by Hope Conrad
“Mind showing me around?” Bastard asks, and I immediately oblige. After all, I’ve got nothing to hide.
I nod my head, directing him to follow me. I’m not certain why he needs to be shown around my place as if he’s interested in subleasing my humble abode, but maybe he’s just being polite.
I lead him past a bar with overhead cabinets that separates the kitchen from the living room. I hate closed off spaces, and would much prefer an open kitchen, but when you’re spending less than five hundred a month, you can’t be too picky.
Bastard comes to a stop in front of the unsightly sink and parks himself against it, nodding his head in approval.
“You know,” he says with a shake of his finger. “You keep a clean house.”
“And?” I question nervously, thinking he’s got me figured out to a goddamn T.
“Nothing.” He chuckles and checks his watch. “It’s just a little surprising, that’s all.”
I force a smile and shrug. “I’m a changed man.”
“Uh-huh.” He straightens himself out and points to my bedroom, adjacent to the living room. “If you can just show me the bedroom, I think we’ll be good to go.”
“Sure thing.” I turn and make my way to the door of my bedroom, push it open for him and flick on the light switch. It’s mid-morning, but I keep a thick, black blanket nailed around the windows. I absolutely cannot sleep unless I’m in pitch black darkness. Without sleep, Street is grouchy and a grouchy Street is a bad attitude away from going back to the slammer.
“I have the same problem,” Bastard says, as if he can hear my inner thoughts. “The smallest bit of light, and I can’t sleep.”
“It’s a worldwide epidemic,” I joke and cross my arms as I rest against the doorframe of my bedroom.
Bastard’s eyes do a quick scan of the room, and my own eyes begin to wander. He steps to my dresser and begins pulling each drawer out, searching quickly through each of them.
And this is why he’s a bastard. Again, I understand he has to do what he has to do, and I was used to sacrificing privacy given I’d spent the last three years in prison. Even so, I have the illusion of freedom now that I’m on the outside, and no matter what, I don’t like random men poking around my underwear drawer.
I shift my attention away from him and my stomach sinks. Laying right under the shadow of my bed is a marijuana bowl. It’s not mine, but if he spots it, he’ll never believe me. I shift my eyes back to him and think about my next move.
I should kick it under the bed when he’s not looking.
I should do nothing and hope he doesn’t see it.
He’s going to fucking see it.
I’ll never see Katie again.
Quick, Street. Think of something.
“What are you looking at, Street?” Bastard questions me with a crooked look across his face, breaking me out of the daze I’ve found myself in.
“Noth—Nothing,” I stutter.
I’m a deer stuck in the headlights, and for whatever fucking reason, I can’t take my eyes off the bowl. It was like staring directly into an eclipse; you did it even though you knew it could make you blind. In my case, it’s the smallest thing in the world with the biggest of consequences. It’ll send me back to prison.
Bastard’s eyes follow my line of sight, and soon he’s crouching on his knees to peek under the bed. My mind races, trying to figure out a way out of this mess—Trevor’s mess. I’m going to fucking kill him. Trevor, not Bastard, although it’s become increasingly clear that Bastard is a label I should start attributing to Trevor.
Bastard swipes the bowl off the floor. It’s game over. There’s no way I can convince him it’s not mine. Trevor has ruined my life twice now, three times if you count that time he conned me into dating his gross girlfriend’s gross cousin for an entire summer back in our teen years.
Bastard rises to his feet with an expected look of judgment. His eyes lock with mine once more, and it’s not romantic, as locked eyes normally are. “Care to explain?”
“I… Uh. That’s not mine.”
“It never is.” He shakes his head in disappointment and reaches for a pair of handcuffs on his hips.
I’m torn between fighting and running. I need to see Katie just once more. I need to feel her flesh with my hands one last time, but running will only make it worse. It’ll only make me appear guiltier than I really am, which is not guilty at all, but it’s hard for people to see the best in you when you’ve given them every reason not to.
It’s like The Boy Who Cried Wolf. When you’ve given nobody in the world a reason to believe in you, it’s an impossible task to make them think any differently.
Bastard bows his head and begins to approach me. “I’m sorry that I have to do this.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door.
“Who’s at the door, Street?”
I shrug, but pray under my breath that it’s Trevor and we can wrap this up really quick. Of course, that would require that Trevor tell the damn truth and own his shit, so I’m not holding my fucking breath. Plus, I’d still be fucked because this is the reason I’m not supposed to hang out with other ex-cons in the first place—so they won’t be a goddamn bad influence on me.
Bastard passes me as he heads into the living room and I take particular notice of the frown etched across his face. There’s a clear shift in his demeanor from a minute ago to now, and he’s finished pretending to be my friend instead of who he really is—the man holding my tight leash, and with every millisecond that passes, the collar around my throat tightens.
Bastard peeks through the front door peep hole and when he pulls back there’s an odd look of relief on his face. I’m still not sure who’s at the door, but I’m even more curious than usual given the sudden change in his facial expression.
He lowers his hand to the doorknob, and I take a split-second to contemplate breaking past him and running. Hell, I might be able to make it through the window over the kitchen sink. It’s small, but I could fit through it with enough wiggling.
But knowing my luck, I’d probably get dragged into the kitchen by my feet and thrown on the damn laminate floor with no dignity left to my name.
The door opens, revealing my visitor.
Katie.
Oh shit. My situation has grown from terrible to worse.
I wanted to see her one last time before I was hauled back to prison, but I don’t want to see her under these conditions. I can’t bear to see her face in the background as I’m dragged away from freedom.
“Hello,” Katie says to Bastard with a warm smile. “Is Street home?”
“Yeah.” He looks back at me. “But I’m not sure for how much longer.”
“Hey Katie,” I say and approach the two of them, hoping I can ease the tension in the room. “This is—”
“I’m Edgar Rose,” Bastard says and extends his hand to shake Katie’s. “I’m Thomas’s parole officer.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Bastard’s mouth quirks, as if he’s not used to being greeted with such politeness. “Likewise. And you are?”
“Katie,” she says simply. “I work at the bookstore with Street.” She pauses and purses her lips. “Is everything all right?”
“I haven’t decided, to be honest.”
“Oh…” She stammers. “Well, I was just stopping by to see if Street could cover my shift at work. He’s really a great asset to have around. He’s so willing to help with anything and everything, and he’s a fast learner.”
Okay, she’s full of shit, but she’s covering for me, so I can’t be mad. However, she’s overselling this way too much, and it’d be a miracle if Bastard buys her cheerleader act.
But I notice something peculiar. He pushes the small bowl he’s holding deep into the pocket of his black blazer and nods to me. “Street, can I see you outside?”
“Yeah.” I pass Katie with my face bowed down and shut the door behind me once both Bastard
and I stand in the carpeted hallway of the apartment complex.
“My mind is telling me that you haven’t changed,” he says with conviction in his voice while his fingers dance along the cold steel of the handcuffs.
“I swear that bowl isn’t mine. It’s my friend’s—”
He cuts me off with a raised hand. “Let me finish. My mind is telling me one thing, but there’s another part of me, no matter how small, that’s telling me to give you another chance.”
He’s not going to take me in, I realize. Whether it’s because of his instincts or because Katie showed up, I don’t care. Maybe he’s not such a bastard, after all. “Thank you, Edgar.”
He squints, silently acknowledging I’d actually said his name for the first time ever. “Don’t thank me.” He reaches out and lays his palm on my shoulder. I flinch backward at the touch. “I’m giving you another chance, so don’t blow it. If you claim the bowl’s not yours, and I want to believe it’s not yours, then get whoever it belongs to out of your life. They’ll only drag you down.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” He nods and starts walking away, but he looks back over his shoulder one last time. “That girl believes in you. Don’t let her down.”
I just nod my head in agreement, but wait for him to descend the stairs at the end of the hallway before heading into my apartment. I step through the door and shut it behind me. Katie’s leaning her back against the wall with her arms crossed over each other.
“You’re welcome.”
I purse my lips and force a smile, although I have a weird feeling things are about to go south by the look plastered across her face. “Thank you.”
“Now that that’s out of the way…”
Oh shit, here we go.
“You made me feel like crap last night,” she continues. “You got a piece, and then you took off running for the safety of your apartment.”
I swallow hard as I try to think of an appropriate response, but I come up empty.
“I told myself I shouldn’t see you again.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I told myself I should talk to George about having you fired.”
That cuts deep, but the confusion runs deeper. “If you want me fired, or out of your life, then why did you just give me a good word again?”
My eyes follow the air as she breathes it, first into her mouth, and then down her throat.
“You didn’t let me finish. I thought about having you fired, but…”
Suddenly, I can’t stand the distance between us any longer. I slowly walk up to her, take her hands in mine, and gently pin her to the wall with her arms held above her head. “But what?”
She stares at me even as her fingers tighten their hold on mine.
“But what?” I ask again, this time more firmly.
“But a part of me thought the way you acted after we… Well, I just wasn’t sure. I wanted to hear your side of the story before I rushed to judgment.”
She shifts her weight, and feeling her against me triggers a wholly expected physical response. “Hear my side?” I question, and shift my body against hers so that my lips graze her ear. “Or have me inside you, again?”
She cranes her neck so that our eyes meet once more. She’s trying to control her breath, trying to pretend she could stay away from me if she chooses, but I know better.
Her lips separate, like she’s prepared to speak, but nothing comes out except bated silence between ragged breaths. I release her hands and move my palms to cup her face, holding her still while I kiss her passionately and deeply.
She kisses me back, finally giving me the answer her words couldn’t. Even after I hurt and confused her, she can’t stay away from me any more than I can stay away from her. That’s why she came here. If she really wanted me gone, she could have been rid of me with one phone call to George. If she really wanted me gone, she would have told my PO what a piece of shit I am. But she didn’t. She fucking saved me from going back to jail, and suddenly all my fears about not being good enough are wiped away.
I can be good enough. She inspires me to be the best I can be, and even if it kills me, that’s exactly what I’m going to be.
I pull away from the kiss with an idea, and wait until she catches her breath and she’s left wanting more before I speak. “Who watches your kid?”
Her brow furrows at my unexpected question. “My sister.”
“Can she watch her two nights from now, after work?” Two days should be enough to plan a proper date. I’ve never actually been on a real date. I’ve been hitting it and quitting it since the day I matured from my teenage years, and into adulthood.
“Why?”
“Because we’ve done everything in reverse.” I tilt my head. “Maybe we can do this right. I’ll take you to dinner, and then I’ll take you home.” I grip her hip with my palm, tight enough to tease her, but not tight enough to leave a bruise—we’ll save that for the next time she’s on her back, except this time she’ll be in my bed. “In between, maybe you can have me inside of you again… Or not. Whichever you choose.” I allow her the space to believe she’s in control, but know the outcome before the gears are set into motion. We’re two of a kind, each blinded by our obsession with one another. It might be an unhealthy relationship, but the obsession runs through our blood.
“Uhm…”
“Is that a yes?” And if so, to what? The date and the sex?
She pushes her hand against my chest, trying to hold on to a modicum of self-control. “It’s a maybe.”
“That’s not going to work for me, Princess.”
“Fine,” she huffs and pushes past me. “It’s a yes.”
“Then I’ll see you Friday night,” I say as she reaches for the doorknob.
“You have to work tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah.” I’d taken today off, figuring I’d need to chill out after Edgar’s visit.
“So, I’ll see you at two.” She swings the door open. “I’ve got an exam Friday morning and then I’m taking the rest of the day off. But if you’re a good boy and get all your work done, then we’ll go out on a date Friday night.”
“Fine,” I grumble under my breath, knowing she was enjoying having some power over me after what I’d done. But I don’t begrudge her that. She’s giving me a second chance. I’m more than willing to put in some hard work if it means getting to take her out on a proper date. As she swings the door shut behind her, my eyes are drawn to her perfect, taut ass, and the way her cheeks move in the dark denim. Yeah, I’d do just about anything for this girl.
I’m startled as the door is thrown back open, a mental case of whiplash. She stands in the doorframe with one hand gripped to her hip. “Why did you leave so abruptly last night?”
I’m torn between telling her the truth and stretching the answer out into some kind of a lying game. I settle on the truth, for maybe one of the first times in my life when it comes to a woman. “I just needed to breathe.”
“That’s what windows are for.”
“Right,” I say again and brush my thumb against my lip. “The truth is…what we did destroyed me. You’re all I can think about and that’s fucking frightening. And I ran because that’s all I’ve ever done and what I’m good at. How’s that for honesty, Princess?”
She just stares at me without blinking, but her eyes seem just a touch glassier.
I take a step closer. “Are you—”
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Street.”
“That’s it? I open my soul to you and that’s it?”
Her mouth quirks and she nods. “Yep. That’s it.”
She walks out and softly closes the door behind her, leaving me in a state of frustration and confusion.
But I smile wide, because underneath it all, I’m relieved. I’m elated.
She’s giving me another chance.
And this time, I’m determined not to blow it.
Chapter Twelve
Katie
It’s been an unusual day
in the shop. Street has worked non-stop from the second he first walked in the door. And for the four hours that followed, he’s done everything he was supposed to do and more, all without taking a lunch break or anything.
I know exactly why he’s been the perfect little worker bee—he wants to ensure he’s able to take me to dinner tomorrow night. Though I’m sure what comes after dinner is what he’s really looking forward to.
I am, too.
He told me whether we had sex again was totally up to me.
And of course we’re going to have sex again.
I’m not foolish enough to think otherwise. If I can fuck him in my car and then go to his apartment after the way he left, I’m obviously in this for as long as he’ll let me be. Or at least for as long as we can sustain things before we crash and burn.
I’ve never done drugs but I can’t imagine being addicted to anything more than I am Street. There’s something about him that makes me feel, and I’m not just talking about desire. Maybe it’s because of where he is with his own life—trying to put his mistakes behind him and get a fresh start, no matter how much people doubt him—that makes me feel like I can do the same. The past few days, when I’ve been in class, wanting to cry because I feel I’m not smart enough to pass my tests, or wanting to quit school because I miss being with Riley or feel guilty for how much I rely on Dee, it’s been thoughts of Street and what he’s been through that gave me strength.
I’m in too deep in this dangerous game we’ve entangled ourselves but I can’t put on the brakes. I want to savor the drive, and every twist and turn along the way. I want to soak Street in while I can, because it won’t last. It can’t.
Ex-con or not, there’s something compelling about Street. He’s meant for more than what Darsbury can offer. More than I can offer. When he figures that out and leaves town, I’ll relish the wild time we spent together, and return to building a stable life for me and Riley.
I check the clock on the wall above the front door and notice it’s quarter till six. It’s been a slow day, and nobody has been in the shop for the past hour, so I decide it’ll be okay to close a few minutes early. I’m sure George would disagree, but it’s not like he’s around to scold me.