Page 31 of Not Your Romeo
“Kilbride,” she guessed.
“You know her?” I was a little surprised, it was a big campus.
“You know many women named Roisin?” the tart asked, before taking Henny’s hand and starting along a path.
I followed them, almost convinced she was taking us on a wild chase, until she paused near the edge of a wooded area and pointed to a building ahead.
“Elevator is just to the inside of the door. Second floor, third door on the right is Roisin. I think it’s dorm number two hundred and three.
“Great.” I nodded.
“Come on,” Henny reached for her hand again.
“Nuh-uh.” The tart shook her head, “I already know. She’s up there with them dope boys. I don’t need no part in all that. I have a scholarship to think about.”
“What the fuck you mean ‘dope boys?’” I stared at her.
She looked me up and down, held her hand out and sauntered away.
“I’ll be waiting, handsome,” she cooed over her shoulder at Henny.
She wasn’t gonna have long to wait. I was marching toward that dorm building the same way Henny dismounted earlier, like I was ready to take on a whole goddamned army!
Chapter Fourteen
Eat It
Roisin
I almost forgot about Saint. I guess when you’re forced into marriage with a stranger who just happens to be connected to your brother’s murder, meeting up with the plug kind of loses priority. It shouldn’t have. If I was a person who actually needed to sell to support myself, it would never have happened.
But there I was, pulling into the parking lot just as Saint did.
“Aye, I’m right behind you, ma. I just wanted to show you my baby, you’re gonna love it.”
He took a big sporting bag from the trunk, and I walked up to my dorm room with him and two of his guys. I unzipped my coat and got comfy on the sofa while he threw two individually wrapped ounces on the coffee table.
His friends were huddled around a cellphone, grinning from ear to ear and whispering amongst themselves, so I ignored them for the most part.
“What’s this?” I asked, confused by the double amount.
“Oh, I had something special come in. I ain’t know which stain you wanted. I got that good indica, shit tastes like grapes. I’m talkin’ straight St. Louis flavor. Then yesterday, I had got some Ghost Train, feel me?”
“Everybody likes the purple, that grape taste sells itself. You know that.”
“That shit is fire, man,” one of his friends offered, without looking up.
“Mhm. I know it does, especially with ya’ll college kids.” Saint laughed.
“Yeah. That Ghost Train made me panic a little bit; I don’t like all that.” I wasn’t a heavy smoker and tended to stay away from sativa when possible.
“A’ight then.” He took one of the ounces off the table and carefully removed a large, glass bong from his bag. “This here is my baby. Ain’t she pretty?”
“Oh my God.” I laughed, looking it over while he turned it this way and that. “That damn thing is like four feet tall.”
“Nah, it’s like three, but it’s nice, right?”
“For sure.”
