by Jordan Ford
Her cheeks are puffed with food, making her look like a chipmunk. But then she swallows and wipes the edge of her mouth with her delicate finger, showing off just how pretty she is.
Long, dark hair—straight and shiny, tucked behind her ears. Heart-shaped face. Almond-shaped eyes. She looks like she has some kind of Asian blood in her veins, but one of her parents must be European; she has that whole mixed-race, smokin’-hot thing going on.
I wonder if I should go talk to her.
I’m looking for a good time and I’m sure I could woo her into giving me one. Unless her boyfriend is on the ice or something.
I scan the rink, watching the players zip from one end of the rink to the other. I hiss, then snicker as a player is slammed into the glass. He gets out of the body check with the puck still under his control and I nod.
“Nice play,” I murmur, my eyes tracking back to Pretty Girl.
Scrunching up her burger wrapper, she follows the game for another few seconds, then looks at her watch and stands. Nice rack. Too bad she’s trying to hide it with the oversized sweater. It puffs out around her body, coming all the way down to her mid-thighs.
Such a shame. She’s hiding all the goodies under that thing.
But I can still imagine what lies beneath. I bet she’s got one of those knockout bodies. Big boobs. Little waist. Squeezable butt.
Curvy lines to trace and kiss.
Damn.
I’m getting hot just thinking about it.
Her eyes dart to mine, as if she can sense my perusal.
I’m far away, but I give her my sexy smirk anyway. I’ve drawn chicks from farther than this before.
Pretty Girl’s eyes pop for a second, and then her eyebrows dip into a sharp V. Crossing her arms, she heads out of the rink, not bothering to look at me again.
Okay, so not the good time I’m looking for after all. I wipe my mouth and snicker, settling in to enjoy the rest of the practice session.
It only lasts for another ten minutes but it makes me realize how much I miss being an Eton Wolf. Hockey was the highlight of my day. Trey and I were a danger on the ice and Riley kept our scores in check, saving goals and, more often than not, winning games for us.
Coach Baxter gave us more game time than any other players. Because we were the best.
And now we’re just three runaways.
My forehead dips into a frown, that restless itch swamping me again.
I shoot to my feet and stomp out of the rink. The air outside is cold and biting, but I welcome it against my skin. I need to do something.
I can hear faint music somewhere to my left.
I walk through the parking lot. Attached to the other side of the rink is a bar and grill—Skate Home.
I take it as a sign and head for the wooden door. With each step closer, the music increases in volume. When I pull the door open, I get an earful of the rich, country sound. It’s accompanied by dings from the three slot machines against the wall and the buzz of chatter.
This place isn’t too bad.
I grin as I weave my way past the booths and through the round tables to reach the bar. Perching on a stool, I prepare to take out my ID, but the barman doesn’t even bother asking for it.
“What’s your flavor?” he shouts above the music.
“Bud Light.”
He nods and pours me a glass. The amber liquid splashes over the side as he sets it down. I pass him the cash, then wipe the dribble off with my finger. The first mouthful is cold and fresh, killing the restless buzz for a moment. I settle down and scan the place as I drink my brew. It’d be great to have Trey and Riley here. Without them around I have no one to make my quips to, no one to snigger at my jokes.
I clench my jaw and then gulp back the beer, asking for another as soon as my glass is empty. Handing over more cash, I ignore the warning to do a mental check of my funds. I don’t have the liberty of drawing cash from an ATM, and if I want my road trip to last more than a month or two, I need to ration my cash.
But not tonight.
Tonight I’m after a rush…and I’m going to get one.
With no dinner in my stomach, the beer is already working, making me feel lighter and more relaxed. I’ve finished half my second glass and I’m ready for a little more entertainment.
Glancing over my shoulder, I start scanning for hotties and notice a pair of blue eyes on me. Blonde. Decent tits. Sexy little smirk on her face.
She’s ticking all the boxes, so I swivel in my chair and smirk right back.
We eye-flirt for a few moments, both trying to gauge who’s going to make the first move. After a couple of long beats, her smile grows a touch wider and she grabs the glass off her table and approaches me.
Her swaying hips are kind of hypnotic and I openly study every inch of her. It’s not hard to build a mental picture. Her black leather skirt is short and skin-tight, and her white tank with plunging neckline looks glued on. Her boots are black and high, her ringed fingers long, with gold nail polish.
“Hi.” Her voice is husky—sexy like a jazz singer.
“How’s it going?” I hope my voice is smooth enough.
She perches her elbow on the bar and I figure I’m playing it right so far. I’m used to high school gigglers, not full-blown women, but I pulled it off last week and I can do it again tonight.
“So, what’s your name?” She takes a sip of her mixer, then licks the glistening liquid off her lips.
I nearly say Kade, my relaxed brain trying to trip me up, but then “Karl” pops out of my mouth.
“Karl,” she purrs. “I’m Star.”
“Star?” I raise my eyebrows.
She winks, resting against the bar with a little giggle. “It’s more interesting than Sarah, don’t you think?”
I grin and bob my head. “So, Star, what’s a pretty girl like you sitting all alone for?”
She leans so far forward her right breast squishes against my arm. “Well, I’m not alone anymore, am I? I knew some good-looking guy would walk in soon enough.” Her long fingers caress the back of my neck. “I figure we can keep each other company.”
My insides ignite as I read the message in her eyes.
She places her glass down and flicks her head at the barman. “So, why don’t you go ahead and buy me a drink, and we can really get this party started.”
So I do.
And it does.
We drink, we laugh, we dance… and then do a little more in the backseat of her car.
It’s the rush I was looking for—high and heady.
I stagger back to my bike with a goofy smile. There’s no way I can drive without crashing. My laugh is husky, trying to hide the fact that I’m a stupid idiot. I have no idea how much I spent on drinks tonight, and I can’t recall exactly what I said to Star as we danced, made out and then some.
Scratching my head, I rest my shoulder against the cold wall of the rink and gaze down at my blurry-looking motorcycle.
“I gotta find a place to stay,” I slur, closing my eyes and resting my head back against the wall.
The air is even colder than it was before. If I sleep out here for the night, I’ll lose my nose to frostbite.
Slapping my cheeks, I try to wake myself up and then force my legs to walk to the main road. Surely there’ll be a motel nearby.
It takes over an hour, and by the time I stagger my freezing butt into the Happy Holiday Motel, I’ve sobered up enough to fill in my fake details and pay for the room.
My head hits the pillow with a thunk. The final thought whistling through my mind is—I gotta go back and get my bike in the morning.
I wonder if Pretty Girl will be at the rink again.
#7:
All Men Are Jerks
Julienne
I stare up at the ceiling, the darkness making it impossible to see anything.
With an irritated huff, I spin to my side, snapping my eyes shut and willing sleep to take me.
But it won’t.
&nbs
p; I’m exhausted. I need sleep so badly. My body is begging for reprieve, but my brain just won’t switch off.
It jumps from worry for my mother, to fear for myself, to relief at scoring a job, to the dark-haired man I saw in the rink tonight.
I let out a huff, my eyes popping open as I try to dodge the sexy smirk he gave me.
Rubbing my forehead, I flick on the lamp and flip back the covers. The concrete is freezing and I rush to the mat in the middle of the room, grabbing a pair of socks before dashing to the bathroom.
I live in a converted garage beneath Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore’s house. The only time I’ve ever seen them is when they rented me the place. I sometimes hear them above me, their footsteps soft and unobtrusive. They never yell at each other and I’m slowly adjusting to the eerie silence. I’ve been here nearly two weeks now. I’m not sure it’ll ever feel like home, but it’s keeping me safe while I wait out the pregnancy.
I haven’t told anyone about the baby yet. I haven’t even been to a doctor, which I know is really irresponsible, but I’m scared if I go, word will somehow get back to Carson City and either my father or ex-boyfriend will turn up on my doorstep.
I can’t let that happen.
I have a plan and I’m going to stick to it.
It took me a week to find a job. I walked into every diner I came across, asking if they needed another waitress. I was about to give up when I forced myself to shuffle into Skate Home Bar and Grill. Cassidy looked me up and down, then called her husband out from the back.
He studied my face, then tipped his head, his bushy eyebrows slowly rising.
“Guess we could do with a kitchen hand. You know how to peel potatoes, wash dishes, be ordered around in a kitchen?”
I bobbed my head, willing my pregnancy nausea to magically disappear.
“I love cooking.” I smiled. “I cook all the time at home.” That part wasn’t a lie. Any night I was home for dinner, I cooked it. The kitchen was one of the safest places in the house because Dad never went in there. It was a haven.
“When can you start?” Keith asked.
“Right now if you need me to.”
Cassidy and Keith looked at each other, then nodded in agreement.
I nearly keeled over with relief.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I remind myself, flushing the toilet and shuffling back into my kitchenette.
I rub my aching head and grab some crackers out of the cupboard. I discovered that if I eat at regular intervals, the nausea doesn’t kick my butt so bad. I keep crackers on me at all times. They help with my sanity, and thankfully no one at work has asked about my weird snacking habits. My time frame on this whole keeping the baby a secret thing is limited. Hopefully by the time I start to show, they’ll love me enough not to fire me.
I just have to be the best kitchen hand the world has ever seen.
Brushing my fingers over my stomach, I walk to the old tartan couch and pick the book off the threadbare arm.
I’m five chapters into What To Expect When You’re Expecting.
It’s made for interesting, yet terrifying, reading. I’m forcing myself to plow through it, though. If I’m not willing to visit a doctor, then I have to keep up to date on my own. With no computer or internet access, I’ve been using my savings on books.
I look to my bed, wondering how much cash is still in the envelope under my pillow. I chewed through a large chunk of it with a week’s worth of motel accommodations. I want to keep Antonio’s cash as backup. After the baby’s born and safely in a new home, I’ll go back and return the money. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
The good-looking guy from the rink pops into my head again.
I slap the book shut with a huff and drop it on the couch next to me.
Why do I keep thinking about that jerk?
I fled to Reno to get away from an asshole who won me over with a sexy smirk. I should know better. There was just something about those blue eyes, his sharp chiseled features. There was a playfulness in his smile that enticed me. Thank goodness I frowned and got out of there. If I’d stuck around or stared at him the way I wanted to…
“You’re hopeless!” I berate myself.
I spotted Mr. Blue Eyes when I was passing a fresh plate of food to Cassidy. He sat in the bar chatting up some blonde. They had eye sex most of the evening and then stumbled out of the bar just as my shift ended. I saw them in the parking lot. His arm was around her shoulders and they were giggling together. They reached the car and he pressed her against it. Their kisses were loud and hungry. I stood in the darkness watching them.
That sounds really creepy, but it was like a car accident. I couldn’t look away…until she hooked her leg over his hip and he started grinding himself against her. As I turned for home, a car door opened behind me. More giggles. More loud kisses.
An engine never fired up, and I didn’t have to guess why they weren’t driving away.
They had sex in the back of that blue Cadillac sedan, and I hated them for it.
The feeling was hot, intense…and quickly led to a heavy depression.
Why should they get to do the deed and not have to pay a price for it?
I was in love with Antonio. At least I thought I was. When I spread my legs for him, I wasn’t doing it for casual pleasure or a selfish rush. I wanted to make him happy.
Tears burn my eyes. I dig my nails into my arm, willing myself not to fall apart.
Life’s not fair.
I lean my head back against the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
Why do men have to be such jerks?
All I ever wanted was a guy to look after me, treat me like I was something special.
But maybe guys like that just don’t exist.
At least not in my world.
#8:
Curiosity
Kade
“So, how’s the big wide world working out for ya?” Riley’s trying to sound chipper and upbeat.
I smile at his effort. This is only the second time we’ve spoken since I left.
After two weeks of radio silence, I felt bad and bought a burner phone. Riley’s number was easy enough to remember, so I gave it a call. He sounded so damn relieved to hear from me that I decided to call him every week with updates.
“I’m good, man.”
“Where you at now?”
“Reno.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’ve uh, been here nearly a week.”
He better not ask me why, because I seriously have no idea. I’m staying in a cheap-ass motel room that reeks of stale smoke. I spend as little time there as possible.
“Ah, so you found your party town, then?”
Not really. After my backseat dance with blondie, I’ve been pretty sensible about it all.
Most days I’ve been skating at the rink, having dinner at the bar, then sneaking out before Star sees me again.
I can’t tell Riley any of that, so I go with “It’s not bad. I won fifty bucks on a slot machine last night. It was pretty sweet.”
Riley snickers. “Well, I guess you need something to keep you going.”
“Yeah.” I work my jaw to the side. “I should probably get a job at some point. The cash won’t last forever.”
The silent beat tells me exactly what Riley’s thinking. My little comment basically told him I’m in no hurry to come back.
I wince and dig my hand into my pocket.
He sighs. “Well, just, uh….be careful, man. You don’t have a legit social security number, so it’ll need to be a cash under the table gig.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll watch my back.”
“You should probably be moving on from Reno soon. You don’t want to get too cozy anywhere.”
I nod and look up at the Skate Home sign. It’s bright blue and neon at night. “I’ll move on soon.”
“Good. Okay, well… I guess I’ll talk to you in a couple of weeks, then.”
“Yeah, all right. Um, say hi to Trey and Ana fo
r me.”
“Will do.” The clipped way Riley replies tells me Trey’s still pissed.
I hang up and clench my jaw, trying to not let it bug me. Scratching my jawline, I get off my bike and head for the rink. It’s pretty damn quiet in the middle of a weekday, so that’s when I’ve been coming. Yesterday, I had the whole place to myself. I’m running late today and figure I have about an hour before the after-school crowd shows up.
It looks like a small, privately owned rink. I don’t know how the owners make their money. I’m guessing hockey and ice-skating practices keep them afloat. The sign says it’s open nine months of the year.
No one’s sitting behind the desk at the entrance so I slap my ten-dollar bill on the counter and reach over for the same skates I wore yesterday. They’re sitting within reach, like the guy who was supposed to put them back forgot to do it.
As I walk down the ramp, I notice two hockey goals are set up on the ice.
That’s weird. During public skating times, the rink is usually clear.
I sit down and put my skates on, quickly scanning the bleachers as I tie the laces.
Pretty Girl’s not here. I noticed her a couple of days ago; she was just walking out as I came in. I know she’s not my type and everything, but she makes me curious. I can’t help looking for her every time I come in here.
It doesn’t take long to put my skates on. I’m about to hit the ice when I spot some sticks and a small pile of pucks. The rules are pretty clear—no hockey during public skating times—but no one else is even in the rink. I figure I’ll just mess around until someone arrives.
Grabbing a stick and two pucks, I hit the ice and am soon playing an intense game of hockey with an imaginary team. I’m even mumbling my own commentary as I speed across the ice, the puck in my control. I score goal after goal, raising my hands in triumph every time. I’m halfway through mimicking a cheering crowd when I spin around and find a guy staring at me.
I drop my arms and stare right back.
He’s short compared to me, with ginger and white-speckled hair and weathered skin. He’s probably in his fifties or sixties, with a round face and body to match.