by Alexa Martin
For some reason I haven’t figured out, I can’t seem to stop thinking about Gavin, or more accurately, about the way Gavin kisses . . . and tastes . . . and feels.
But thankfully for me, I’m so busy making sure I don’t end up back home with my parents, I can only think of him when I’m not working . . . like I should be doing at HERS right now.
“Are you heading out?” Brynn calls from behind the bar.
“I was, but I can stay if you need anything.” I offer because I love my job so much and not at all because I’m avoiding my quiet apartment and empty couch.
“No, you don’t need to stay for long. I just need to show you something before you leave.” She tosses the rag she was cleaning the bar with into a bucket and turns toward Paisley, the newest hire at HERS. “You good on your own for a sec?”
“I’ll be fine.” Paisley smiles from behind the clipboard. “See ya tomorrow, Marlee.”
“Later, Paisley.” I wave to her as I follow Brynn to the office.
“Miss Harper, please take a seat.” Brynn points to the chair in front of her desk. “We need to talk.”
Brynn is never serious about anything, and the longer she goes without smiling, the more I freak out. She’s not saying a word and I’m going over every promotion, every email, hell, every drink I’ve made in the last few weeks, trying to figure out what I could’ve done wrong.
“We need to talk about the promotions and advertising you’ve implemented recently.” She’s not even looking at me. My stomach drops to the floor, and my mouth goes dry. We’ve grown close over the last couple of months, but this is her business, and I’d never expect her to sacrifice one for the other. I’m just so screwed if I lose this job.
“Yes.” I’m holding back my tears with a single thread. If she doesn’t tell me the bad news fast, there’s a high probability I’ll be a puddle of tears all over the brand-new rug under her desk.
“I want you to look at these.” She turns her computer screen toward me and my entire body tightens. I look at the bright, number-covered screen in front of me for seconds, but for the life of me, I have no idea what it means. Creative is my thing—or was my thing if I end up getting sacked today. Numbers have always eluded me, and right now I feel like I’m looking at Russian.
“I have no idea what I’m supposed to be seeing.” My voice is thick from unshed tears.
“Those are the numbers from HERS for the last month. The profits, the traffic to our website, number of reviews, everything since you took charge of marketing.” She turns her computer back toward her and focuses on the screen again. “Want to know what I see?”
Not particularly, but if she draws this out much longer, tears on her rug would be the least of her worries.
“I’m thinking you’re going to tell me.” I sit on my hands to prevent them from fidgeting anymore.
“You’re right, I am.” She pauses for what feels like an eternity, and I have to remember that even though she might be firing me, she’s still my friend, and strangling people is generally frowned upon. “All of our numbers, since I gave you free range of marketing, have . . .” Oh my god! What is this? A result show for some singing competition? “Gone up.”
The tough-as-nails boss facade disappears from her face and she jumps out of her seat, clapping her hands and laughing.
I, on the other hand, take a minute to process this news. I’m so relieved I didn’t sink my friend’s business to the ground, all of my bones seem to evaporate and I’m a pile of sludge. Then the news that not only am I not fired, but I’m kicking ass at my job replaces the missing bones with springs and I shoot out of the chair and start jumping along with Brynn.
“Oh my god!” I slap her shoulder when we’re out of breath from bouncing and screaming. “I can’t believe you did that to me! I thought you were going to fire me!”
“Wasn’t I good? Naomi’s been giving me acting classes the last couple of days so I could pull this off.”
Snakes. I’m friends with sneaky snakes.
“That’s so mean. I’m still shaking!” I show her my hands for proof. “But really good.” Because let’s be honest, we’re friends for a reason, and I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in her position.
“I know.” She looks at me with a smug smile and pulls an envelope out of her back pocket. “For you, Marketing Master.”
I snatch it out of her hand and rip open the seal.
Could I have played it a little cooler? Yeah. But when you know you aren’t fired and your boss hands you an envelope while bowing, you get excited. Especially if you’re as broke as I am.
I pull out the check and almost cry when I see five hundred dollars written on it.
Brynn shifts from foot to foot and struggles to maintain eye contact. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to show you how much I appreciate all of the work you’ve put into HERS.”
“Are you kidding me? This isn’t much? I’ll be able to pay my electric bill and buy wine and have extra to put in my savings thanks to this!” I wrap her up in a giant bear hug.
“You know you work at a bar, right? We have wine here. You can have a glass before you leave.” She pulls out of my embrace. She hates hugs, something I have a tendency to forget until she acts like I’m trying to start a wrestling death match. And she might look skinny, but my girl is ripped. I’ve been dropped on my ass more times than I’d like to admit.
“If I took the product as much as I’d like, you would’ve been giving me an intervention, not a bonus check.”
“You’re so strange.” She rolls her eyes and walks to the door. “Get out of here. Go call Nay and tell her how convincing my performance was.”
“Ten-four, Boss-Lady.” I salute. “Thanks again for my moola!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She tries to sound uninterested. I might not be able to see her face, but it doesn’t stop me from hearing her smile.
I put my envelope in my purse and walk out of the room with a little pep in my step.
This.
This is why I left Chris.
Okay. So technically I left him because he’s a lying, cheating dirtbag. But I like to think I would’ve left him eventually anyways. I wasn’t my best with him. I dulled myself in order to let him shine.
In the words of the infamous Ice Cube, today was a good day. #GangstaRapInspiration
Eighteen
You know when people say don’t count your chickens before they hatch?
I hate the saying. I’m terrified of birds and their evil, beady eyes and razor-sharp beaks waiting to peck me to death. But that’s not the point. The point is someone should’ve repeated this to me before I skipped down the street, whistling rap songs.
It’s the end of October, but we’re having an unusually warm fall, and I’m enjoying it before the inevitable return of snow sends me running to my parka.
I turn onto my street and for the first time in a couple of weeks, James is back outside of my building. I have mixed emotions seeing him. Part of me is relieved to know nothing terrible happened to him, but the other part is sad because I really hoped he’d found a better, warmer sleeping arrangement.
“Hey, James,” I say when I get closer to him.
“Miss Marlee.” I don’t know why he calls me Miss Marlee. He’s thirty years older than me, and I’ve asked him to stop too many times to count, but he never listens. “How’s you doing tonight?”
“I’m good. How are you?” I wish these streets were better lit and I could get a better look at him. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a little while since I’ve seen him, but something seems off.
“Oh . . . I’m okay.” He’s talking so slow, it’s almost as if he’s about to fall asleep.
“James,” I say when I see his head bob and his body sway.
“Miss Marlee. How are you?” he asks again.
Crap. This isn’t good.
“Have you eaten today?” I watch him as he shakes his head and uses his sleeve as a tissue. “I got a bonus at work today. I was thinking some tacos from El Señor sounded like a good way to celebrate. Want to come with?”
“Ooooh, girl.” He whistles even though his eyes are still closed. “You know I love tacos.”
“Great! I didn’t want to go alone.” He refuses to except charity, so I always let him know he’s the one doing me a favor by coming with. “Would you mind waiting here a few minutes so I can change first?”
“Does it look like I have places to go, Miss Marlee?” He walks to the bench a few feet away and sits on the unforgiving metal seat with zero grace, but I flinch more than he does. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”
“Okay. I’ll go fast.” I turn on my heel and run into my building. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I don’t want to keep him waiting long.
When I come out in my leggings and running shoes, James isn’t alone anymore. A man I’ve never seen before sits next to him on the bench. In most instances, I’d be thrilled to see somebody giving James attention, treating him like he exists instead of ignoring what they don’t want to acknowledge. But something about this guy has the hairs on the back of my neck raised high. He looks to be about my age, his blonde hair cut down to a low buzz cut, and he’s wearing a gray, short-sleeve button up shirt that, if I had to guess, I’d say was a nice shade of blue in its prime.
“James!” I wave, letting him know I’m ready. I’m the person who pushes her instincts to the side to be kind, but this guy is setting off warning signals left and right, and I’m not trying to get any closer. Too bad for me, not even distance can protect me from the silver-toothed smile and disgusting way his gaze trails my body when he sees me.
“You must be Marlee,” he says from his spot beside James. “Nice of you to take our boy out tonight. Getting your good deeds in for the day?”
Even his voice makes me want to retreat. I wonder if this is how Harry Potter felt the first time he heard Voldemort?
“Nope. He’s doing me the favor. I didn’t want to eat alone, and he’s good company.” I keep my voice strong and casual. I’ve watched enough Lifetime movies to know guys like him get a kick out of scaring people. “Ready to go, James?”
James struggles to stand and I want to go help him up, but the guy I’m pretty sure might moonlight as a serial killer is in my way.
“What? No invite for me?”
Hell no.
“Not this time.” I avoid eye contact and watch James as he makes his way to me at a turtle’s pace.
“That’s okay. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll see you around,” he says right before I turn around. “I mean, I know where you live now.”
“Ready, James?” I pretend to ignore him, but my back goes straight at the laughter. If I wasn’t so worried about James right now, I’d run straight into my apartment, lock the doors, and call my dad.
“Yup, Miss Marlee.” He hobbles beside me. “Let’s go.”
* * *
• • •
EL SEÑOR’S TACO truck sits on the edge of Lincoln Park. During the day, it’s filled with urban yuppie moms pushing their babies in strollers that look like they were designed by NASA and wearing yoga pants that cost more than my electric bill. But at night, the crowd becomes less savory. The kind that makes you keep your eyes straight ahead, and you don’t look twice at what’s being exchanged during handshakes. I usually try to stay away after sunset, but sometimes the need for tacos surpasses self-preservation. Tacos are life.
It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from my house . . . and a five-minute one from Gavin’s. Not that I knew that. Why would I? We’re not friends. Gavin who?
Walking with James tonight though, it takes thirty.
Not that I mind, because even though he’s pretty out of it, he still tells killer stories about the neighborhood. Tonight he told me about this woman who pretended to be a prostitute to get close to the other girls on the corners and when they’d get in trouble, she showed up like fuckin’ Wonder Woman (his words, not mine) and hid them in the basement of her Five Points bungalow. Until one day she trusted someone she shouldn’t have and they ended up shootin’ up her house and killing her.
“The moral of the story,” he says, “is not to trust everybody. You might be doin’ right by them, but some people ain’t strong enough to do right by you. And that’s as much yo fault as theirs.”
Kind of a downer story during tacos, but . . . beggars can’t be choosers.
I give him the change from the tacos, only about ten dollars, but his eyes light up when I hand it to him. I’m not sure what he does with the money, but I figure it’s not my place to ask. I give him the money from my heart, it doesn’t come with strings. Of course I hope he saves it for food tomorrow in case I’m not around, but it’s up to him.
Just as we’re taking our final bites, James asks me to walk with him in the park. We meander around the paths—him talking and me listening, but he bails on me halfway through—right around the fountain currently being used as a drug exchange headquarter. He seems more alert after getting some food, so I’m not worried as I watch him head in the opposite direction we came from. And since I’m alone, it gives me the opportunity to do something I haven’t done in weeks . . . four weeks to be exact. Walk past Gavin’s house.
I keep my head down and pull my headphones out of my cross- body purse I threw on before I left the house, and blast my country playlist. I find my way out of the park, focusing on making myself small. I keep my eyes to my feet, and I walk fast, but not so fast I would draw much attention. As the park exit near Gavin’s house comes into view, the knots in my stomach ease and I stand a little taller. I know I should speed up and get the hell out, but I do the opposite. I come to a stop and contemplate whether or not I really want to do this or not.
The entrance by El Señor’s is flanked by old houses in desperate need of paint updates and housing projects, whereas the exit I’m taking is surrounded by million-dollar condos lining the streets. They’re all stunning—some kept the integrity of the neighborhood in mind and simply remodeled, others are Mediterranean with clay roof tiles, but my favorites have always been the modern ones.
Gavin’s modern one, to be exact.
It’s crazy to think of all the times I walked by, blissfully unaware of its occupant, and would stop and stare. I used to wonder what kind of countertops were in the kitchen, what the light fixtures looked like, but now I spend more time than I’d ever admit wondering what his bedroom furniture looks like. I think about how his sheets would feel against my skin or, if, when I get off of his bed, my feet would hit cold wood floors or soft carpet.
The flickering streetlight draws my gaze from the empty path in front of me up to the orange light when a glare off of something pulls my attention back down.
The glare came off a silver tooth.
I’d always thought if I found myself in a situation like this, I’d run. No thinking, no second guessing. I’d turn and run.
Not so.
He leans toward me and pulls my headphones out of my ears.
“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s not safe to listen to music while you walk, especially for someone with a sweet little ass like yours?” he asks, his hot breath warming my ear. “They should also tell you not to trust junkies like James. They’ll sell you out every time if it means they can get their next fix.”
Fuck.
James. His story makes so much more sense now. If I make it out of this alive, Naomi’s gonna freak.
If I make it out alive.
The thought goes through my head again . . . and again. My feet feel like they’re glued to the pavement beneath me. I already knew this guy was dangerous, but with him this close, the strong scent of alcohol and body odor mixing with my fear c
auses my stomach to turn. My eyes widen, and I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. His mouth twists into a sardonic smile as he watches my fear turn into panic. I knew this sick fuck got a kick out of this shit.
He must see my stance change from one of a scared, frozen girl to one preparing to run, because before I’m able to release the scream building in the back of my throat, he throws and lands a hard punch to my jaw.
My fight-or-flight instincts finally kick in. I clench my sweaty palms into a fist and throw a quick cross, catching him, and myself, off guard. His eyes widen with either shock or respect, I’m not sure which, and I don’t wait around to see. I turn on my heel and will my shaky legs to help me run as hard and fast as I can.
I don’t get too far when he grabs the purse wrapped around me and jerks me backward, causing me to stumble to the ground. The beat of whatever song is playing on my phone and his sick laughter form a sickening melody. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself for what I know is about to come, and when he gets close enough, I snap my leg up and nail him right between the legs. He groans and before he even hits the ground, I’m back on my feet running.
I can’t hear anything other than the sound of blood rushing through my ears as I’m darting down the street. Not my breathing, not the frantic rhythm of my Nikes hitting the pavement, not the sound of my lipstick and phone as they fly out of my purse and onto the sidewalk. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m running until I reach Gavin’s house. I don’t slow to make the turn into his walkway and my feet slip from beneath me, causing my hip to collide full force with the cement. I push the pain to the back of my mind, focus on his door in front of me, and scramble back to my feet.
My chest is on fire. From what? I’m not sure. Maybe the cold air I’m swallowing with every inhale of breath or it could be from the powerful, throbbing heartbeat threatening to crack my sternum in order to escape.
“Gavin! Help!” I try to yell, but I can’t seem to get the words as I near his door. “Gavin!”
The adrenaline starts to leave my system and hysteria is quickly replacing it.
