“Funny, neither do our parents.”
He squinted, still looking dumbfounded and intrigued by the idea of me. “So what’s your deal?”
It was more straight to the point than I was used to. Normally, I was the one rolling my eyes and cutting to the chase.
I looked up and made eye contact, which was my test of who could handle my truths. If they broke eye contact after one honest, real sentence, then I’d lie about the rest. “I go to Amherst. I’m in Boston for a short weekend trip. My robotically perfect sister wouldn’t stop texting me that I had to participate in tonight’s events, while my inappropriate hookup was fucking me in a public bathroom… because he’s married. So, here I am. Think that covers it in one long sentence.”
He didn’t even blink, as I regurgitated everything on the forefront of my mind.
He stepped closer into my space, just looking at me like I wasn’t a freak or jealous younger sister, or even a whore for using “fucking” and “married man” in the same sentence.
He looked down at me, my average height (mostly legs) was no match for his. “Hmm… I like you. You’re fucked up.”
I laughed at his almost compliment. It wasn’t boring. I took the fat joint from him again and tightly wrapped my cherry red lips around the neat end. “Are you friends with Liz? An infamous Amherst Sinner?”
I couldn’t place the expression; it fell somewhere between disgusted and jealous. Before he even responded, parts of me felt like I knew him—parts of me didn’t even have to hear his voice to know the answer. He felt familiar because all his in-betweens matched mine.
“Liz, yes, we’re friends. Sinner? No thanks. Sounds like a lame-ass boy band.”
A smile made my full lips seem pouty without trying before my fingers covered my laughter.
“You asked for this,” was all he said, before his lips pressed against mine. His lips were slightly cold and wet from the bourbon he was sipping on when he came back. I didn’t care; he was willingly kissing me when I knew that landed in his own list of don’ts, while he was checking my most dangerous box on my master list: Fall in love.
Hunter
All my pent up anxiety was wasted energy, once I knew what Hector wanted to meet for. I knew I was good at what I did that eventually it would draw more attention than I truly wanted to have pointed in my direction. This wasn’t a hobby or way to defy everyone around me anymore. This was my job, and the only way I made money.
I wasn’t gifted a trust fund like Ollie or his friends. I had to fight for everything I had and wanted. I was willing to break a lot of morals I was convinced I was born without to begin with. I wasn't chasing desire anymore, but the sneaky bastard “need” was always lurking around the corner, pushing you to do things you didn't think you would.
Hector kept his gaze on Brittany when we walked back into the room, and as soon as I shifted my eyes up from the décor, I realized why. She was one hundred proof Addileigh now, soaked in worry and anxiety, like I transferred it all to her once I was done with it. Her fake tan looked ghostly, and nothing about her had the same color it did before. She seemed dead, and that alone made everything in me pause.
The space between us felt more and more in the way—once everything around us fell out of focus. Her gray orbs glossed over once the warmth of my palm caressed her cheek, and every ounce of guilt I had kissing other people dissipated. In this moment, all I saw was everything I was looking for all along: a key character witness—one willing testify that was a good person.
Worth loving.
Worth choosing.
Worth taking a chance on.
Her lips no longer tasted like poison anymore. This time, there was a sweet honey flavor softening the sharp edges inside my heart. All her poison took its course, ran through my veins, and eventually started tasting sweet.
Sugar Honey Iced Tea.
I knew in this moment Addi wasn't just a distraction. She was judge and jury—one I was hellbent on impressing.
Pulling away from our kiss left us both stunned too much to use words, resulting to only using our features to communicate.
Mine were painted in shock, complete with a wrinkled brow and pursed lips. She was all wonderstruck, and her features seemed smoother, like after she orgasms.
Hector’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder. “Tortolitos, shall we celebrate this arrangement?”
While downstairs, Hector made a compelling argument to take on more responsibility. In my experience you never turned down anything when it came from the hand of a powerful man like Hector.
Hector wanted me to fly to Miami once a month to see that shipments were coming in securely and everyone involved stayed under the radar. I tried to tell him I was just some punk from Florida who got lucky selling, but his husky voice, which incorporated words I didn't know, came prepared with data. Data and percentages I didn't think we’re real in any sense. He wanted me to say yes myself, giving his guilt an easy out, even though I was sure that wasn't something Hector had.
Men like Hector wanted you to say yes, so when you wanted out they could site a moment as the one that seemed like free will. Nothing in this world was your choice. I sold what he wanted, when he wanted. The only choice I had was who I sold to; that part never mattered as long as their money was green.
All guilt ended at the start of green with dead presidents on the front.
I didn't realize how much money spoke, until I started selling more than cloudy highs, instead giving people the kind of highs that have claws, sinking into your senses and making you fight for freedom.
That's when I went wrong, drawing unwanted attention.
I lived comfortably, making sure the only flashy thing I owned was my Mustang—the same one gifted to me sophomore year when my dad got engaged to my stepmom. The rest I kept tucked away in a safe, not even a bank; I was even hiding from them.
I pulled away from Brittany, wrapping my hand around her wrist, like my charm would wear off and she'd take off running. No, I wasn't letting myself fall for that trick again with hopeful eyes and using me to make someone else jealous. I was claiming a stake to this girl, and I was ready to make the world hate her, if it meant keeping her as mine.
Walking through an open doorway, there was a long table I could only assume seemed traditional and tied to his culture. I didn't know anything about Hector.
Was Maria his wife? Did he have a family? Kids? Is this the unclear life I can expect, because this is what I do too?
With his arms open, he waved his hand, slicing the air, beckoning me to sit next to him. I was sinking deeper and deeper into this business with every request. I watched his band of idiots who drove us here remove the guns from the back of their dress pants and put them gently down on a side table, like they knew weapons weren't allowed at the table.
I was right, because Hector switched to Spanish and yelling in their direction. Apparently the table wasn't right either, because we saw.
If he only knew the shit I'd seen. Juvie doesn't make you soft; it gives you ripped edges that gives everyone else paper cuts.
One of the two idiots looked at me with a snarl, as he sat down, and without even pondering it, I know why. He's just been kicked aside, so Hector can play with his new toy: me. I couldn’t help but smirk; no one was ever jealous of me.