Leaving the door open, he let me follow him inside. I waited in the messy living room while he disappeared into the bedroom. He returned a few seconds later with his cell.
I punched in my mama’s number, and she answered on the third ring. “Principal Livingston.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
I wandered over to the kitchen, trying to avoid the guy’s curious stare, and I heard my mama sigh into the phone.
“Scarlett, where are you? Rogue Kelly called me last night from your phone. I thought you were on the outs still?”
“I was. I am,” I corrected myself.
“Well? What happened?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I don’t want to get into it right now. I just wanted to call to let you know I’ll be home later.”
“Scarlett—”
“Gotta go.” I hung up before she could say anything else, and handed the phone back to the guy. “Thanks.”
“I thought you locked yourself out of your apartment,” he said.
“What?”
He looked at me curiously. “You said you were locked out.”
“Oh. Right. My roommate let me know where the spare was. I’m good. Thanks again,” I said with a wave.
I made my way towards the door, with him on my heels. “Hey, if you’re looking for a good time—”
“I’m not,” I quickly said.
“Well, if you change your mind—”
“Thanks for letting me use your phone,” I cut him off again, but tempered it with a friendly smile. “I really appreciate it.”
I was out the door and across the hall, letting myself into Clay’s place again before the guy could reply.
Clay hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, but he was smoking a joint and playing video games when I went back in.
“I got some chick clothes in the bottom drawer of my dresser,” he said without looking away from the TV.
I snorted. “Why do you have chick clothes?”
He smirked. “Sometimes they like to leave momentos.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Gross. I am not wearing your hump bunny’s underwear.”
“Prude,” he joked. “But I’m pretty sure there’s some other stuff, too.”
I headed into his bedroom and dug through the drawer. Sure enough, I found enough things to make a decent outfit. They were wrinkled, but they were better than wearing Luis's stuff. I left the panties in the drawer, though.
I pulled on the borrowed jeans and crop top. The jeans were tight and a bit too short, but I just cuffed the bottom of the legs and reminded myself not to bend over too quickly. The shirt was tight too, but at least without a bra, it helped hold up my breasts.
“You have enough clothes in that drawer for a good three outfits,” I said as I walked back out and sat on the couch beside him.
He looked over appraisingly and gave a nod like I’d passed a test. “Ah. Good old Last Month Crop Top and Tuesday Tight Jeans,” he said with a smirk. “I remember them well.”
I smacked him on the arm playfully. “Seriously. What are these chicks wearing when they leave?”
“I never notice, but then I realize my hoodies are always missing,” Clay said with a frown. “What is it with chicks and stealing guys’ hoodies?”
I just laughed. “They’re comfy.”
“Fucking thieves, the lot of you.”
“What happened to Mr. Feminist?”
He shrugged as he beat on his controller. “Just callin’ it like I see it, Livingston.”
Our laughter was cut short when there was a loud bang on the door, making me jump. “Scarlett? I know you’re in there. Get the fuck out here now!”
My face drained of color, and my eyes widened.
Rogue.
“Who the fuck is that?” Clay asked, jumping up from the couch. He automatically went on the defense, grabbing the baseball bat he kept near his front door for such occasions, and went to open the door. I was impressed at his response time, considering he was completely stoned. Guess you had to be prepared when you kept thousands of dollars worth of weed in your apartment.
“Wait!” I screamed before squeezing my eyes shut. And when I closed them, I saw Rogue, back on the property behind his house with a knife in his hand. But instead of the strange man at his feet, it was Clay. “Don’t open it!” I hissed.
Clay looked at me. I mean really looked at me. He leaned closer, cupping my cheek with his palm before whispering softly. “You got them running eyes, Scarlett.” Just as he said that, the door was kicked open, and Rogue stormed through the splintered wood that littered the floor. I flinched, and Clay positioned me behind him, puffing out his chest as he assessed the new threat.
“Who are you?” Rogue asked while eyeing Clay with scrutiny. I stared at him over Clay’s shoulder and noticed that he was still wearing the clothes from last night and had deep circles under his eyes.
I didn’t have to see Clay’s face to know that he was wearing an incredulous expression. “Who am I?” he asked before holding the baseball bat up and pointing it at Rogue’s chin. “Who the fuck are you?” You walked in, scaring Scarlett and busting down my door. I suggest you get the fuck out of my apartment before I bash your brains in. Is this who you were running from last night, Scarlett?” he asked me briefly before directing his attention back to Rogue, who looked so angry and tense, I knew he’d break any moment. Clay had no idea who he was dealing with.
I placed my hand on Clay’s shoulder, pushing ever so slightly so that he’d lower the baseball bat, but he didn’t budge. Rogue’s eyes zeroed in on where my hand touched Clay’s shoulder, and they grew incredibly dark. He was furious.
“Scarlett. We’re leaving. Now,” Rogue ordered, authority seeping through every syllable as he stared shamelessly at me.
“Fuck you. She isn’t going anywhere with you, asshole,” Clay countered.
Rogue was ready to attack him, and I couldn’t let Clay get hurt for trying to protect me. I hurriedly sidestepped Clay and moved between them. I didn’t want my only friend in this fucked up town to get hurt because of me. “It’s okay, Clay.”
He immediately shifted the bat to one hand and then used his free one to push back on my stomach, his fingers splaying out over my bare skin, barely covered by the crop top.
At that move, Rogue lost it. He grabbed the bat from Clay’s hand and swiftly flipped it so that the handle was in his strong grip. He didn’t give Clay a moment’s notice. He single-handedly winded back, acting like he was about to bash Clay’s skull in, but stopped right before he connected the metal with his right temple.
“Scar, you and I both know what I’m capable of. Say goodbye to your pathetic little boyfriend and get in the fucking car that you stole after you left my house last night,” Rogue ordered, and it didn’t escape me how he worded that statement. The implications of where I was all night were written all over his expressive, but hardened face.
Clay tore his eyes from the metal baseball bat just centimeters from hitting his face, and snapped his attention at me. “Drinking beers and stealing cars? You really have gone off the deep end,” he joked, breaking through the tension. Clay was good in a confrontation. He could defend himself, but he wasn’t ruled by aggression.