by Melody Anne
He stared at me now. “It’s part of the rehabilitation program you agreed to, Seth. Either a job or further education in exchange for subsidized housing and food assistance. You’ll have to check in with me every week for the first six weeks, and then every month once you get a full-time job or enroll in college or a trade school.”
Christ, if this program hadn’t shaved an entire year off my sentence, I wouldn’t have agreed to it. Still, there was a tiny glimmer of hope that ignited inside my chest at his words. If I really could get some steady income, I could save Sara and get the hell out.
“Here is everything you need when you leave here.” Arnold handed me a manila envelope. “There’s some cash, a key to your apartment, your food benefits card that has two hundred and fifty dollars that can be used at any grocery around here, your state medical card, a transit card, and a current course catalog for UNC. That about covers it.”
I looked inside the envelope but didn’t take anything out yet.
“The address of your new place is in there as well. Now, Seth,” he said, sitting back and crossing his arms across his chest, “I need to remind you that you aren’t to get within five hundred feet of Sara or Davis. If you ignore the restraining order in effect, you will be arrested and you will serve out the rest of your sentence back in jail. No more chances. Do you understand that?”
I clenched my fists. Being out and not being able to see Sara ate at me. How the hell was I supposed to stay away from her when I knew what he was doing to her?
As if my parole officer could see my intentions, he leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “Seth. You’re twenty-two and you have the chance to start over here. You have one of two options: screw it all up and go right back behind bars, or try and use this chance to make something more of yourself. You’re a smart kid, so use your brains and not your fists, okay?”
I shrugged. The walls of his office felt like they were closing in around me. I needed space. Air. “Are we finished here?”
After a few seconds, he nodded. “Make sure you report to the Public Works building at six A.M. Monday. Once your community service is done, you’ll be able to enroll in classes full-time.”
I stood up and started out of his office.
“Seth.”
I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.
“If you need anything, my number is in the envelope too. Otherwise, I’ll see you back here for check-in at five thirty next Friday.”
It wasn’t until I stepped outside and inhaled a huge lungful of fresh air that I forced my shoulders to relax. For the first time in twelve months, I was standing outside without barbed-wire fences or guards watching me from a tower.
I was free.
And it fucking terrified me.
The bright sun made me squint, and I pulled out my sunglasses and shoved them onto my face. Cars zipped up and down Turner Street, and I watched them go by. Life went on. I’d been locked behind bars for twelve months, and everything on the outside had stayed the same.
Sara stayed the same. Even after I fucked Davis up and went to prison for trying to keep her away from that bastard’s druggie friends, she stayed with him. He was her guardian, our stepfather, and should be the one keeping her safe.
Not the one who got her hooked on heroin and pimped her out.
My hands curled into involuntary fists at my sides.
I stood, glaring at an invisible opponent, when a beat-up Ford pulled up next to the curb. A very familiar one I wasn’t sure I’d see again. Something else Ryan had done for me while I was inside.
“You look like you could use a lift.” Ryan leaned across the seat and looked at me over his dark glasses. “I got candy,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Well, in that case.” I walked over and yanked open the door, happier to see my best friend than I had ever been in my life. The same guy who came to see me every weekend and who gave me updates on Sara. Something about seeing him without a huge gray table between us felt surreal.
“How the fuck does it feel to be out of the joint?” Ryan asked, clasping me on the shoulder.
“Shit, man. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”
“So, that’s your life right there? You in a fucking envelope, huh?” Ryan nodded toward the manila envelope in my lap.
“Looks that way. Place to stay, money for food. What else could a man ask for, right?” My voice hitched and I glanced out the window. I didn’t need to spell anything out for Ryan. We’d grown up together. He had my back no matter what.
“How the hell did everything get so fucked-up, Seth?” His fingers curled around the steering wheel. Neither one of us said her name. Ryan took a deep breath in. “So, you wanna grab a drink? The old man quit early today.”
Ryan worked with his father in construction. More like odd jobs when the old guy could get his shit together enough to focus. Why anyone hired him, knowing what a half-assed job he did, was beyond me.
I knew why, though. Because despite everything, Ryan was a hell of a worker and had a knack for knowing how to put crap together. I kept telling him to cut the dead weight and go out on his own, but he wouldn’t do it. Said someone had to make sure his dad was taken care of.
“So, Billy’s?” he asked.
I cringed. Our old hangout. A dive bar would be calling it something nice. “Maybe someplace else?” I couldn’t risk running into Sara, and she’d always loved hanging around that bar, even though she was only seventeen. Said it had atmosphere, whatever the fuck that meant.
“Shit. Yeah, you’re right.” Ryan pulled his truck back out onto the street. “There’s a place just outside the limits. Pretty decent food. Good beer. Won’t run into anyone there.”
“Sounds perfect, man.” Already I was feeling antsy. There is something to be said for routine and a finite amount of space. Your thoughts couldn’t go much farther than the cement walls.
Right now, looking out across the city, there was too much fucking space.
Too much room to think.
And I didn’t like where my mind was heading.
CHAPTER THREE
Avery
“So tonight we’re headed to someplace called O’Malley’s,” my best friend Shari announced, triumphantly waving the small scrap of paper in the air.
This was our dirty little secret. Freshman year, we had gone online and found every dive bar to five-star club in the city, then wrote them down on pieces of paper and put them into fishbowl number one.
Whenever we needed to get away from our lives or just needed to unwind after a hellish week, we’d hit the bowl. Neither one of us needed Ben & Jerry’s when things went south. We had the bowls. If one of us had a bad breakup (Shari) or a shitty family day (me), we pulled a destination and identities from the bowls and lost ourselves in whatever the universe had in store that night.
Tonight was all about me forgetting about Grant and all the shit that happened as a result. I just wanted to get drunk and feel something besides anger. Honestly, I wanted to feel wanted, just for a night.
“And who are we this time?” I asked.
Fishbowl number two had occupations.
Shari dipped her manicured fingertips into the bowl and pulled out a piece of paper. She made a huge production of opening it, then grinned at me. “Tonight, dahling, we are Fancy and Bambi, two new-to-town strippers.”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank God we hadn’t pulled Christoff’s as our destination. My father would kill me if he knew we went to a five-star celebrity haunt dressed as hookers.
“What exactly do new-in-town strippers dress like?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Think sequins and spandex, baby!” Shari shouted from her room.
Oh, God. I hated spandex.
I yanked open my closet door and strode right to the back, where I kept my slumming clothes. Ripped jeans and barely there tops. All found at a rather aromatic thrift shop on Main Street. “So which one are you tonight?” I hollered.
We didn’t just go out to drin
k. We invented entire identities to go along with our bargain-priced clothes. It was all part of forgetting ourselves for a few hours.
Shari poked her head through the doorway. “Hmmm. I’m feeling kinda like a Bambi tonight.” She grinned and stepped in so that I could see all of her.
A laugh burst out from between my lips. “Oh, my God, that is so bad it’s good!”
Shari had on a gold-sequined top that dipped down so low her boobs practically fell out, and her jeans had rhinestones on the pockets. Matching gold fuck-me stilettos completed the outfit.
Her long blond hair fell straight down her back. She’d lined her eyes very heavily in black eyeliner and had on bright red lipstick. It was garish, but she totally pulled it off.
“You actually look like a high-priced hooker!”
Shari spun around. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Give me five minutes.” I grabbed a minuscule top and skinny acid-washed jeans off their hangers. “Tonight, I am Fancy. Fancy LaRue.”
Shari’s sharp bark of laughter followed me into the bathroom. I stripped down to my matching bra and panties and eyed myself critically in the mirror. God, my cappuccino habit was starting to show.
“Remind me to go nonfat instead of low-fat on the coffee,” I shouted, pinching the excess skin along my stomach. Mother was right. The last time I saw her she said I was looking a little chubby. Maybe I should reconsider the barely there top tonight.
I held it in place with one hand and looked at my reflection from every possible angle. Finally I tied the straps around my neck and lower back.
“No one will even notice me tonight,” Shari said with an exaggerated red pout when I walked out of the bathroom.
“Please, do you not see the bloat? God, I can’t believe I’m going out like this.”
Shari narrowed her eyes. “You sound like your mother. You look fabulous and you do not look bloated. Well, maybe your tits are looking a little larger than life in that top.”
“Crude much.” I laughed. “And if mine are larger than life, yours are overshadowing the sun. It’s a booblar eclipse! Look away! Look away!”
We dissolved into a fit of giggles. I could see my mother looking down her nose at our unladylike behavior. That only made me laugh harder. If she only knew how unrefined I could be. Sunday brunch at the country club in designer dresses and pearls this was not.
Shari handed me my own pair of black FMs, and I carefully pulled the eyeliner pencil around my eyelids. I went with a more subtle frosted pink lip gloss. We stood side by side, looking into the mirror. Shari took my blond hair and wove it into a fishtail braid that hung over my shoulder.
“I still can’t believe your father really expects you to take the semester off to do community service. Did you explain to him what that means? Rush week is a huge deal.”
I sighed. “Yes, I tried talking to him again this morning. If he wasn’t running for mayor, none of this would even be a problem. His damned zero-tolerance platform apparently applies to me too.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re an overachiever and only need one actual semester of course work to graduate. Have you told Sophia yet?”
Sophia was the president of our sorority. Image was everything to her and her matching sweater sets. “Yeah, I told her I needed to take the semester off to get some things taken care of. Do you know what that bitch said to me?”
Shari’s reflection quirked an eyebrow at me.
“She patted my arm and leaned in close and said, ‘I’m so glad you’re finally getting your nose taken care of. You should consider a little preventative Botox too.’ ”
My best friend’s mouth fell open before she rolled her eyes. “Like you need any work done! At least you are a pure canvas, all natural, baby. I’m not sure Sophia has a real body part left on her.”
I linked my arm with hers. “And that is why you are my best friend. Bambi.”
“After you, Fancy girl.”
I grinned at her and she grinned back.
O’Malley’s, here we come.
“This place isn’t half bad,” I shouted in Shari’s ear.
The music was decent, sort of alternative rock mixed with some country. A live band was setting up on a small stage toward the back of the dance floor.
A couple of the places we’d visited were literal holes-in-the-wall. Skanky women and men desperately in need of a shower who hid in the shadows nursing their drinks. Last time, I had to use the mace in my purse to get some drunk guy to stop grabbing my boobs under my business suit.
Corporate CEOs and skeevy dive bar wasn’t the best fishbowl combo ever.
O’Malley’s was a nice change.
The people around me were clean. Working class, but we weren’t the best or worst dressed either.
“Haven’t seen you girls here before,” the bartender said, leaning across the gleaming wood bar. “What can I get you lovely ladies?” For once the bartender was pretty good-looking. His black T-shirt hugged a decent-looking chest, and when he smiled, I saw he had all his teeth.
“She’ll have Sex on the Beach. I’ll have”—Shari’s glance slid down over his chest before rising back up to meet his eyes—“a Screaming Orgasm.”
His eyes darkened and I swear he licked his lips. “Coming right up.” He left us with a wink.
“Okay, dibs on the bartender,” Shari said.
I laughed. He was back in under a minute. He slid my drink to me with a smile but turned his attention immediately back to Shari. It was like that everywhere with her. She ate up the attention, and guys loved to give it to her.
“I have to warn you, I’m very good at what I do. Are you sure you can handle it?” He nodded to the drink in her hand, but I saw the double meaning in his stare. Smooth, buddy, I thought.
“You have no idea how much I can handle.” Shari tilted the glass back and drank the entire thing in one breath. When she set the glass down, she ran her tongue over her top lip.
Bartender man practically melted right there. “Damn. You might be right.”
“I’m Bambi, this is Fancy. We’re new in town,” Shari said with a huge smile. “We’re exotic dancers.”
His eyes got round, and he looked back and forth between us. “Shit. Let me know where you work and I’ll be sure to check it out.”
Bambi ran her finger down his forearm. “Play your cards right, and you’ll get a private show later.”
I turned my head before he could see my face heat up. Businesswoman I could play good at, but exotic dancer? Me spinning down a pole? I’d fall right on my ass. Still, Shari had worked us free drinks for the night. And judging by the way Bambi was eye-fucking him, she just might end up giving him a private lap dance later too.
Which meant I was in the clear.
My gaze swept the room as I leaned back against the bar, pulling my drink through a tiny straw. Lots of potential tonight, though I never left any of our crazy-night places with anyone. I had Grant. Had. I didn’t have him anymore, though. Tonight was the first time in years I’d been at a place like this completely free to do whatever I wanted.
And I wanted to forget about Grant.
Maybe that meant finding a distraction for a few hours.
Except I’d never hooked up with a stranger before. Hell, I never really had a boyfriend before Grant and I got together. It’d been him and me for the past four years. Sure, guys flirted with me when we went out, and I flirted back sometimes, but I knew I’d never go home with any of them. It made it all feel easier.
Already tension filled my neck as I glanced around the crowded bar again.
What if I picked the one serial killer? Given my luck lately, it wasn’t out of the question.
Shari said hooking up was the perfect arrangement because you could get an itch scratched and not worry about anything more. I still didn’t understand how she could have sex with someone she didn’t even know.
I eyed up a good-looking guy in a polo shirt and khakis until I realize
d what I’d done. No way, he looked too much like Grant. How about . . . whoa. Too many facial piercings. As I found each potential guy, I marked him off in my head.
Shari would say I was bullshitting myself. Like I’d really go home with some random stranger I met an hour before at a bar? The wildest thing I’d ever done in my life was take my finals a week early so Grant and I could go skiing in Colorado sophomore year. And it was wild because I told my instructors I had a family wedding to attend out of state.
I tugged at my shirt, trying to cover a little more of my stomach. Playing sexy was a lot harder than it sounded. Shari was still eye-fucking the bartender, so I kept glancing around the bar.
I looked past a couple of guys who just walked in, and it took my brain a second to register what I thought I saw. When I swung back to look, there were too many bodies between me and the door to be sure. My mind said that there had just been a majorly hot guy standing there, but reality said otherwise.
Heavy disappointment sank into my gut.
Bodies shifted and I leaned toward Bambi, who was still flirting with the bartender. Someone pressed against my side, and I tried to take a small step away. It wasn’t happening. The place was filling up fast. Too many bodies crowded around for a drink.
“Two beers, whatever you have on tap.”
The deep voice vibrated against my bare skin. Goose bumps sprang up along my arms. I shifted my body, pretending to look around while I glanced out of the corner of my eye.
It was the guy. The one my brain told me was there.
He was tall, even with an extra four inches on my five-foot-five height tonight. His body turned, and I found myself looking at a wide, but not too wide chest. The dark gray T-shirt stretched across it, highlighting the muscular frame underneath.
Along both arms were swirls of black ink, starting at his wrists and winding higher around his forearms, his biceps, until they disappeared under the edges of his sleeves.
A deep, clean woodsy scent filled my lungs. I could tell the guy had his face turned toward the room, so I used the opportunity to take a good look at him.
Strong jaw, sensual-looking lips, dark hair cut short, military style, and even darker eyes. A shadow of stubble graced his jawline. A brief, uncharacteristic urge to reach out and touch it made me curl my fingers into fists at my sides.