Jumping in my car, I thought about calling Dane, but I decided I was being silly. Instead, I sent him a text message. I didn't have a chance to talk to Daddy yet. But I will.
He replied quickly, and I snuck a look while waiting at a red light. It's okay. I know it needs to be done, but I’m not looking forward to that one anyway. I'm going to go out apartment hunting. Talk to you in a while.
His reply made me smile, and I turned left toward Shawnie's neighborhood. Being on a scholarship and not exactly coming from means, Shawnie's apartment wasn’t in the best part of Atlanta.
Pulling up in front of Shawnie's place, I didn't see her car at all. Not answering her phone was one thing if she were home, but Shawnie was as much a smartphone junkie as I was—she never left without it. Still, I parked my car in her space and went up to her apartment, knocking on the door. "Hello?"
A young woman, about Shawnie's age, opened the door. "May I help you?"
"Hi," I said, a bit confused. I hadn't met the girl before, and I felt a bit taken aback. Then again, Shawnie frequently changed roommates, letting anyone who wasn't doing drugs, and had the money, crash to share the rent. "My name's Abby. I'm a friend of Shawnie's. Is she home right now?"
The thick accent of the girl was something that I'd heard a lot of, and told me that while she was staying in Shawnie's apartment for now, she probably wouldn't be for long. "Naw, Shawnie ain't been back since yesterday. Said she had some lake party or somethin' she was goin' to."
"Oh, okay. I guess I'll try her phone again," I said. "It was just something to do with classes. Thanks."
The girl nodded and closed the door quietly, leaving me standing on the walkway in front, still confused. I pulled out my phone and tried Shawnie again, but hung up when she didn't pick up after the fifth ring. Going back to my car, I thought about what may have happened. "Maybe Shawnie followed my lead and found a cute guy," I said to myself while the air conditioning blasted. "I mean, she's single, cute, and likes men. No reason she can't have a little summer lovin' before heading out west."
Still, it didn't jive with me. Shawnie having a hook-up, I could understand. After all, I'd basically done the same thing. But Shawnie having a hook-up and not sending me a message or replying to what I sent her? That I didn't see happening.
"I should check in with Chris," I said to myself again. "He may be pissed that I ditched his party, but maybe I can find out who was there, and if Shawnie hooked up with someone."
Nodding at my logic, I stopped to send another little text to Dane asking about the apartment search. He replied almost immediately. I've got one more to check out, then I'm going back to the apartment.
His words let me calm my nerves enough to call Chris, who picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"
"Chris? Hi, it's Abby Rawlings. I am so sorry about yesterday."
There was tension in Chris's voice, but I figured he was just still a bit miffed about yesterday. Part of me understood. I mean, Daddy did have business connections that he could have used. If anything, Daddy's construction teams needed at least one or two new trucks on almost a yearly basis, and if he made a good connection with me, he'd have an easy hundred thousand a year in fleet sales ready to go for Lake Automotive, never mind the actual construction itself with Chris's real estate investments. "Abby, it's good to hear from you. I was worried when you didn't show up yesterday. What can I do you for?"
I hated that turn of phrase, but I never let it show as I put my phone into the hands-free dock and started up my car. "Well, first off, I really wanted to apologize about yesterday. I was getting ready to go when Daddy kinda flipped out on me."
Chris's voice sounded relieved, and there was a chuckle in his reply. "Still a daddy's girl, I take it?"
"Forever and ever," I answered with a laugh. "Anyway, Chris, I was calling because of my friend, Shawnie. I saw in your texts that she made it to the party. I hope that wasn't a problem?"
"No, Shawnie was great,” Chris answered. "I had a good time talking with her—she's quite a firecracker. Of course, it would have been nicer to have both of you beautiful ladies here at the same time, but I guess that'll happen another time."
"Maybe," I demurred, still not liking the weird undertone to his voice, "but I got a bit worried about her. She never came home last night, and she's not answering her phone. Do you know anything?"
"Hmmm, let me think," Chris said. "You know, she was hanging out with a few of the people at the party . . . you know, I can't remember their names. Let me check my—"
"What?" I asked, a tinge of panic creeping in.
"I was going to check my digital camera. I took a bunch of photos for the party, and I knew there were a few with your friend in them," Chris said. "But I think I left the camera at the lake house. If I had it, I’d remember who she was hanging out with."
"Chris, I know this is asking a lot, but do you think there's a way we could get that camera and take a look at the photos? Shawnie's not the sort of girl to go on a wild night without telling at least one person. I'd really appreciate it."
Chris hummed, and I thought he was about to say no, when the hum changed. "Okay. I'm a bit busy today, though, Abby. Do you mind if we just meet up at the lake house? I'm out that direction right now, and I can be there in a few minutes. And you could help me search for the camera. I think it’s in the kitchen, but I’m not sure, and I don’t have time to go around looking for it.
"Sure," I said. "That's more than fair."
"Okay. You know, Abby, I can pretty much figure out from your skipping out on the party that you're not really interested in seeing me again, at least not the way we used to be," Chris said. "But I'd like to think that we can at least be friends. We had some good times together."
"Yeah, we did,” I answered, relieved. Maybe Chris had just sounded weird because he still carried a bit of a flame for me and didn't know how to say it. That could make anyone sound a little weird. "Thanks, Chris. I'll see you at the lake house. Can you send me a text with the address? That way I can put it into my GPS."
"Sure, I'll send it right away. It won't be hard to find, though. You shouldn't have a problem. See you in a bit."
Chris hung up, and my phone beeped a minute later as a new text message came in. I pulled over and read the text, copying the information over to my GPS system. A second later, I had my route, and I thought Chris was overestimating things a little bit. While the house wasn't exactly in the backwoods, the development was a decent distance from the other housing developments near the reservoir, and I wondered how long it would take for him to build all the infrastructure needed in order to get a good return on his company's investment. Even if he only put in a two-lane drive, it was nearly a half-mile from the nearest blacktop.
Pulling back out into traffic, it took me about a half-hour to make my way to the house. The last mile or so was over a washboard dirt road, and I was somewhat worried about the suspension in my car as I drove. The Chevy Camaro is meant for city streets, not dirt paths. I slowed down, taking my time and ensuring I'd make it out to Chris's lake house.
Pulling up, I saw that the house was a boxy two-story affair, like it had been prepared by someone to use as a quick vacation getaway on the lake and not as a permanent or long-term sort of domicile. I saw a Jeep parked in front of the house, which I figured was Chris's, although the house did have a garage. "Probably where the old owners kept their boat," I said, looking at the way the driveway sloped all the way down to the lake. "That's where I'd keep it when I wasn't on the water, at least."
I parked next to Chris's Jeep, honked my horn and got out, waving when Chris appeared in the window. There was something about the way he looked, like he'd been surprised at my appearance. His face was a bit flushed, and a light sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. "Hey, Abby!"
"Chris, thank you for meeting me," I said, walking toward the back porch. Chris came out, his face pink with an excited but naughty gleam in his eye. I swear it looked like I'd just walked in on
him reading a porn mag and enjoying himself to it. "Are you okay?"
"A bit of a hangover, and I was looking around when you pulled up," he said, wiping his face before scrubbing his right hand on his shorts, blinking then letting out a big breath. "I didn't realize just how much of a big ol' mess we left yesterday."
Chris offered his hand and we shook hands. Chris moved like he wanted to give me a hug, but stopped about halfway, backing away a bit awkwardly. "Sorry."
"It's all right," I said, half apologetically. Even though he'd been the one to break it off with me, there were obviously lingering feelings. "So did you find the camera?"
"It's not in the kitchen, I can guarantee you that," he said, shrugging. "That was half the reason I was looking in the dining room. Unfortunately for me, there is a lot of junk there. Mind giving me a hand?"
"I guess not," I said, heading inside with him. I saw what he meant immediately, as the clear aftereffects of a good party were littered all around the place. "Sheesh, how many people did you have here yesterday?"
"Only about a dozen or so," Chris replied. "Not as big as some of the parties I threw back in my college days, but I'll admit I was pretty well buzzed by the end of the night. That's probably why I can't remember where I put my damn camera. Heck, part of me is a bit worried about what you'll find once we do find it."
"Sure it's not in the lake?" I teased, and Chris laughed.
"No, nobody brought any swimming gear, despite what I'd told you,” Chris replied.
“Well, I'm just worried about my friend,” I said, sighing. “I hope she's okay. There's just something that doesn't feel right.”
Chris nodded and reached up, rubbing his temples. “I understand. I’m sure she’s fine though. Hey, you mind if I grab a drink?”
“I thought you were busy?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Chris waved me off with a relaxed laugh. “I am. I didn’t mean alcohol. I just meant some fruit juice. There's still some orange juice in the fridge from last night. Would you like some?”
“Sure,” I replied, trying to be polite. Besides, the day was warm, and I hadn't really had anything to eat or drink except for a mouthful of water when I'd quickly brushed my teeth. I could use it, and my grumbling stomach could use the calories. “If you have a big glass, that would be great.”
“I'm sure I do,” Chris said, heading into the kitchen area. He rooted around in the fridge for a moment, then came out with a glass pitcher of juice. “Here we are. I had to double-check that this wasn't one of the ones that are spiked.”
Chris poured a large glass of orange juice, emptying the pitcher. “Oh. Well, there's some other stuff in there, and I think the carton of milk is calling my name right now. Here, go ahead.”
I brought the glass to my lips, taking a deep drink. Chris watched me, smiling. His grin creeped me out, and I set the glass down. “What?”
“Nothing,” Chris said, turning back to the fridge. He opened it up and took out a half-gallon jug of milk, breaking the seal. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 14
Dane
It was the best weekend I'd had in over five years, I thought as I lounged back on the couch. After getting home on Saturday night, I'd used the Internet to look at a few apartment listings online, and I was interested enough in two of them that I made plans to go see them on Sunday. The second complex was by appointment only, and while not great, it was pretty close to the Georgia Tech campus, had reasonable rent, included utilities and even a shared Wi-Fi connection that I could use. I booked an appointment to see one of their open units for Sunday afternoon, then went to bed.
Waking up, I enjoyed my morning workout and a shower before eating a light breakfast. As I ate, I pondered how best to talk with Chris about Abby. It shouldn’t too much of a problem. After all, they’d been split for a while now, but still, there would probably be some weirdness that I wanted to minimize. Even if I was going to move out, Chris really helped me, and I didn’t want to do him wrong. And frankly, bringing your friend's ex-girlfriend back to his place while you’re crashing with him is just too weird—even for me.
When Abby first messaged me, I was a bit disappointed, but I understood. In the little bit of checking around I'd been able to do, Patrick Rawlings had struck me as the sort of guy who had gotten his success via a lot of hard work and a deep-seated stubborn streak that you didn't want to mess with. If even his own daughter had to sit back and think about the best way to approach him about our relationship, then I had to respect her point of view.
Besides, Abby constantly impressed me. Of course she was beautiful, as even the memory of us having sex on the side of the river, with the hum of the insects in the background, had caused my cock to stir lazily in my shorts. There was no need to do anything about it, though, as I knew that soon enough, Abby and I would be together again.
After lunch, I went over to the apartment and met the landlord. She was an Asian woman named Lynn, and when she looked over my application, she was reservedly impressed. “Well, Mr. Bell, it looks like you at least have a job,” she said. “We get some folks in here who can't even claim that.”
“Can I ask you, what percentage of your clients are students?” I asked, thinking that was what Lynn was talking about. “My girlfriend is going to do her Master's at Tech, and I was kind of hoping she might be able to crash here every once in a while.”
“Not a lot of Tech students around here, but there are still quite a few students,” Lynn answered with a shrug. “When I said no job, I meant nothing at all. The only way I take those folks is with two months’ deposit up front in cash or money order. Then when their section eight comes in, I get our money. Still, sometimes it's not worth the hassle.”
“And you don't have a problem with my background?” I asked incredulously. “No offense, just a lot of people have.”
“Hey, you gotta stay somewhere,” Lynn said. “I'll be honest with you, Mr. Bell. I'm not going to say you're going to make the wall of fame for this place. But I deal with some bad folks every week. If you pay your rent, don't destroy the place, and generally don't raise hell, I'll be happy. Then again, people like that rarely end up staying around here. They move on up and out.”
We shook hands and I returned back to the apartment, stopping at a bookstore and picking up an interesting book. It was just a book on architecture, but it looked intriguing to me, and despite the rather hefty price tag of forty bucks, I didn't mind paying. I got home and decided that the best thing to do on such a relaxing day was just lounging on the couch. I sent Abby another text message and plopped down with my new book, intrigued almost immediately as I read about some of the great designers of the late twentieth century.
I was just reading about the background of Zaha Hadid when the door to the apartment opened and Chris came in. He was out of breath and sweating, but he looked happy, excited. In fact, I hadn't seen him this happy in a long time. “Hey, Dane! Great fuckin' day, ain't it?”
I realized what had gone on—Chris was drunk. I figured after the party he'd had Saturday, and with him not even coming home the night before, that he'd had enough. Apparently not, though, much to my disappointment. “Hey, Chris. Yeah, great day. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, this and that,” Chris said with a laugh. He came in and took the chair opposite of the sofa, kicking his muddy shoes up onto the coffee table. “I see you got a new book. Good story?”
“Kinda,” I said with a shrug. “It's a book on famous architects. So there isn't exactly a lot of plot to the thing. Still, the story about some of them, it is kinda interesting to see where they drew their ideas from, stuff like that.”
“Sounds boring as shit,” Chris dismissed with a laugh. “Tell you what, let me tell you a story instead. I promise—you're going to love it.”
I knew that in this condition, Chris wasn't someone I wanted to fool with. Even drunk, I'd seen him fight three men and kick their asses like it was nothing, walking away without a scratch. While I could
probably take him, I didn’t want to hurt the one man that had given me a lifeline. Better to humor him, let him get it out of his system. Then I could look at maybe deflecting his attention somewhere else. Besides, getting into fights with my roommate was not the sort of person I wanted to be anymore. I set my book aside and sat up, paying attention. “Sure, go ahead, man.”
“Well, it's about these two boys, so it's kind of a buddy-buddy story,” Chris began, leaning back in the chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. “These two boys, oh, let's call them Tris and Boyd, they grew up together and raised a lot of hell together back in the day. Now, both Tris and Boyd were from well-to-do families, but deep down inside, both of them were disgusted by the boring nature of their lives. They tried the normal stuff that boys do, sports and games and toys and whatever, but life was just bleh and in tones of gray to them. It was only in each other that they were able to find some real fun.”
I had a growing sense of disquiet as I listened to Chris talk. He was obviously talking about him and Lloyd, telling me about them growing up. There was something else he was trying to say, but I couldn't tell what yet. I decided it was best to listen carefully. “Go on.”
“Well, starting in high school, Boyd and Tris found something that could at least partially relieve some of the tedious boredom that was their lives. That was sex. Now, before you start thinking anything, it wasn't with each other—they weren't into that. On the other hand, both of them absolutely had high interest in women. They developed this sort of game of one-upmanship, seeing who could score the greatest accomplishment. Oh, the two boys, they ran through the normal gamut. Boyd was the first to get a girl to give him a blowjob, Tris was the first to do some ass fucking, Boyd had the first threesome, stuff like that. By the time they were juniors in high school, they had reached a sense of boredom again. So, one day Tris said to Boyd, we need to up the game. Now, Boyd was an adventurous spirit, so he was more than willing. They started betting each other, seeing what the other one could pull off. At first, the bets were for real money, a hundred bucks or so, but soon enough, that same hundred-dollar bill had been passed back and forth so often that it became a symbol, a trophy more than an actual bet amount. The first challenge that Tris gave Boyd was to see who could screw their math teacher—a soon-to-be married young woman of twenty-four who'd just started teaching the year before and gave just about every boy in her class a nice set of blue balls along with his homework. Tris was able to bag that one, along with video proof, of course.”
Relentless: A Bad Boy Romance (Bertoli Crime Family #1) Page 35
