was never really mine at all.

  I don’t know how I pull it off, but I manage to shower, dress, slap on some concealer and mascara, and run a brush through my hair in eighteen minutes flat. Normally, I’d call a ride, but by the time it arrived, I’d lose a good five minutes. Then we’d be battling traffic and detours from endless construction. I can hear Bari’s bitchin’ now.

  I set out on foot, weaving through the morning crowd as quickly as my short legs will take me. Halfway to 2nd street, I try to recall if I put on deodorant, since the balmy Seattle summer coupled with my nerves are making for a very swampy situation. This is so not what I need right now, and definitely not how I wanted to present myself on such a huge assignment. Bad enough I’m hungover and my hair probably looks like I was caught in a wind tunnel with all this humidity. And while I’ll only admit it to myself, I’d planned to look damn good the first time I came face to face with Riot Blu. Let him see how I’ve grown up and all that I’ve accomplished without him. Then let him be the one to sweat as he watched me walk away.

  But you know what they say when you make plans. God has a sick sense of humor, it seems.

  The tower on 2nd that houses some of the most luxurious (i.e. expensive) condos in the city looms before me, and I dash to the door with only seconds to spare. The doorman peers at me skeptically.

  “I’m a writer for the Seattle Tea, with an appointment to see Mr. Blu,” I blurt, trying desperately to contain my panting and not sweat all over his shiny, black dress shoes. “He should be expecting me.” I even whip out my press ID to show him I’m legit, despite my disheveled appearance.

  The door attendant offers a polite smile before turning to pick up a phone stationed on a small podium. He confirms my claim in a hushed tone then turns to me and says, “You’re all set.”

  I follow him to the elevator where he punches in a secret code to grant me access to the penthouse. Before the elevator doors close, I extend my palm.

  “Thank you…?”

  “Harold,” he answers, smiling, which makes the ends of his thick mustache curl up at the sides. He takes my outstretched hand for a shake. His grip is oddly gentle for such a formidable man. “Harold Faulkner.”

  “Nice to meet you, Harold,” I manage to get out before the doors slide closed.

  And then there’s nothing but twenty-four floors standing between me and my absolute worst fear.

  By the time the doors open to the foyer, I’m dizzy and I think I may faint. But I take a few deep breaths and force myself to keep it together. I can fall apart later, and definitely plan to, followed by eating enough salted caramel ice cream to slip into sugar shock. But for now, I’m all about my business, and not even Riot Blu will throw me off my game. I refuse to let him take one more thing from me.

  However, any hope I had of maintaining my cool is quickly dashed away when I see a familiar form approach to greet me as I step off the elevator.

  Oh-my-fucking…

  “Kaz?”

  Acknowledgments

  “I have so many people to thank, but I don’t want to drag this on.

  My children who inspire me daily.

  My partner who puts up with my crazy, and my mummy who always has my back.

  My brothers who are my everything, and my sisters who, even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye, I will always be here for.

  My best friend Lyla. I love you. 20 years of friendship and that’s all I’ve got right now.

  My best friend Amiria. Thank you for tolerating me.

  My best friend Isis - I love you! Bitchface for life.

  My readers who continue to support me and have my back!

  My betas! Oh lord, these girls… I cannot thank enough. Caro, Franci & Sarah! Thank you so damn much for everything that you do. You rip my books apart so I can piece them back together, but do it in a respectful way. RESPECT! I love you!

  Bloggers for taking the time out of their busy schedules to read, review and share me.

  My agent, Flavia! Thank you for exceeding all my expectations and loving my books like they’re your own.

  Ellie! For editing my words. Girl, draaaannks on me in Vegas. I just said dranks. Bet you hate me now, if you didn’t already. Tough, I have screenshots of you telling me you love me. Screenshots don’t lie. Seriously, I don’t know where I’d be without you. You spent so much time on my babies and treat them like your own. Thank you!

  My PA Caro! She needs a pay raise. Like a massive one.

  The authors who inspire, support, and encourage one another – my tribe!

  Chantal! You’re stuck with me.

  Anne! You legit had no chance of running from me. Those heels won’t help. But they preettyyy though! #IvyAndHarley

  To Jaci – for keeping me sane most of the time, for our book dates and wine. And coffee. And red velvet cake. And general shit talking. Thank you!

  My Wolf Pack – (howls).

  Jay Aheer – I love you. Thank you for my beautiful covers. For learning my vision and nailing them every single time. Also, sorry for being a diva.

  And lastly, to all the readers who may be about to read me for the first time ever: thank you for giving a girl a shot.”

  Also by Amo Jones

  The Elite Kings Series:

  The Silver Swan

  The Broken Puppet

  Tacet a Mortuis

  Malum (coming soon)

  The Devils’ Own Series:

  One Hundred & Thirty-Six Scars

  Hellraiser

  Razing Grace: Part 1

  Razing Grace: Part 2

  The Devils Match

  Lucky Hundred (coming Feb ’19)

  Crowned Duology:

  Crowned by Hate

  Crowned by Fate

  Westbeach series:

  Losing Traction

  F*CKER

  Standalones:

  Flip Trick

  ‘MANIK

  ‘DYAVOL (Paranormal – coming soon)

  More coming soon…

  Website – amojonesbooks.com

  Facebook – http://bit.ly/2GzzSq5

  Wolf Pack (reader group) – http://bit.ly/2DNXohr

  Bookbub – http://bit.ly/2DSH7rB

 

 

 
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