Page 1 of Finn
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“You’re crazy, bitch, you know that?”
I drop my head back and laugh at the endearing words from my bestie. I give her a fashion show twirl, swinging my hips like the runway models do, which is really hard to fucking do in these gigantic heels. By the time I’m facing her again, I can’t keep up the pretense any longer. “I don’t know if I can do it, Jaz. My feet already hurt.”
She appraises me from head-to-toe with her discerning, style-expert gaze. When finished, she gives a curt nod as if she’s just figured out how to catch water on fire. “No one will be looking at your feet in that outfit. Trust me. You can change into shorter heels. Maybe a cute boot?”
I tug my lower lip into my mouth and look at my friend expectantly.
She groans. Loudly.
“Pleeeassse? I won’t let anything happen to them.” My eyes are already wide and dreaming about the new boots she bought the other day. She Snapchatted them to me, and I fangirled like I was talking to Jimmy Choo himself. No, they aren’t designer, but they’re great knockoffs.
This is the Heights, not Beverly Hills, after all.
She gestures toward her closet with a dismissing wave and an eyeroll. “Fine.” Before I can even turn fully, her grumbling lifts into a smile. See? She loves me.
Jaz has been my stand-in sibling for more than five years. When she scored this cute apartment above the dress shop, we decided to move in together. Two incomes going toward the rent couldn’t hurt. Plus, it gives me some space from Mom and Dad.
She places a matching hoop earring in her right ear. “If Cole’s there, you know he’s going to give you shit.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I throw back as I step toward her closet. Hers is filled with more clothing and accessories than mine, and it’s always a maze to rifle through. Jaz is a pseudo-fashionista, or at least she would be if we didn’t grow up in the Heights.
Through the full-length mirror we picked up at a thrift store, I watch as she shakes her head at my brush off, laughing to herself. I’m pretty sure she’s found far too much amusement in the fact that my brother has come back to town. But like, not just as my brother, as afucking badass gang leader. Whatever he is, it still blows my mind that he’s here again. I couldn’t care less about the title. When he defected from the Crew, I was pretty sure he was dead. Or at the very least, chased away from Rawley Heights for the rest of his life.
Having him back is a blessing...and a curse.
“You two are going to kill each other. Mark my words.” Jaz leans back on a sea of pillows that run the gamut of all the colors of the rainbow. She crosses her legs, already dressed for tonight in a skintight pair of skinny jeans and a shimmery crop top. Her chestnut brown hair is growing out from a really bad pixie cut that she regretted from the first snip. It’s now dutifully down to her shoulders, a little longer in the front and moving backward at an upward angle. “And like, just sayin’, but he can actually make that happen. I’m going to have to give him the upper hand with this one.”
I bark out a laugh. Toeing the pair of my roommate’s new boots out of the closet, I step out of the sky-high heels and into the cute peep-toes. For all of my bravado, I worry over my lip while my back is to her. She’s absolutely right that Cole has the power to make that happen, which is fucking scary. Obviously, she’s joking about the killing me part. He’s way too overprotective. Trying to keep me from getting killed from everything right down to the damn Heights street rats.
Basically, my brother left cool and came back an overbearing asshole.
“The only thing he’s going to drive me to do is die from boredom,” I snarl.
“Dramatic much?” Her red lips pull into a grin. Her favorite thing to do is tease me about my propensity for drama.
I turn, much steadier on my feet now and give my friend a playful boob wiggle, ignoring her dig. I’ve always had a flair for theatrics. I’m not about to stop now. “Better?”
“Sexy as fuck. I’d do you.”
I kiss the air in the vicinity of her face. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” She crosses her arms behind her head, looking the picture of serenity as she basks in my compliment.
I take one of her fringe pillows with purple pom-poms on all four corners and chuck it at her. It hits her in the chest and bounces off.
She drops her mouth in mock shock. “And to think I lent you my new shoes.” She shoots off the bed, but I’m already hightailing it out of there. She’ll have to pry these boots off my cold dead feet. Which she would do, so I’m not even joking. She’s very serious about her shit, and I may or may not be the worst person to lend things to.
The apartment opens up to a joint kitchen and living space. It’s not high-end or anything, but we’ve made it work. The couch in the living space used to be in the dress shop downstairs. We snatched it up when they were getting rid of it. It’s a beautiful cranberry velvet settee piece. We decorated the entire room around its charm with furnishings purchased from second-hand shops that we re-stained or re-painted to match the aesthetic. Thankfully, the furnishings draw attention away from the cheap cabinetry and pocked Formica of the island that serves as the barrier between the two rooms.
On either side of the couch sit two end tables that used to be a drab brown, but we painted them white, bought fancy new knobs, and placed bargain lamps on each one, and now they look a thousand percent better. The only thing we can’t change is the muted brown, stained carpet. To counteract it, we’re putting money aside and searching for the perfect area rug to cover up how horrendous it is. All in all, I swear we have one of the nicer apartments in all of the Heights—if not that, then at least it’s unique. It’s nothing like the modern tower my brother is living in but it’s mine and Jaz’s so I love it.
Standing in front of the floor-length mirror in the hallway, I re-tie my halter and lean forward, making sure I’m giving enough of a show without giving too much. There’s a fine line between sexy and straight up ho. The ruffles that skirt the v-neckline bring attention to my cleavage without overdoing it. The black shirt ends in an asymmetric hem that shows off a sneak peek of my stomach. Rounding out the outfit is a layered jean skirt to match the neckline of my shirt and black tights lead to the cute boots, which really do throw this outfit into H-O-T territory.
Jaz pouts behind me, staring in longing at my wavy, dark auburn hair that stops mid-back. “I hate you.”
I smirk at her. “You’re rocking that new bob, and you know it.”
