Текст книги "Ten Tiny Breaths"

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

I sigh, turning serious. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I can get a job.”

“You need to concentrate on school, Livie. But …” I waggle my finger at her. “If Storm offers you money again, take it.”

She’s already shaking her head. “No. I’m not taking money to hang out with Mia. She’s fun.”

“You’re supposed to be having fun with people your own age, Livie. Like boys.”

She sets her jaw stubbornly. “When they’re not idiots, I’ll do that. Until then, five years olds make more sense.”

I stifle a laugh. That’s part of Livie’s problem. She’s too smart. Genius smart. She’s never related to kids her own age. I think she was born with the maturity of a twenty-five year old. Losing my parents only exacerbated that problem. She’s grown up too fast.

“What about you? It’s never too late for the Princeton dream,” she says quietly.

An unattractive snort escapes me. “That dream died years ago for me, Livie, and you know that. You’ll go, on that full scholarship you’re going to earn. I’ll apply somewhere local as soon as I have the money.” And somehow forge my transcript to make up two years of appalling grades.

Her brow creases in that worried Livie way. “Local, Kacey? Dad would hate that.” She’s right, he would. Our dad went to Princeton. His dad when to Princeton. In his view, I may as well enroll in a school with golden arches for a crest and take “Flipping Burgers 1-0-1” if I’m not going to Princeton. But Mom and Dad are gone and Uncle Raymond blew our entire inheritance on a black jack table.

I remember the night I found out about that like it was yesterday. It was my nineteenth birthday and I asked Aunt Darla and Uncle Raymond for our money so we could move out. I wanted to become Livie’s legal guardian. I knew something was up when Aunt Darla couldn’t meet my eyes. Uncle Raymond stumbled over his words before blurting out that there was nothing left.

After smashing almost every dish on the kitchen counter and jamming my foot into Uncle Raymond’s jugular so hard his face turned purple, I dialed the cops, ready to charge them with theft. Livie grabbed the phone from me and hung up before the call went through. We wouldn’t win. I’d likely be the one arrested. As smart as Mom and Dad were, they didn’t plan on dying. All the money left after the debts were paid went to Uncle Raymond and Aunt Darla to “care” for us. Secretly, I’m kind of glad Uncle Raymond did all that he did. It gave me another legitimate excuse to take my sister and leave that part of our lives behind for good.

I pat Livie’s back, trying to appease her guilt. “Dad would be happy that we’re safe. End of story.”

***

The next day I’m in the laundromat, when Storm skips down the steps, smiling but sallow-eyed. Livie took Mia to the park again and I’m giving serious consideration to smacking her upside the head for refusing to take money.

“Tanner must have his panties in a bunch over this.” Storm slides her foot across the sticky green stain left by my detergent. I duck my head, silently reminding myself to come back and scrub the floor. The thought of Tanner in any kind of underwear makes bile rise in my throat.

I quietly continue my sorting until I notice Storm’s standing there idly, watching me. It’s obvious she wants to talk to me, but she probably doesn’t know where to start.

“How long have you lived here?” I finally ask.

I think my voice startles her because she jumps and begins tossing in Mia’s little t-shirts and tiny pairs of undies. “Oh, three years, I think? It’s a pretty safe building, but I still wouldn’t come down here at night.”

Her words bring me back to thoughts of Trent and the unwanted feelings he elicited so effortlessly. We’ve been here weeks and I haven’t run into him since. If I dig deep inside, if I care to pay attention to what I’m trying to bury, I catch a glimpse of disappointment over that fact. But I quickly crush it with a hammer and throw it into the well with all other unwanted feelings.

“What are the other people like in the building?”

She shrugs. “A lot of people move in and out. Rent’s cheap so we get a lot of college kids. They’ve all been nice, especially to Mia. Mrs. Potterage on the third floor helps babysit after school and when I work. Oh,” she waggles a finger. “Avoid 2B like the plague. That’s Pervie Pete.”

My head tilts back with a groan. “Fantastic. No building is complete without a resident perv.”

“Oh, and a new guy moved in next to you. 1D.”

I can’t control the bit of heat from crawling up my neck. “Yeah, Trent,” I say casually as I set the machine. Even his name out loud sounds hot. Trent. Trent. Trent. Stop it, Kace.

“Well, I haven’t talked to this Trent but I saw him and … wowza.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.

Great. My gorgeous Barbie neighbor thinks Trent is hot. All she has to do is adjust her shirt and she’ll have him on his knees. I realize my teeth are clenched painfully and I focus on releasing my muscles. She can have him and all the trouble he comes with. Why do you care, Kace?

Slamming the doors shut and hitting the on switch, Storm exhales deeply, blowing her long bangs off her face. “Are you going to be here for a while?” She glances at the newspaper and marker I’ve brought down with me. “Would you mind just turning my stuff over when it goes off? I mean, if you’re around and it’s not too much trouble.”

I look at her again, at her drawn skin and the purplish lines marring her pretty blue eyes and see just how worn she is. Young, single mom with a five year old and she works six days a week, up until three a.m. every night?

“Yeah, no problem.” That sounds like something a nice, normal person would do, I tell myself. Livie will be proud of me.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

I notice that she’s biting her lip and her shoulders are pinched together and it dawns on me that she’s nervous. Asking for my help likely took her a ton of courage and she must be desperate enough to do it. Realizing that makes me want to slam my head into a wall. Clearly, I haven’t tried very hard to be approachable, like I promised Livie I would. And Storm’s nice. Really, genuinely nice.

“Why, Ma’am, I reckon it’d be my honor to wash your drawers,” I drawl in a fake southern accent, picking up the paper to fan myself with it.

Her face lights up with surprise as she giggles. She opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Me having a sense of humor has floored her. Dammit, Livie’s right. I am an ice queen.

I quickly add, “Besides, I owe you for last week. It’s the least I can do after pulling out Hannah—the dirtiest of all weapons.” I smile and it’s not forced. “I’ll just be going through the jobs section so I may as well do that in this paradise.”

She frowns. “Starbucks not working out?” Livie must have told her because I sure didn’t.

“It’s fine, but the pay’s shit. If I want to live of Spam and scrape blue spots off of bread for the rest of my life, I can make it work.”

She nods, thinking. “You guys should come over for dinner tonight.” I open my mouth to decline the charity and she adds, “as my thanks to Livie for taking care of Mia today.” There’s something in that tone, a mixture of forced bravery, but also a level of natural authority that makes me slam my mouth shut.

“And …” she shifts her feet a bit hesitantly, like she’s not sure if she should say what’s on her mind, “… do you know how to mix drinks?”

“Uh …” I blink rapidly at the sudden change in topic. “Isn’t it a little early in the day for that?”

She smiles, her perfect teeth gleaming. “Like martinis and Long Islands?”

“I pour a mean tequila shot.” I offer half-heartedly.

“Well, I can talk to my boss and see if he’ll hire you, if you’re interested. I bartend at a club. The money’s good.” Her eyes widen with those last words. “Like, really good.”

“Bartender, huh?”

She grins. “So, what do ya think?”

Could I handle it? I don’t say anything, trying to picture myself behind a bar. The visual ends with me smashing a bottle and kicking a grabby customer in the head.

“I should probably warn you, though.” She hesitates. “It’s an adult club.”

I feel the frown line zip across my forehead. “Adult like …”

“Strippers.”

“Oh …” Of course. I look down at myself. “Yeah, I’m a ‘keep clothes on in crowds’ kind of girl.”

Storm’s hands wave my words away. “No, don’t worry. You wouldn’t have to strip. I promise.”

Me? Work in a strip club? “You think I’d fit in, Storm?”

“Can you handle being surrounded by sex, booze, and loads of cash?”

I shrug. “Sounds like my teenage years, minus the cash.”

“Can you learn how to smile a bit more?” she asks with a nervous giggle.

I flash her my best fake grin.

She nods with approval. “Good. I think you’ll do well behind the bar. You have a look they’ll like.”

I snort. “What look? The ‘I just got off a bus from Michigan and I’ll do anything for money so I don’t have to eat Spam’ look?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she giggles. “Think about it and let me talk to my boss. It’s really good money. You wouldn’t have to eat Spam again. Ever.” With that, she skips up the stairs.

I think about it. I think about it as I watch Storm and Mia’s clothes spin around in circles. I think about it as the timer goes off and I flip the clothes over into the dryer and start two new loads. I think about it as I sort and fold their freshly clean clothes into neat piles and reload the hamper, paying a little too much attention to the skimpy outfits in Storm’s pile. Like a tiny black top that looks like a cross between a sequined sports bra and something a wild animal mangled. I hold it up. Does she serve drinks or her body in this? That would explain her ridiculous boobs. Wow. I might be making friends with a stripper. That’s sounds weird. And then I acknowledge that I’m going through her underwear. That sounds way weirder.

“Tell me where you wear that so I can be there to witness it.” His deep voice startles me again.

I gasp as my head whips around to see Trent strolling toward me with a laundry bag slung over his shoulder. My breath hitches at the sight of him and those deep dimples he flashes shamelessly. It’s been more than two weeks since I bumped into him here, yet seeing him instantly ignites a fire within me.

Again, with the laundromat? What are the chances? Inhaling deeply, I force myself to relax. I’m better prepared this time. I won’t act like a space cadet. I won’t let his beautiful face disarm me. I won’t … “Well, well. The Laundromat Lurker strikes again.”

Trent smirks as his attention grazes over my body, stopping to survey the tattoo on my thigh for a moment before flittering back up to my face. By the time they get there, my pulse is racing and I think I may need to change my underwear. Dammit. Here we go again. “Round two,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

His eyebrow quirks with surprise as he moves toward the open washer.

I try not to ogle his body through his fitted white t-shirt, watching him dump a set of white sheets into the wash. “You wash your sheets a lot,” I observe coolly, thinking that’s a fairly innocuous comment.

Trent’s hands pause for a second and then he continues, chuckling and shaking his head but saying nothing. He doesn’t need to. I’ve clued into what my observation could imply and I groan inwardly, fighting the urge to smack myself in the forehead, my face growing even warmer. Any upper hand I thought I had when he walked in just dissolved into a hot mess at my feet.

I’m sure his sheets see a lot of action. He’s got to have a girlfriend. Someone like him must have a girlfriend. Or a string of fuck buddies. Either way, now I want to crawl into a hole and hide until he leaves.

“What can I say? It’s hot in Miami without A/C,” he offers after a moment as if to ease the awkwardness. That’s what I fool myself into thinking anyways, until he throws in, “even without clothes, I wake up boiling,” and deftly layers on to my mortification.

Trent sleeps naked. My mouth dries as my focus unavoidably latches onto his frame again. On the other side of my living room wall is this god, in a bed, lying naked. Though I thought impossible, my pulse quickens even further.

I open my mouth to change topics, but I can’t grasp onto anything coherent. Words swim inside my head, stringing into gibberish. I can’t come up with one damn remotely intelligent answer. Not one. Me, who can crack orgy jokes and crush arrogant ball sacks with the best of them, is floored. He has smoothly splintered my defensive shield with nothing but bed sheets and a naked visual.

And those damn dimples.

I watch the muscles in his shoulders shift as he pours detergent into the machine. Who knew doing laundry could be sexy. When he turns to me and winks, I jump.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod and try to make an affirmative sound but it comes out sounding like a strangled cat and I’m sure my entire head has caught on fire now.

He slams the lid on the washer and pushes the coins in to start the wash, then turns to me, leaning in. “To be honest, I saw you walking past me with your laundry and I grabbed the first thing I could think to wash.”

Wait … what’s he saying? I shake my head to kick the haze out. I think he’s telling me something important.

He grins as he pushes a hand back through his unkempt hair. I want to do that, I think, involuntarily flexing my fingers. Please let me do that. In fact, I want to do all kinds of things to him. Right here in this dingy basement. On the washer. On the floor. Anywhere. I battle the urge to lunge at him like a rabid animal. Hell, I’m panting like one right now.

“So, what do people do for fun around here?” he asks, leaning back at bit to give me space, like he can read that I’m about to pass out from his proximity.

“Uh …” It takes me a moment to find my voice. And my wits. “Hang out in laundromats?” My words come out shaky. Dammit—what is wrong with me?

He laughs, his gaze settling on my lips. The feel of his eyes there makes me spew out words that my brain hasn’t approved yet. “I don’t know. I just moved here. I haven’t had any fun yet.” Ohmigod Kacey. Shut up! Just shut up! Now you sound like an airhead and a loser!

With a lopsided grin, he leans against the washer and crosses buff arms over his chest. And then he stares at me. That stare lasts an eternity, until sweat starts to trickle down my back. “Well, we need to change that, don’t we?”

“Huh?” I croak, heat igniting in my lower belly. He has effectively stripped me bare of my titanium cover again. He’s tossed it to another planet where I have no hope of ever finding it. I am naked and vulnerable and his eyes are boring into my core.

His body slides across his washer until he’s leaning on mine, his hip nudged up against me, his arm stretched out to the opposite corner of the machine in front of me, effectively invading all personal space. “Change the fact that you’re not having any fun,” he murmurs. My breath snags. I feel like he’s reached into my body and seized my pounding heart. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? Am I that obvious?

His index finger reaches up and runs down my temple, down my cheek, to join the rest of his hand to cup my jaw. He rubs my hanging bottom lip with the pad of his thumb as I gawk up at him. I can’t move. Not a muscle, like his touch has the power to paralyze. “You are so very beautiful.”

My nerves are a ball of contradictions. His fingertip feels so damn good against my lip and yet that voice is screaming, No! Stop! Danger!

“So are you,” I hear myself whisper and I instantly curse the traitor within.

Do. Not. Let.This. Happen.

He leans in closer and closer until his breath caresses my mouth. I’m paralyzed. I swear he’s going to kiss me.

I swear I’m going to let him.

But then he stands up straight, as if remembering something. Clearing his throat, he says with a wink, “See you around, Kacey.” He turns and vanishes up the stairs, his long legs taking two steps at a time.

“Ye … Yeah. Fo … for sure,” I stutter, leaning against the machine for support as my legs turn to jelly. I’m sure I’m two seconds away from melting into a puddle on the concrete floor. I fight the urge to chase after him. One … two … three … I struggle to shake off the uncomfortable edge that has slinked into my body. Hunching over, I lay my cheek against the machine, my flushed skin reveling in the feel of the cool metal.

He’s one hell of a player. I’m usually so good at shutting them down. Being a female in a male-dominated gym, I dealt with those juiced up egomaniacs at O’Malleys every day. Hold my bag for me … Dominate me … The comments were never-ending and uncreative. Then, when the lot of them decided that I must be a lesbian because I hadn’t dropped my shorts for anyone, the stupid comments increased tenfold.

I’ve never had issues resisting the hottest of them. None of them have broken though this masterful wall of self-preservation I’ve constructed around myself. I enjoyed sparring with them. I loved knocking them to their knees. But never had they stirred any interest from me, physical or otherwise.

But Trent … there’s something different about him, and I don’t have to think hard to see it. Something about the way he takes over a room, the way he looks at me, like he has already identified and can disarm every one of my defense mechanisms with no effort, like he sees through them to the disaster lying beneath.

And he wants it.

“Fucking player,” I mutter as I run to the sink. A splash of water temporarily douses the flames in my chest. He’s smooth. Oh so smooth. Way more sophisticated than the asshats I normally deal with. “You’re so very beautiful,” I repeat, followed by a harsh mock of myself saying “so are you.” I’m sure he tells everyone that. Watch, he’ll meet Storm and say the exact same thing. Oh God. My gut spasms, my fists clenching so tight that my knuckles go white. What’ll happen when he meets Storm? He’ll fall in love with her, that’s what. He’s a guy. What guy wouldn’t fall in love with Sweet Stripper Barbie? And then I’ll become nothing other than that head case in 1C and I’ll have to watch them cuddle on the couch, and listen to them have wild-stripper sex on the other side of my bedroom wall, and I’ll want to rip Storm’s arms off. Dammit. I crank up the cold water and splash my face again. In no time, this guy has created permanent fissures in my carefully constructed suit of sanity, and I don’t know how to fight against it, to protect myself, to keep him out.

To keep all of them out.

Ninety-nine percent of me knows I need to keep him at arm’s length. There’s no point considering him. He’ll get one look at my shit and he’ll run, leaving a bigger mess behind. And yet, as I eye the washer where he just stood, where his bed sheets swirl, I give serious consideration to stealing them and leaving a “come and get it” note in its place. No. I shove angry hands through my thick mane, gripping the back of my head as if to keep it from exploding. I need to stay away from him. He’s going to ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to put in place.

Suddenly, I can’t get out of that laundromat fast enough.

***

Mia and Livie sit cross-legged on the living room floor with a Chutes and Ladders board game between them. A freshly showered Storm dumps a pot of spaghetti noodles into a pot of boiling water. “I hope you don’t mind veal in your sauce,” she says as I step in without knocking. I figure we’re past the knocking stage. I just touched her thongs, after all.

“That’d be great. Your clothes are all here.”

She looks over her shoulder at the hamper and shock twists her face. “Did you fold my underwear for me?”

“Uh ... No?”

Turning a bit more to see my face, still drenched from the tap water, she frowns. “What happened to you?”

How do I explain I had to have a mini-cold shower in the laundromat because that damn smooth-talking neighbor of ours cornered me? I don’t.

“It was Stephen King’s Maximum Overdrive all over again. The washing machine came to life and attacked me. Laundry and I are officially on no-speaking terms.”

“I’ve never read that book,” Storm says at the same time that I hear a tiny frightful gasp.

“I’m not surprised,” I mumble as I head toward the kitchen, catching a scathing glare from Livie for scaring Mia. Our dad made us watch all the movies from his era as a way of keeping the classics alive. Most of the time, no one in my generation has a clue what I’m talking about.

Storm turns to face me wearing an apron that reads, How’s the sauce? Has anyone seen my Band-Aid? and a big grin. “Hey, so I spoke to my boss. Job’s yours if you want it.”

“Storm!” My eyes bug out.

Her long blond locks sway as she tips her head back to laugh, my surprise apparently amusing. I can tell she’s happy to give me the news. I get the impression that she genuinely wants to help us and for no reason other than because she’s just that nice.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Liar, yes you have. Good money is good money and as long as I don’t have to strip, I can handle standing in the middle of a vagina circus.

“What job is this?” Livie pipes up, her curiosity peaked.

“A job with me, where I work,” Storm explains.

“My mommy gets paid to give people drinks, in a restaurant. Like this!” Mia scrambles to her feet and runs over to grab an empty cup from the counter. “Would you like a glass of lemonade, Madam?” She carries it to Livie with the utmost care and bows.

“Why, thank you, kind waitress,” Livie gushes theatrically and proceeds to gulp back the imaginary drink like she’s just crossed the Sahara desert, finishing with a wink for Mia. But, when she turns to me, her brow is furrowed with unease. “Serving more than lemonade, I take it?”

I nod, dropping my focus to re-arrange the cutlery on the table before I can meet her worried gaze again. Her bottom lip is sucked into her mouth. She’s trying hard to stop it from quivering and I know what she’s thinking. She’s afraid I’ll spiral back into that dark place where the tequila is flowing and the one-night-stands are frequent. Even though I’ve promised her a hundred times that that phase is over, she’s still terrified of losing me to it again. I can’t blame her.

That’s why I’m surprised by her next words. “You should take it, Kacey.”

My head cocks to the side as I regard her.

She shrugs. “If you’re serving them, you can cut them off, right?”

“Right.” I nod slowly, processing that logic. Livie always finds the good in things. I steal a glance at Storm to see her intently focused on stirring her tomato sauce. I know she must have heard that. She’s got to be wondering what dark skeletons these two neighbors of hers have in their closet. As usual, she has the decency not to pry.

“And there’s good money in tips from what I hear,” Livie adds. “Maybe I can get fake ID and get a job there too!”

“No!” Storm and I shout in unison and share a silent look. A look that says this is good enough for us, but not for Livie. She’s too good for this world.

“Mommy? Are you working tonight?” Mia’s tiny voice chirps up, delaying more of Livie’s questions.

Storm smiles sadly at her daughter. “Yes, honey bear.” It has to be hard, leaving her six nights in a row.

“Can I stay with Livie? Please, Mommy?” Mia holds her hands together in front of her as if she’s praying.

“Oh, I don’t know. Mia. I think you’ve monopolized enough of Livie’s time today, don’t you think?”

“But, noooo … Mommy!’ Mia whines and stomps around the room in a circle, reminding everyone that she is only five years old. She stops in a huff, throwing her arms around herself, and scowls. “I don’t like Mrs. Potterage!”

“She’s a nice lady, Mia,” Storm says with a sigh, like she’s said it a hundred times before. To me she leans in and whispers, “I don’t blame the poor kid. Potterage smokes like a burning oil field. But I can usually rely on her for at least four nights a week.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Livie jumps in with a pat on Mia’s back.

“See Mommy? Livie says, yes!”

Storm cringes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. In fact, I’m more than happy to watch her every night if you want,” Livie offers with complete seriousness.

“Oh, Livie. I work six days a week. That’s a lot to ask of a fifteen year old. You deserve to go out and party or, whatever fifteen year olds are doing these days.”

Livie’s already shaking her head. “No it’s not and I don’t mind.” She pinches Mia’s cheek, as taken by the child as Mia is of her. “I’d love it.”

There’s a long pause and Storm swallows, considering it. “You’d have to let me pay you for your time. No more arguing.”

Livie’s hand waves dismissively. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. She’ll be asleep most of the time anyway and Kacey will be at work with you, right? So at least I won’t be alone.”

All three turn to look at me hopefully.

I heave a loud sigh. “Just drinks, right? I’m not serving anyone … anything else.”

Storm’s irises twinkle. “Not unless you want to.”

“And I don’t have to wear anything revealing?”

“Well …”

My head drops back and rolls from one side to the other. “Here we go.”

“I was just going to say that you’ll make more money showing a bit of cleavage than you will dressed as a Mormon. A lot more money. I’d show a teensy tiny bit of skin, if I were you.”

I sigh again. “And I can quit if I don’t like it? No hard feelings?”

“Absolutely, Kacey. No hard feelings,” Storm asserts, holding a wooden spoon in front of her face as if she’s pledging.

A long pause, just enough to make Storm squirm. “Okay.”

“Great!” Storm throws her toned arms around me, oblivious that the contact is making my insides churn and the voice in my head scream. She breaks away just as quickly and moves back to her pot of sauce, allowing me a chance to exhale. “You start tonight, by the way.”

“Tonight. Fun.” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice as butterflies start their mad dash around my belly, killing my appetite. I hug my arms tight to my body, acknowledging that a club’s worth of new people means handshakes and questions about personal shit that are none of anyone’s business. I’m not ready for this. I haven’t prepared … One … two… three … four… By the time I reach ten, I’m freaking out.