Illegal Fortunes

by Sabrina Stark

  Way too soon, we were pulling into the alley that led to my apartment. Silently, he shifted the vehicle into park.

  He turned to face me. "Your arrest?" he said. "It didn't happen."

  I did a double-take. "What do you mean? They dropped the charges?"

  "Something like that."

  "How'd that happen?"

  He shrugged. "Someone owed me a favor."

  "Who?"

  "No one you know."

  "But you know them?" I said.

  "I do now."

  "Meaning," I said, "you threatened someone."

  "Did I say that?"

  "Did you?" I persisted.

  "You really want to know?"

  I gave a hesitant nod.

  He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "Too bad."

  "Hey!" I said, "I really wanna know."

  "Yeah? Frustrating, isn't it?"

  I gave him a pointed look. "Goading me isn't going to help."

  "Eh, worth a try."

  "Oh forget it," I muttered. I leaned back and closed my eyes. And then, the full force of his news hit home. My eyes flew open, and I turned toward him. "Hey, does this mean we can go back to telling fortunes?"

  "No."

  My shoulders slumped. "Crap."

  "Although," he said, "if you want me to work on that–"

  "No," I said. "Definitely not."

  He grinned. "You sure? You seem on the fence."

  This was vintage Bishop. Here, the guy had done me a favor, and I still wanted to throttle him. But a favor was a favor, and I refused to be an ingrate, even if I did have serious doubts about his methods.

  "Well, anyway," I said. "Uh, thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "So, um, I guess if there's anything I can ever do for you …"

  He grinned. "Funny you should mention that."

  Chapter 11

  From the passenger's seat, I stared over at him. "So that's what this is about? You need a favor?"

  "That depends," he said. "Are you volunteering?"

  "For what?"

  "I need a girlfriend."

  "Huh?"

  "For one night," he said.

  My gaze narrowed. "What exactly are you proposing?"

  Slowly, his face lost any trace of emotion.

  Oh crap. Proposing? I looked down. Of all the words in the dictionary, why had I picked that one? And why had I picked it now, when we were sitting in practically the same exact spot?

  Then again, maybe he hadn't made the connection.

  Slowly, I looked up, meeting his gaze. He was still looking at me, his face devoid of expression.

  "Sorry," I mumbled.

  His voice was quiet. "Lawton's getting married."

  "Yeah. I heard." I smiled through the awkwardness. "I saw it on the internet. Oh my God, that proposal–" I clamped my lips shut. Maybe my brain was frozen. "So, um," I continued in a rush, "are you guys still close? I mean, did you get a wedding invitation?"

  "You could say that." He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I'm the best man."

  "Wow. Really?" I'd followed Lawton's career pretty carefully over the years, and I'd never seen any hint of Bishop, no pictures, no news, no nothing. After a while, I just figured they drifted apart.

  "Yeah," Bishop said. "Which leads me to the favor. There's this Valentine's Day thing. He's bringing his fiancée, and I need a girlfriend." He gave me a look. "A serious girlfriend."

  "How serious?" I said.

  "Psycho jealous serious."

  My gaze narrowed. "And you thought of me? Gee, thanks."

  I'd never been the jealous type, but with Bishop, it was hard not to be. When we'd been together, girls were always chasing after him.

  Foolish or not, I never worried about him cheating, but that didn't mean I'd enjoyed it when other girls called him, followed him, stalked him, or in the case of Sadie Petroski, showed up naked in his back seat.

  I shuddered at the memory.

  Inside his vehicle, he reached over to crank up the heat. "I think you can handle it," he said.

  "You can't get a real girlfriend?" Of course, I knew the answer to that. Even if I didn't know his history, just looking at him, he'd never have any trouble in that department.

  "I don't want a real girlfriend," he said. "What I want is to not be bothered."

  "What kind of thing is it?"

  "Some charity thing he got suckered into hosting."

  "Suckered?"

  "The guy's too damn nice for his own good."

  "Can't you just bring a date?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because a date's not enough. Come to think of it, a fiancée is better. A crazy jealous fiancée."

  Crap. There it was again. The F-word.

  All that aside, it was ironic really. I'd been doing practically the same thing for Russell the night Bishop and I had first met. And look how well that had turned out.

  "Be honest," I told him, only half-joking, "are you trying to make someone jealous?"

  He shrugged. "What if I am?"

  My mouth went dry. Was he serious? And if so, who was the girl? I mean, honestly, I wanted him to be happy, if not with me, then definitely with someone. I squared my shoulders. Well, if she was a nice girl, and they were good together, then I wished them all the best.

  Really. I did.

  I looked over at him. "So are you?" I felt myself swallow. "Trying to make someone jealous, I mean?"

  He smiled. "No."

  Damn it. I recognized that smile. He knew exactly what he was doing. The jerk.

  I cleared my throat, "So, why do you need a fake girlfriend?"

  "Fiancée."

  "Whatever."

  "For protection."

  "Oh get real," I said. "You? Need protection? Don't make me laugh."

  "You won't be laughing when you meet them," he said. "They're fuckin' scary."

  "Who?"

  "Groupies."

  "You have groupies?" Somehow, it wasn't exactly a surprise.

  "No," he said in a tone of forced patience. "Lawton has groupies. But with him getting married, they're circling like sharks, looking for their next victim."

  "You?"

  "Unfortunately."

  "But what am I supposed to do about it?"

  "All you have to do," he said, "is pretend we're a couple. A serious couple."

  "Oh, is that all?" I said.

  His voice was quiet. "Is that so hard?"

  I bit my lip. It shouldn’t be hard. We had been a couple after all. Stalling for time, I asked, "Where's the party?"

  "Detroit."

  I frowned. "Really?"

  "Don't worry." He leaned in close. "I'll keep you safe."

  There he was, close enough to touch. I soaked up the scent of him – soap with a hint of something else. Except now, I knew what that something else was. Gunpowder. His arm brushed my shoulder, and I felt a surge of heat and raw adrenalin. I leaned back into the seat and closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds.

  When I opened them, Bishop had returned to his side of the truck. He was turned sideways, facing me. His dark eyes probed mine, as if searching for something I dared not show.

  Safe, my ass.

  Attraction aside, I knew Bishop way too well. I knew his quirks, and I knew exactly what he was capable of.

  This told me something else. Whatever happened, I couldn't have him mucking around any further in my mom's business. Sometimes, he took things too far. Way too far. It was a complication I couldn't risk.

  "If I do it," I said, "I want something in return."

  "What's that?"

  I gave him a stern look. "This whole thing with the store," I said. "Stay out of it."

  "Meaning?"

  "You know exactly what I mean." I counted off on my fingers. "No threatening people, no beating up people, no scaring people, no dangerous crap, period. My mom's in enough trouble already without you jumping in the middle of it."


  "Don't worry," he said. "I'm done jumping."

  "Good." Without breaking eye contact, I fumbled for the door handle. I pushed. The car door opened, and icy air flowed over the back of my neck. I gave an involuntary shiver.

  "And about the favor?" he said.

  I pulled my gaze from his and glanced over the snow-covered alley. "Alright," I said. "I'll do it."

  Chapter 12

  Clutching my keys, I got out of his vehicle. I shut the truck door and dashed up the alley stairs. When I unlocked the door to my apartment, I heard him drive off.

  I was shaking. And this time, it wasn’t from the weather.

  Inside my apartment, I faltered toward my bedroom, desperate for a look in my full-length mirror. Maybe, just maybe, I looked a lot better than I feared. Holding my breath, I opened the bedroom door and took a good long look.

  I looked like a frozen hobo.

  Cursing, I went to the bathroom, washed my face, threw on some fresh clothes, and made my way into the hall. The sooner I focused on something else, the better.

  I knocked on the door to Crystal’s apartment to tell her what I'd learned from Edgar.

  "Fortune rocks?" Crystal said when I relayed Edgar’s advice. She was perched on her favorite parlor chair, studying an astrological chart. When I craned my head for a peek, she tucked the chart under a pile of books.

  I eyed the pile. "Is that my chart?"

  "What chart?" she asked.

  "It is mine, isn't it?"

  Her apartment was packed with pillows, antiques, and knick-knacks. Our tastes were night and day. Her apartment had colorful throw rugs and Victorian wallpaper in every room. My apartment had bare floors and simple cream-colored walls.

  I found her Victorian décor oppressive. She found my lack of décor boring. My apartment was only half the size, but it was so bare, it seemed spacious in comparison.

  She shoved aside the pile of books. "You were saying something about fortune rocks?"

  "That's what Edgar said. Only it doesn't have to be a rock."

  She frowned. "Gabriel wouldn't like it."

  "So what?" I said. "He doesn't own the store. You do."

  "Just because you don't like him–"

  "It's not that."

  "Then what is it?" she said.

  "He's always giving me a hard time."

  "Because he likes you."

  "No. Because he's a pompous ass. And he barfed on me."

  "Hey, it happens."

  I sighed. "So, it's a 'no' on the fortune rocks?"

  "Definitely." She straightened. "I'm not hiding in the shadows, no matter what the establishment wants."

  I knew exactly where that phrase had come from – Gabriel. "Better to hide in the shadows," I said, "than be out on the street."

  "What street?"

  "Out of business. Whatever."

  "No fortune rocks," she said. "We're better than that."

  "Alright. It's your decision." I turned to go.

  "Oh don't huff off."

  I turned back. "I'm not huffing off. I've got an article due tomorrow. That's all."

  "You and your deadlines." She rolled her eyes. "Like they wouldn't wait a few days."

  "If this were a project for the store," I said, "would you wait a few days?"

  "That's different." She gave a breezy wave of her hand. "Besides, I've been thinking–"

  I groaned.

  "Just listen," she said. "Maybe we should expand, open a little pie shop or something." She squinted at me. "You like to bake, right?"

  "I don't have time to bake," I told her.

  "See, that's what I'm talking about," she said. "If you quit your other job, you'd have lots of time."

  I turned back toward the door. "I've gotta go."

  "See? You are huffing off," she said. "It's just an idea."

  I opened her apartment door. "See ya tomorrow."

  As I shut the door behind me, she called out, "Just think about it, okay?"

  I didn't.

  What I did think about was Bishop. One thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was lying naked in my bed, burrowed under the covers in the middle of the day. My hand drifted down past my stomach, and lower still, reaching between my thighs.

  I closed my eyes. I saw his face.

  I heard a voice.

  "Selena!" my mom called from somewhere out in the hall.

  I buried my face in my pillow and groaned, and not for the reasons I wanted to.

  I heard a knock at my apartment door. "Are you in there?" she hollered.

  "Yeah! What?"

  "How about cupcakes? Those are big sellers, right?"

  I heard another knock, followed by the sounds of a doorknob rattling. Thank God for deadbolts.

  "I'm working!" I yelled.

  "You are not!" she hollered. "You're napping. I can tell."

  "I'm not napping!"

  "Alright, fine!" she said. "Have it your way. I'll look for recipes myself!"

  "You do that!"

  Finally, I heard her footsteps recede, followed by the sound of her apartment door opening and closing.

  With muttered curses, I threw off the covers and stood, naked and shivering in my freezing apartment.

  The building's only thermostat was in Crystal's apartment, a smart move on her part, a bad thing for me. She kept the temperature just above Siberia, a habit picked up in leaner days when every dime counted.

  As for Crystal's impromptu visit, the timing sucked. And it didn't.

  It was for the best, I told myself. I made a vow. No more thinking about Bishop in that way. It was pathetic. And dangerous. And well, just a little bit embarrassing.

  So I threw on some ratty gym clothes and did pushups, sit-ups, and enough jumping jacks to have me sweating buckets in spite of the frosty temperature. It was a poor substitute for what I really wanted, but it did the trick. Sort of.

  I spent the rest of the day holed up in my apartment, banging away at my laptop and wishing I could leave town a whole lot sooner. Like yesterday.

  At midnight, I shut down my computer and took a scalding bath. Before my skin cooled, I wound my hair into a long braid and dug past my silkies and satins in search of my biggest pair of white granny panties, along with the longest, ugliest, nightgown I could find.

  Hey, I needed all the help I could get.

  Burrowing deeper under the covers, I considered that weird favor Bishop had asked of me. Probably, I should've said no. It would never work. I was a terrible liar, and even worse at pretending.

  Even Russell, that dumbass frat guy, learned that the hard way. As a fake girlfriend, I totally sucked – and not in the way he hoped.

  Poor Russell. I almost felt sorry for him, but not because of what happened on our date. It was the thing that happened to him afterwards.

  Chapter 13

  Returning from my disastrous date with Russell, I couldn't stop thinking about the other guy, Bishop, the guy on the motorcycle. He'd been gone less than a minute, and already, I was dying to see him again.

  Would he really stop by? Or was he just being nice? He seemed nice. But was he really?

  He was a lot nicer than Russell, that's for sure. I felt myself frown. From our store's phone, I called Paige. As Russell's sister, she might have a clue what to do. When she didn't answer, I tried her parent's home number. When no one answered there either, I hung up without leaving a message.

  And then, feeling like a giant snitch, I called the police. I gave them some bullshit story about seeing a Camaro driving too erratic for the driver to be sober. After relaying a detailed description of the vehicle, along with a sketchy description of Russell, I hung up.

  I'd probably end up regretting this. But I'd regret it a whole lot more if something bad happened, and I'd done nothing to stop it.

  Wondering what to do next, I limped through the darkened coffee shop and up the staircase. I found my mom in the upstairs warehouse area, digging through a box of incense.

  She spared
me half a glance before returning to the box. "Did you have a nice time?" she asked.

  I looked down at my outfit. My dress was torn and dirty. My purse was gone. My feet were bare, bloodied, and covered in dirt. "Not really," I said.

  She was still rummaging through the box. "Hey, what do you think of lavender?"

  "Lavender what?"

  "Incense."

  "It's okay, I guess."

  "Good, because I ordered a whole bunch of it."

  I felt too grubby to care about incense. The building had a small, ancient bathroom, with an old tile shower. I started trudging in that direction. "I need a shower," I said.

  "Another one?" she said.

  I turned around. "What do you mean?"

  She pulled out a shipping invoice and squinted down at it. "You showered before you left."

  "So?"

  "So, can't you just wash your face or something?"

  "Will you look at me?"

  She studied the invoice. "I already did."

  My jaw clenched. "Then look again."

  She looked up. Her eyebrows furrowed. "Good Lord. What happened to you?"

  "Well," I began, "Russell and I got in this huge fight, and–"

  "Hang on," she said. "I've got to count these. Wanna check them off while we talk?"

  "No," I said. "I want to take a shower."

  She looked down at the invoice and muttered, "Well, there goes the water bill."

  "Fine. If it's such a big of a deal, just take it out of my pay, whatever."

  She glanced up. "But you always get mad when I do that."

  "Yeah. And I'll be mad this time too." I looked down at my feet. "But I can't exactly sleep like this."

  For the millionth time, I wondered why I was staying here in the first place. Officially, it was because I worked here. Unofficially, it was because I hated the thought of my mom staying here alone. Sap that I was, I worried about her.

  Silently, I limped off. Reaching the bathroom, I checked my foot. It was mostly fine, with just a shallow, jagged cut on the bottom of my heel. Just like the blisters, it would be good as new in a couple days. Hopefully.

  When I got out of the shower, I threw on some shorts and a tank top. I flopped onto my little cot and tried to sleep, but it was no use.