by Marni Mann
And Hart had wanted to help me move into my new place…
I made a mental list of everything I needed to pick up on my way to work, things that would make this room clean and livable. Then I joined the guys in the living room. There were pieces of bud all over the glass table. Some were small enough to be rolled; the rest were waiting to be bagged. Other empty cans had been tossed on the floor beside the couch. At least every wood-paneled wall had a hole in it, and they were covered in a blackish film that turned the grain much darker than it was supposed to be. The cleanest thing in there was the flat-screen that hung in front of us, and even that had handprints all over it.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” I said, tucking my feet underneath me and leaning into the end of the sectional. “I just need a couple weeks and I’ll be able to afford my own place.”
“Don’t rush out,” Jeremy said. “There’s way too much cock and takeout boxes and unused bottles of bleach up in here. We need a girl roommate.” He put a glass bowl up to his lips and took a hit, holding the smoke in for a while before he finally coughed it into the air. Then he passed the bowl to Caleb. “The place is starting to fucking smell. Keep telling Caleb that, but he says he doesn’t smell shit.”
Maybe that was because Caleb couldn’t smell anything past his hair. Since we’d graduated, I’d been telling him to cut it. He hadn’t listened. The dreads made everyone think he was a hippie; his patchy beard and Birkenstocks only added to the image. He never dressed in anything other than a hoodie, jeans and wool socks—even in the summer. His teeth were starting to turn the color of resin. The truth was, he wasn’t a hippie at all. He was just lazy, and grime—whether it was around him or actually on him—didn’t bother him.
“How’s my boy?” Caleb asked, smoke drifting from his lips as he spoke. He banged the bowl against his palm to empty it, collecting the ash and wiping it on his jeans. They were already so dirty, the streak was hardly noticeable. Scooping up a few buds, he packed the bowl again and handed it to me.
Smoke began to fill my mouth. I blew it out and said, “He’s still in detox. At least that’s what Shane told me in his last text. Brady hasn’t called me since he left.”
There was a knock at the door, and Jeremy got up to answer it. The living room was in the back of the house so I wasn’t able to see who it was. Not that it mattered. Unless they were friends, the guys usually didn’t let anyone in past the kitchen.
“When I heard Brady had been in Bangor,” Caleb said, taking the bowl from my hand, “I called some of my boys up there. No one had seen him around. Whoever he was with is way deeper than the connections I have.”
Jeremy returned to the living room, taking the same spot on the couch, reaching for the pipe as soon as he sat. “They wanted a dime,” he said to Caleb.
I thought about Brady’s face, and how beaten it had been when I’d picked him up. “Do you think he’s in trouble?” I didn’t know anyone in Bangor, so there was no one I could check with or call.
Caleb shrugged. “If he is, I’ve got his back. He knows that.”
“Me too,” Jeremy said. The whites of his eyes were now the same color as his hair.
Brady had helped out these guys so much over the years, especially when the cops had been tipped off and told that they were all dealing. When Caleb had a hard time moving the rest of his supply, Brady took care of it. The cops hadn’t found anything in Caleb’s house when they’d searched it.
“Hope Brady doesn’t think he’ll be getting any drugs from me when he gets out,” Jeremy said. It was strange hearing those words come from someone who had a beer in his hand and probably more than a few pills up his nose.
Caleb laughed while he tied an elastic around his knots. “You said the same thing about Tiff when she went to rehab, and Evan, and they were just here buying shit from us last night.”
“Brady’s different,” Jeremy said. He reached for one of the cigars on the table and sliced it open with a razor blade, emptying out all the tobacco. Then he wetted the leaves in his mouth and filled the center with weed. “We’ve known him since we were kids. Guy’s got a chance to do something good, you know?”
“Whatever,” Caleb said. He wiped his hands on his jeans again. “If Brady wants something, Brady’s going to get something. I’m not denying my boy.”
This was just another thing that would have to change once Brady got out of rehab. He couldn’t come here anymore. I wasn’t even sure if he could still be friends with these guys. I wondered if he’d considered any of that, since almost everyone he hung out with either used or sold. Most did both.
Pot and alcohol were the hardest things I’d touched. And I didn’t consider weed to be all that bad, since it would soon be legal to buy it in Maine. Still, I’d give it up for Brady because Jeremy was right: he did have a chance to do something good with his life. More of a chance than the rest of us did. Shane was going to eventually give him the business. I wouldn’t let him screw that up.
“Rae, you won’t believe who I saw at the store the other day,” Caleb said.
I knew exactly who he had seen. He’d directed the question at me, after all. “Who’s that?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Hart Booker,” he continued.
“No shit?” Jeremy said. He was holding the blunt against his lips, licking the inside flap before he finished the roll. “Haven’t seen that kid since…damn, I can’t even remember the last time.”
Neither of them had hung out with Hart the summer before he left, which would have made it the end of our freshman year when they’d last seen him. He was an athlete; people in our crew were already stoners at that point. We partied in different crowds, which was why I was surprised Hart had even been interested in me. But we went to a small school where everyone knew everyone. And there was just something between us, regardless of who surrounded us.
Our paths had diverged, and though we’d ended up with very different lives, we were both in Bar Harbor once again. That was a strange thought.
“He bought that old B&B off Main Street,” I said. “Shane’s helping him convert it into a spa.”
Caleb’s brows rose, looking like he’d actually gotten a whiff of himself. “Sounds like I’m not the only one that ran into him.”
I nodded. “I saw him today.”
And yesterday, which was something they didn’t need to know. Not because I was trying to hide it, but because it just didn’t matter.
And yet…he was still on my mind.
I didn’t want this.
“Maybe he can get one of his girls to cut that fucking bush on top of your head,” Jeremy said, looking right at Caleb. He stuck the end of the blunt into his mouth and lit the tip, taking long, deep drags to really get it puffing. “It looks like a nasty pussy, don’t it, Rae?”
“I’ve got to get ready for work,” I said, standing from the couch.
“Pass the blunt, Jeremy, and shut the hell up,” Caleb said.
I reached the entrance of the hallway and turned around. “I won’t be back until around four in the morning. Will you guys be up, or do you want to give me a key or something?”
“We’ll be up,” Jeremy said. “Just text us on your way home.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I went back in my room to grab what I needed.
With a change of clothes and my makeup bag in hand, I peeked into the bathroom. For someone who made fun of Caleb’s bush, Jeremy wasn’t any cleaner. The inside of the toilet was black. There was a layer of slime on the shower floor. The garbage can overflowed, and musty-smelling towels covered the linoleum.
I wasn’t a neat freak, by any means. Living with guys since I’d been sixteen years old, I’d learned how to deal with messiness and even was a bit of that myself. But that house wasn’t just a little messy. It was a health hazard.
I added a second bottle of bleach to my mental list and reminded myself to shower at work as much as I could.
Starting right then.
CHAPTER NINE
&nbs
p; I LOOKED AT the chip Hart placed on my tray after I’d set his beer down. “A twenty-five-dollar tip is a little much, don’t you think?” He was already on his third drink, and he’d given me just as much for the last two rounds.
“You’re not just serving me beer.” He folded his hand by throwing his cards out for the dealer to grab.
“I’m not?”
He shifted a little in his chair, turning toward me. His shirt was deep gray, almost charcoal. It darkened his eyes by several shades. “You’re providing entertainment.”
I glanced down at what I was wearing. The uniform hadn’t changed, but it looked like it had gotten tighter somehow. It couldn’t have been because I’d gained weight; I hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. “You mean, my outfit is providing entertainment.”
“No…I mean, your smile is.” He crooked his finger to motion me closer. “Although that doesn’t mean I’m ignoring your outfit. That would be impossible.”
The encounters we’d had as teenagers were as sweet as they were sensual, and they’d bonded me to him. It was why I’d been so twisted up when he’d left. Still, I couldn’t stop my mind from wondering how he looked underneath his clothes now. The thought made my skin break out in a sweat, even with the room as cold as it was. The freezing air made my nipples strain against Christy’s bra. I hoped he couldn’t see them through the padding.
I didn’t trust what would come out of my mouth, so I kept it closed. But I widened my lips and smiled even more as I handed out the rest of the beers on my tray. Once it was empty, I returned to the back room to fill up again.
“That’s the guy you were talking to last night, isn’t it?” Christy asked, joining me at the bar. “The one at table eight.”
I knew she’d told Kevin I’d done a good job; when I had arrived for my shift, a copy of the rest of November’s schedule was in my newly-assigned mailbox, with a key for a locker. I’d be working five nights a week, all closing shifts in the poker room. They’d given me the best shift, and Christy’s favorite section to work. I was grateful for that, and for her friendly interest, even if I didn’t want to talk about him.
“Same guy,” I said.
“What’s his name?”
“Hart,” I answered reluctantly. “His name is Hart. I’ve known him for a long time.”
“So you guys are friends?”
I shook my head. “Maybe a long time ago. Not anymore.”
“Well, friends or not, if he was looking at me the way he’s looking at you, I’d wait until we were both walking out to the parking lot, push his fine ass against the side of his car and tell him how amazing I am when there isn’t a pair of panties separating us. But I’m not you…and cock really isn’t my thing.”
My neck swooped to the side, meeting her wide hazel eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s definitely not looking at me that way.” I was more interested in her piece of advice than her being a lesbian. It didn’t bother me at all; I just hadn’t pegged her for someone who liked girls.
“Oh yes, he is…and so are you. If you don’t go for him quickly some other chick will.”
“Good, I hope—”
“Hear me out, Rae. You’re right: I don’t know a thing about you two. Hell, I hardly know anything about you. But I’ve watched you two lock eyes all night, and there’s obviously something going on.” She was a little pushier than I liked. “I’m not saying you should fuck him right away; just show him why his eyes should stay on you, why your eyes are only on him and make him work for the rest. Chase it, you know?” She paused, glancing from side to side. There was no one around us except the bartender. She pulled me a few feet away so he couldn’t hear us. “There’s a blackjack dealer that works in pit two, the one right across from the buffet. She’s been after me for weeks. Typical girly stuff, you know, sending me texts, flirting with her eyes and her tits. She hasn’t let me touch her yet—we’ve kissed and shit like that, but nothing else, really.”
I recalled the woman Christy had winked at when we’d passed by her table yesterday…the one with pink streaks in her hair. “What’s your point?”
“That girl’s got me crazy about her because she’s playing hard to get,” she said. “It’ll work for you, too. It’s obvious he wants you…and of course he does; you’re fucking hot.”
She didn’t know about my difficult connection to Hart. She thought she was helping me out, but she was only making me angry. “You’re reading this all wrong—there’s nothing to chase. He’s not trying to get with me, and I’m definitely not pursuing him. We have a history. That’s it.” I stepped back to the bar and grabbed the bottles that had been placed there for me, twisting off the caps before setting them on my tray.
Christy’s eyes widened. “Wow. I pushed too hard…I’m sorry,” she said softly. “And you’re right: I must have read you both all wrong.”
I lifted the tray and held it above my shoulder. The tone of my voice had been snappy. She hadn’t deserved that, and I didn’t want to make her feel bad for sharing her opinion. With Hart, things just weren’t simple. “I’m sorry, too.”
She gave me a warm, sultry smile and a wink. “Forgiven. Now get back to work.”
Back in the main room, I passed out each of the bottles that were on my tray and took orders for several more. Just like it had last night, the front of my apron was filling with bills and chips. It seemed like the faster I moved, the more I earned. Knowing the amount I would probably make didn’t stop my feet from hurting in the high heels, or my nipples from aching in that bra. It just made the pain more tolerable. It also helped energize me, which I needed since I really hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep.
Heading back to refill, I dropped the tray to my side and stepped away from the table. A hand stopped me from moving any farther. A hand that came from behind me and rested flat against my navel. Fingers that were full of strength and power…and lust. “I forgot to ask for your number this morning,” Hart said.
The heat from his breath trickled to my neck and down the back of my tank top. I tried to calm the fluttering inside my throat. “I wouldn’t have given it to you.”
His hand tightened against me. “How can I get you to change your mind?”
“You can start by telling me why you think you need it.”
His lips dipped to the base of my ear. “So I can call you whenever I’m thinking about you.” The pad of his thumb grazed over the little ball that sat at the top of my belly button. It was connected to a curved rod and a small purple star that hung at the base of the hole. He knew the piercing was there…he was the one who’d paid for it. “Despite what you think, I’m actually a good guy.” His other hand moved to my apron where I saw him drop something in. Then his fingers left my body, and I spun around.
A sudden coldness filled me, and I met his silvery eyes and half smile. “What did you just put in there?”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t give me yours,” he said, his stare dipping toward my waist. “So I gave you mine instead.”
Maybe he was a good guy and had just made some bad decisions when he was young. Or maybe he was an asshole. All I knew was I couldn’t get hurt again, especially not by him.
“I’m not going to need it,” I said.
“You never know…you might change your mind. In fact, I hope you use it tonight, to call me on your way home to let me know you’re safe and that your car is acting all right.”
My fingers drifted inside my apron, holding the small piece of paper with his number written on it. “Good-bye, Hart.”
“Call anytime—doesn’t matter how late,” he said from behind me as I walked away.
I didn’t believe my safety was the real reason he wanted me to call. If he really wanted to be friends again, he was coming on strong, especially because he knew how I felt about him. The only other reason was…sex. Of course.
That wasn’t going to happen. None of it was.
I’d tried so hard to keep my past behi
nd me. Hart was a major part of that past.
As far as I was concerned, that’s where he’d be staying.
***
Christy and I walked out to the parking lot together. I was relieved to be wearing my own boots—ones that didn’t pinch my toes—and going without a bra. As I’d thought earlier, the pain had been worth it. I’d made even more than last night, largely due to the hundred dollars Hart had tipped me before he left. Several hours had passed since he’d taken off.
I could still feel his fingers.
I hated that.
“Are you going to keep driving back and forth to Bar Harbor?” she asked, pulling a hat down over her dark locks. “I’m a Bangor girl…you know I have an apartment not too far from here.”
I finished buttoning the top of my jacket, tucked my scarf inside, and shifted my messenger bag. It was heavy; I wasn’t used to carrying a bag in addition to my purse, but now that I was having to shower at work, I had to bring so many extra things with me. “Yeah, I’m commuting.” I answered. “I mean, I’ve never lived anywhere else. I’m comfortable being in a place I know so well.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “I usually don’t stick around here for very long. Just enough time to save a little cash before I head out of town again. ” Maine had a look, and Christy wasn’t it. She should have been singing in some hip studio in Manhattan or painting in some Los Angeles loft. She seemed to be more than just this. “I’ve lived all over,” she continued, “but always end up coming back home.”
Home.
Brady and Shane had given me the closest thing I had to one of those. Still, nothing had felt right since I’d gotten my scar. That wasn’t Bar Harbor’s fault; that was my fucked-up past, though as long as Brady and Shane were still living there, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.