Once parked in front of my place, I cut the engine, pluck a joint from the glove compartment, and light it up, taking a long pull as I turn to the angel at my side.
She gives me a wide smile, swiping the mood enhancer from my fingers after I’ve hit it a few times. “God, I’ve been waiting for this.” She hits it once, twice, her body noticeably relaxing as she blows out a ring of smoke, handing it back to me. “No kidding. Tonight was—”
“As crazy as I told you it’d get,” I interrupt, pulling one last, long hit into my lungs.
Amber nods, her smile disappearing as I stub out the joint, slipping what remains of it into my wallet.
I lean over the center console, cupping her cheeks. “I’m not a good man, Ber,” I whisper, searching her face. “I have my share of inconsistencies, but I own them, wake up to them every morning, go to sleep fighting them every night.” I touch my lips to hers, praying nothing she witnessed will have her running from the twistedness that is my life. “But even though I’m not good through and through, I’ll always give you everything I am. Take care of you to the best of my ability.” I kiss her slowly, ingraining this moment into my memory, hoping this isn’t the last time I’ll get to. “So please, just chill with me a while, okay?”
Another nod, this one as she places her hands over mine. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, sincerity clinging to each word. “I promise, so stop worrying.” It’s her turn to kiss me, her cherry-flavored gloss, and little moans causing my heart to beat faster than a drum.
Kiss slowing, we get out of my ride and step into the elevator. As the doors part, I pull Amber into my embrace, praying that any kind of feelings this girl’s developing for me, if any at all, will keep her hanging on to her promise.
Keep her hanging on to what could very well cause her some of the most confusing hurt she’s ever been through.
Me . . .
CHAPTER 9
Amber
“THAT’LL BE FOUR dollars and fifty cents,” the barista announces.
Standing in a Starbucks just off campus, I dig through my purse for my wallet. No luck. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumble. “I don’t have any cash or cards with me.” Exhausted, I bring my eyes to hers, an embarrassed smile on my face. “Can you put it to the side while I go . . .” I trail off, realizing the barista is my mute roommate, Madeline.
Considering our boyfriends are in business together, we’ve been forced to hang out here and there, but other than that, we haven’t spoken to each other since the night she told me about Brock.
It’s safe to say that the last two months have been nothing short of awkward.
“There are people who have jobs to get to,” some douche barks from the line behind me. I glance at him from over my shoulder and watch him stretch out an annoyed arm, impatiently checking his watch. “Can we get moving here?”
I take a deep breath, my muscles trembling from lack of sleep as I focus on trying not to lose my shit. I decide against telling him to fuck off, rolling my eyes at him instead. Before I can note his reaction, I bring my attention back to Madeline and she’s . . . smiling.
Not a you’re screwed smile, but a genuine, understanding, sneaky half smile.
“It’s on the house,” Madeline whispers. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Aww. She doesn’t have any money,” a familiar feminine Southern drawl says, its overly sweet tone hitting my ears like acid rain.
I straighten and turn around, locking eyes on Hailey Jacobs. She casts me a snake’s smile. I don’t return it. Just seeing her after her most recent attempt to drive me insane makes my blood boil. Why bother pretending?
“Now, now, Madeline,” Hailey continues, the canny thrust in her words holding the proper amount of malicious amusement. With her hand buried in a Gucci purse—which I’m sure cost more than my car—she steps from the line, produces a leather wallet, and plucks out a ten-dollar bill. “You wouldn’t want to lose your job by lying for Amber, would you?”
Her statement comes out loud enough, making Madeline’s manager whip around, his brows furrowed in concern. Madeline’s face freezes, Hailey smirks, and I have a sudden overwhelming need to smack the bitch. With her fiery eyes promising retaliation, Madeline snatches the bill from Hailey and rings up my order.
“No!” I croak over the grumbling sighs in the background. “I don’t want her paying for me.”
“Just let her,” Madeline implores. “My boss is watching, and there’s a shitload of people waiting.”
Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Hailey Jacobs—an overprivileged snarky bitch who’s been stalking me since I started dating Brock—paying for my four-fifty Frappuccino?
I look at Madeline’s worried face and determine that, yes, I have been reduced to this. I grit my teeth, my scowl aimed in Hailey’s direction.
Hesitation burns my hand as I take the Frappuccino from Madeline and mouth, I’m sorry.
Madeline mouths back, No problem.
The reassuring look in her eyes tells me I haven’t done too much harm. Still, it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad. I turn, pathetically ducking past the line of aggravated, caffeine-crazed patrons. I’m sure the mob is about to pounce on me.
I feel Hailey’s wicked presence on my heels as I locate an empty table in the back corner. I take a seat, pull out an essay for biology class, and begrudgingly take a sip of my Hailey-Jacobs-bought Frappuccino.
It tastes sour.