Too young. Too dumb. Too easy to upset. And I gotta face it. She’ll fuck around. All women do.
Lately, she’s been even worse, throwing herself at me like a damn puppy begging for scraps. It’s pathetic. I should’ve ended this shit sooner, before she started that family-talk nonsense. Before I pictured her being railed by some muscle-head… her leaving me.
With a heavy breath, I swing open the door and step into the house.
And freeze.
Fuck.
On the couch sits Bobby fucking Morris, his lanky body spread out like he owns the place.
His hair’s greasy, like he hasn’t showered in days. Big nose, that same twitchy jaw, that rodent smile that always means someone’s about to get screwed.
He stands like we’re old pals, smiling.
“Grayson!” he crows, grabbing my hand and squeezing hard. “Damn, bro. Long time.”
I don’t move.
His palm’s rough. His skin smells like gas station soap and parole sweat.
“I just got out,” he says, already digging into his front pocket. “Your roommate gave me a ride. Sweet little thing.”
My heart drops. I grab his wrist.
“Youtouchher?” I growl.
He laughs, all teeth. “Nah, man. Not like that. She offered. Real polite. Little peach, that one.”
“Hi, Grayson!”
I whip my head around.
Charlotte’s peeking from the hallway, all innocent and clueless, smiling like she didn’t just hand me to this asshole.
Wearingthat.
Tiny denim shorts and a white top so low I can see the start of her bra. She steps into the living room, tilting her hips, trying to look sexy.
For me.
Fuck.
My jaw clenches. She hasno ideawhat she’s done.
I head toward her, planning to herd her back into her bedroom. Halfway there—
Knock knock.
I turn.
A black Suburban idles outside.
I know that truck. Too well, a relic from my past. The back window’s duct-taped. The front’s missing a bumper. The rust has rust.
I haven’t seen it in years.
Bobby’s already moving. Grinning. “The boys are here.”
