seat and rest my hands behind my head. Her walls are
covered in posters of various rock and metal bands. How she and the Miller
girls could possibly be from the same genetic pool is beyond me.
“Anybody want a beer?” Kian sits
his guitar aside and rises up.
“I’ll take one,” Liberty says. I
found out earlier that day that she was twenty-one. She appears a lot younger,
minus the tattoos. “Jensen, you want one?”
“Got anything stronger?” I ask.
Kian laughs. “You’ve got a lot of
balls, man. I like you. You sure you’re still in high school?”
“Told you,” Liberty says. “He
acts older than the two of us combined.”
I feel old as fuck sometimes. It
tends to happen like that when you spend the majority of your youth raising
yourself, questioning authority, and growing up long before everyone else.
Kian comes back with two Pabst
Blue Ribbon tallboys and a fifth of off-brand vodka that’s half gone. “Take
this. You can have it. Hide it. You didn’t get it from me.”
I accept his offering. “Thanks,
man.”
Kian winks. “I know what it’s
like.”
He leaves it at that, and I’m not
in a mood to pry. It’s none of my business, and Kian seems like the kind of guy
who doesn’t appreciate another man prying into his personal affairs, much like
myself.
Kian’s phone dings.
“Who the hell’s texting you this
late at night?” Liberty’s entire demeanor shifts. Her blue eyes burn dark and
she sits up. Kian yanks the phone away from her like he’s hiding something.
“Okay, well, I should probably
head out before anyone notices I’m gone…” I rise, shoving the half-empty fifth
of vodka into my interior coat pocket and heading toward the door. They
continue bickering like cats and dogs, and I’m not even sure they saw me leave.
Liberty will probably apologize
tomorrow at work. Then again, she might not. She doesn’t seem like the kind of
girl who’s sorry for a whole lot. I like that about her. She’s a
take-me-or-leave-me kind of girl.
She’s earned my respect, that’s
for damn sure.
***
I park in front of the main
house, fully expecting Mark to be standing in the living room window again,
hands on his hips, ready to give me a talking-to, but the house is dark.
Either no one noticed I left or
no one fucking cares. The latter wouldn’t surprise me.
I carefully pad up the sidewalk
and ready my key.
“Jensen.”
My heart drops. I don’t startle
easily, but when you’re trying to sneak in to your own house and someone
whispers your name from the bushes, it has a tendency to do that to a person.
Bushes rustle to my right, and I
squint only to find what looks like Bellamy crouched down in between two trimmed
hedges.
“What the hell are you doing down
there?” I hop off the steps and reach for her hand, pulling her up. She’s dressed
like a five-dollar hooker. Well, not quite. She actually looks hot as fuck. Two-dollar
whore is what Josiah Mackey would call any woman who wore anything that showed
any bit of skin. Juliette was the exception. She couldn’t hide her curves
behind even her most conservative Sunday best, and Josiah liked that.
“I’m locked out.” She stands, smoothing
the creases of her tight, dark dress. A small fur something-or-other hugs her
shoulders. Other than that she’s got a whole lot of skin showing for a cool
spring night like this.
“How were you planning to get
back in?”
“I saw your truck was gone. I
figured you’d be back soon.”
“And if I didn’t come back?”
She’s shivering, though she tries to fight it. I grab her arm and lead her to
the door, slipping my key in slowly and quietly praying the lock doesn’t clack
enough to wake up the Big Man. I’m shocked he doesn’t have a security system
installed.
“Guess I’d have frozen to death.”
She laughs as if it’s funny—like she doesn’t care. Her eyes dart down to
my jacket. “Your liquor’s showing.”
I feel like I’m talking to a
complete stranger, and
covered in posters of various rock and metal bands. How she and the Miller
girls could possibly be from the same genetic pool is beyond me.
“Anybody want a beer?” Kian sits
his guitar aside and rises up.
“I’ll take one,” Liberty says. I
found out earlier that day that she was twenty-one. She appears a lot younger,
minus the tattoos. “Jensen, you want one?”
“Got anything stronger?” I ask.
Kian laughs. “You’ve got a lot of
balls, man. I like you. You sure you’re still in high school?”
“Told you,” Liberty says. “He
acts older than the two of us combined.”
I feel old as fuck sometimes. It
tends to happen like that when you spend the majority of your youth raising
yourself, questioning authority, and growing up long before everyone else.
Kian comes back with two Pabst
Blue Ribbon tallboys and a fifth of off-brand vodka that’s half gone. “Take
this. You can have it. Hide it. You didn’t get it from me.”
I accept his offering. “Thanks,
man.”
Kian winks. “I know what it’s
like.”
He leaves it at that, and I’m not
in a mood to pry. It’s none of my business, and Kian seems like the kind of guy
who doesn’t appreciate another man prying into his personal affairs, much like
myself.
Kian’s phone dings.
“Who the hell’s texting you this
late at night?” Liberty’s entire demeanor shifts. Her blue eyes burn dark and
she sits up. Kian yanks the phone away from her like he’s hiding something.
“Okay, well, I should probably
head out before anyone notices I’m gone…” I rise, shoving the half-empty fifth
of vodka into my interior coat pocket and heading toward the door. They
continue bickering like cats and dogs, and I’m not even sure they saw me leave.
Liberty will probably apologize
tomorrow at work. Then again, she might not. She doesn’t seem like the kind of
girl who’s sorry for a whole lot. I like that about her. She’s a
take-me-or-leave-me kind of girl.
She’s earned my respect, that’s
for damn sure.
***
I park in front of the main
house, fully expecting Mark to be standing in the living room window again,
hands on his hips, ready to give me a talking-to, but the house is dark.
Either no one noticed I left or
no one fucking cares. The latter wouldn’t surprise me.
I carefully pad up the sidewalk
and ready my key.
“Jensen.”
My heart drops. I don’t startle
easily, but when you’re trying to sneak in to your own house and someone
whispers your name from the bushes, it has a tendency to do that to a person.
Bushes rustle to my right, and I
squint only to find what looks like Bellamy crouched down in between two trimmed
hedges.
“What the hell are you doing down
there?” I hop off the steps and reach for her hand, pulling her up. She’s dressed
like a five-dollar hooker. Well, not quite. She actually looks hot as fuck. Two-dollar
whore is what Josiah Mackey would call any woman who wore anything that showed
any bit of skin. Juliette was the exception. She couldn’t hide her curves
behind even her most conservative Sunday best, and Josiah liked that.
“I’m locked out.” She stands, smoothing
the creases of her tight, dark dress. A small fur something-or-other hugs her
shoulders. Other than that she’s got a whole lot of skin showing for a cool
spring night like this.
“How were you planning to get
back in?”
“I saw your truck was gone. I
figured you’d be back soon.”
“And if I didn’t come back?”
She’s shivering, though she tries to fight it. I grab her arm and lead her to
the door, slipping my key in slowly and quietly praying the lock doesn’t clack
enough to wake up the Big Man. I’m shocked he doesn’t have a security system
installed.
“Guess I’d have frozen to death.”
She laughs as if it’s funny—like she doesn’t care. Her eyes dart down to
my jacket. “Your liquor’s showing.”
I feel like I’m talking to a
complete stranger, and
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