Текст книги "Can't Let Go"
Автор книги: Michelle Lynn
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Four Months Later
MY VOLKSWAGEN PIDDLES across the gravel parking lot, and I look down at the gas needle. Releasing an exhausted breath when I find the needle just below the red. Once I make my money back, it will at least get me to the gas station.
I turn off the ignition and pull the key out. Clasping them in my lap, I stare up at the sign above the shack of a bar, reading Weddle’s in red neon. Sighing, I open my door before changing my mind. Squeaking, the rust bug cries for the attention it needs. The same as I need, someone to give a shit about us.
Little bits of gravel fall into my sandals as I reluctantly do something I despise. Something I loathe. Something I hate as much as the people that are a part of it. Right before my hand reaches out for the door, I take a much-needed deep breath, allowing the fresh air to reach my lungs. Especially since it will be a while before it fills with outside air again, well, at least I hope.
Hank spots me first, raising both eyebrows my way. I play the game by sitting down at the bar and grabbing a drink. Flirting with Hank a little, I pull the mask over my face, as though this is my life and I love it. While secretly, I’m hating myself a little more with every word.
“Hey, Hank,” I flirtatiously greet, sitting down on the stool closest to the red door.
“Chrissy,” he answers, nodding. A minute later, my usual Stoli and seven is placed in front of me. Twirling the small black straw around the glass, I wait for my invite just as I’ve been taught. I know the cameras are on me right now, Len most likely debating about letting me in. God knows I owe him money, but the one saving grace is that I can win it back plus some.
I’ll be the first one to admit, I’ve played better, but that’s what happens when the pressure hits. When you know you have to win in order to eat, to clothe yourself, to survive, the stakes are higher. The need to win outweighing every other fight in you.
It takes three drinks tonight, which kind of sucks because I like to play with only one drink in me. Enough to take the edge off and relax me, but not enough to make me sloppy. “Go on in,” Hank says, nodding toward the red door, and I reluctantly leave a twenty on the bar top. “No, Chrissy, I got you.” Hank pushes it back my way, and I give him a small smile for his kindness.
Another long and deep breath later and I’m in the room. They should refer to it as the red room of death. Poker tables fill the rooms; poor and rich men seated next to one another. No doubt the rich thinking they have the poor, but I’ve seen those tables turn in one deal. Suddenly, the poor become more fortunate and the rich leave empty handed. Too bad it’s can’t be like that outside of the red room.
Old vinyl chairs rest in the center of the room, strewn about around the round tables. Red … everything I see is red. Isn’t red for sexy? You’d think that it’s a strip club the way it’s decorated. But that has been tried before, failing miserably. The last thing you want around when someone begins losing all their money is to have a hooker to bury their sorrows in. To save those last few bills to sneak into the hands of a woman, who will make you forget you just lost your last buck.
Just when I’m about to sit down in order to wait my turn, a man stumbles away from a table in front of me. Ivy, the dealer, waves me forward and motions toward the seat. She smiles at me and out of all the tables I could end up at, Ivy’s is the best. It has to mean a sign of good luck, right? Placing the chips I’d just cashed in when I walked in on the table, I patiently wait for my deal. My drink of choice quickly appears in front of me, and I nod a thank you to the waitress.
It’s nice to have Ivy dealing me the cards, but my companions couldn’t be worse. Stench number one to my right keeps leaning my way, barely able to hold his body up. While Stench number two to my left keeps checking me out from the corner of his eye. I take a drink and wince at the enormous amount of alcohol burning down my throat. Hank was being easy on me out in the common bar.
Ivy deals the cards and everyone antes up. The first couple hands come my way, ‘blessing’ me with a small windfall. Even though the guilt still remains, with the chips stacked in front of me, my lips begin turning up, over confidence building inside of me. Then jackass number two orders me another drink and begins chatting in my ear. Obviously, he’s a newbie because most people around here know my dad. No one messes with someone else’s child. Note to add, rule number three is you never lean into someone after the cards have been dealt.
“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, nudging my drink closer to me.
“Nah, I’m good right where I am.” I give Ivy a small smile, and she snidely raises her eyebrows.
“Hey, Chuck, why don’t you take a break?” Ivy says to him dealing the cards out.
“I’d love to, as long as this fine Sheila joins me.” His finger brushes along my leg, and I jerk it the other way.
“Um … I wasn’t aware we’re in Australia,” I remark, and Ivy tightens her lips, withholding her laughter.
Tossing my chips in, I attempt to disregard him, but the lingering scent of dime store cologne mixed with cinnamon brings an incredibly nauseous sensation to my stomach. Trying to appear unfazed, I drink my vodka with nothing but a splash of cranberry and focus on my cards.
Five hands later, my chips are slowly disappearing into the hands of the others. My ‘blessings’ slowly blessing the tall lanky guy at the end of the table, who consistently mocks me by winking every time his hand slides the chips his direction. He’s kind of cute, college kid most likely. Hat on backwards, vibrant jade-colored eyes, t-shirt with some sarcastic comment too faded to read. You have to know someone to get into Len’s games, so the curiosity to who he knows keeps my eyes focused on him.
An hour later, my last chip clinks into the center pile. It’s small, but I need it to stay in the game. It’s all about staying in the game, because once you’re out, you’re finished. Unfortunately for me, Len let me slide two nights ago with being short a couple hundred. Biting on my lip with my foot bobbing up and down under the table, I turn the corners of my cards one more time. Eyeing college stud, who glances down at the empty spot in front of me and then back to his cards. His lips slowly turn up into a Cheshire grin.
“Fold,” he says, pushing his cards toward Ivy.
I allow my eyes to narrow toward his as I grab my miniscule winnings. He gives me a full smile and winks again. If I wasn’t so desperate, I’d chuck them in his face. Thanks to good ole Dad, I’m as desperate as a life-sentenced prisoner in front of the parole board.
“Glad to see you can continue playing.” Sleazebag next to me moves a little closer, his gold ringed hand placing another drink at my side.
Giving him a small smile, I concentrate on Ivy. For the next two hours, I stay afloat barely. College stud throws me some bones, and I’m ashamed that I allow him to do it. I finally stop drinking, but it’s too late, the vodka weighs heavy in my bloodstream already.
The flirtatiousness between college guy and myself begins becoming more heated and since the spot next to him just opened up, I debate changing seats. He nods his head, insinuating that I do just that before his eyes dart to the center of the room. Then as though I spit in his face, a sour look crosses his mouth and he sits up straighter in the chair. Confused on what happened, I play another hand in my current seat. Sleazy to the right leans in to me, his hot breathe connecting to my neck.
Sliding my head away, I attempt to concentrate on Ivy, who looks up and behind me, placing the cards down on the table. Tilting my head to her in confusion, she says nothing, but then a firm grasp wraps around my upper arm and yanks me from the chair.
Thrown off kilter, my eyes blink a few times before I’m out of the room and into the bar. The guy pushes me onto a bar stool and signals for Hank, the bartender. When I meet the pair of blue eyes that knows my complete past, I debate if I could outrun him.
“What the hell? I had them.” I yank my arm away.
“You didn’t have them. You’re under by over five bills. You’ll never make it up, and pretty soon Len will come in and stop it himself. Why the hell are you here, anyway? Aren’t you the one who hates this scene? Everything and everyone who’s involved?” He sneers my own heated words I spoke to him once upon a time.
“I do. Just let me go back in there.” I start digging in my pockets, as if I actually have money in them.
“Hell no, you stay here.” Dex signals to Hank again to get me a drink. Already feeling a little wobbly, I don’t really think it’s a good idea. But, hey, what else do I have going for me?
“Give her a water, will you Hank?” Dex asks, but when Dex disappears through the red door, Hank places a shot and refill of my drink in front of me. Slamming the shot glass down on the bar top after I pour it down my throat, I quickly chase it with my Stoli and seven.
Leaning my head in my hands, I figure Dex might be in there saving me from tonight, but he can’t save me from everything. Not that I would ever tell him exactly why I’m here.
Then all the alcohol and exhaustion of my day overtakes me and my head falls to the hardwood before blackness surrounds my vision.
“DEX?” SHE WHISPERS staring at me standing in the doorframe.
“Hey, Chrissy, it’s me. Sleep tight, I’ll just be next door.” When the door clicks, I take a deep breath and rub the back of my neck.
Thankful the house is empty from my roommates’ interruptions, flicking the lights on in the kitchen, I make a beeline to the fridge to grab a beer. Although, it’s not nearly strong enough to calm the amount of anxiety currently raging through me, it will have to do. Trey was always the one keeping the hard stuff around. Inhaling and exhaling, I lean against the counter, debating all the questions I’ll have to answer when everyone returns home. There were enough inquisitive minds the last time she called and showed up out of the blue.
I venture out to my truck, grab her suitcase of clothes from the back of her car, and think about her and I. Not seeing her for four years and now twice in four months, something isn’t right with her, and there’s only one person that would have more information. The problem is he could also be associated with the reason. I’ll wait to talk with Chrissy first when she wakes up in the morning.
An hour later, I toss another beer bottle in the recycling bin and retreat back upstairs. Just as my foot hits the landing at the top of the stairs, a sudden urge to check on her comes over me. To double-check that nothing happened in the time I was downstairs. My hand lands on the doorknob at the same time my phone rings in my pocket. “Fuck,” I mumble to myself. Fumbling it in my hands until I have a solid grasp, Sam’s name shines across the screen.
Sam is Jessa’s sister, and last spring break we started a friends-with-benefits relationship. Although we aren’t exclusive in any shape, or really much friends, the benefits are what we both enjoy.
I press the answer button and scramble to my room. “A little early for you tonight,” I whisper into the phone while shutting my bedroom door and then walk over to do the same with my bathroom door.
“Why are we whispering?” she quietly asks, and I chuckle lightly.
“It’s late here,” I lie, and she probably knows it.
“Ooookaaay,” she draws out. “Anyway, I skipped going out in order to stay in and watch a movie, but now I’m wishing I was in Western instead of alone in my bed.
“I could go for another trip to Boulder,” I agree, as flashes of our naked bodies all over every square inch of the hotel room boom to mind. I’m pretty sure my dick has never been so sore, but Sam’s thirst never gets quenched.
“Did I mention, I’m wearing those purple sheer panties and tank top?”
“No you didn’t,” I remark, already kicking off my shoes. “Give me a sec,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. “All right.” My voice soft while positioning myself on the bed.
“Dex, you have to talk louder. You know what gets me going.” I hear the muffling of her own bed. Squeaks I know all too well.
“I’m pretty sure I can get you there whether I’m whispering or not.”
“But I have the house to myself. I can be as loud as I want, and I know you like that,” she coyly says, making me shift my lower half. “Come on, Dex, make me come,” she begs in the most innocent school girl voice. My hand rushes to unbutton my jeans. Lowering my zipper, I stuff my hand in my pants, freeing junior for some playtime.
“You know I love to hear you scream my name,” I tell her, keeping my voice low.
“I’m not going to scream unless you at least talk in a normal voice, Dex,” she says, with frustration evident in her tone.
Debating in my head, I contemplate if I should end the call or not. It seems—awkward with Chrissy right through the bathroom doors. But having her around and not being able to touch her has been frustrating, in more ways than one. Figuring she’s probably barely coherent with the amount of alcohol she consumed, I place my hand around myself and begin sliding it up and down.
Clearing my throat, I begin talking normally. “All right, girl, let’s get this going. Stick that hand down those panties. Do not, and I say again, do not take them off. I want to imagine your hand buried in the between the wet fabric and your soaking pussy. It is soaking, right?” I ask her, getting only a moan back.
“Yeah, my fingers are sliding,” she informs me, and my palm starts stroking faster.
“Like a damn Slip ‘n Slide. Come on, Sam, stick those fingers inside. How warm are you?” I egg her on, and her heavy breathing muffles across the line.
“I wish it was you that was feeling how warm I am.” She says the same things every time. Her wanting me there, but that lasts until my dick is out of her, then she’s onto something else.
“Your fingers are me,” I command. “In and out, baby … in and out. Push up that tank top and show me your tits.” Her breathing hitches, and I hear the muffled movement of her body shifting. “Pinch those nipples and squeeze,” I instruct.
“Dex,” she moans loudly over the phone, making my dick harder. My own arm quickens its movement as I close my eyes, imagining her naked body.
“Do I feel good?” I ask her.
“Always,” she stutters, and I swear I can envision her back arching up, pressing her tits into her hand.
“Move your thumb and rub that swollen clit,” I say, and her erratic breathing flows over the phone. “Faster.” I use a more demanding tone that I’ve already discovered gets her off.
“I am. God it feels so good.”
“I feel so good,” I remind her.
“Yes, you, Dex, always feel so god damn good.” Her words have me gripping harder at myself. “Fuck,” she moans. Crap, I may not last.
“Come on … scream my name … make us come.” I keep her going through groans, grumbles, and moans on both sides of the receiver.
“DEX!” she screams, and her voice begins to lower as one whimper squeaks out. “Fuck, you’re good.” My fist beats faster. She knows I hold out until she’s done. “Keep going. I’m so damn wet, you’d slide right in me,” she adds. “Come on, Dex, get in me. Feel how warm I am, touch my tits and feel how soft.” I can barely think of anything other than her naked body below me as I thrust into her. Pretty soon, I can’t hold it any longer.
“Shit, Sam,” I say loudly, releasing all of that build up.
“That a boy.” She laughs, and I chuckle back into the receiver. “God, I need to make a trip out there,” she remarks, and my whole body stiffens with the thought of Chrissy in the next room, leaving me with guilt of what I just did.
“You coming when Jessa has the baby?” I ask, calculating the math in my head of how many weeks I may have to get this Chrissy thing handled.
“You know it, and I only have two places I want to go. The hospital and your bed.” Her footsteps echo over the line, and I realize she’s already done like usual. She’s more of a get her pleasure and leave than I am. Before she says the words, I sit up to get myself together. “Well, big boy, I gotta go.”
“Talk to you soon, Sam,” I say back, grabbing my towel.
“Bye, Dex. It’s been fun as always,” she finishes, in a much more hyper mood now. I’m glad I can make her happy, but it’s odd being the one wanting a little more than a quickie phone sex call. Not to say that didn’t always fulfill my needs—it did, but now that Chrissy’s come back, somehow it all feels empty and senseless.
The phone goes dead, and I place it on my nightstand. My time with Sam was a good distraction from the problem in the next room, but now that’s it over, it occupies me again. Shrugging off my jeans, I step out of them and into the bathroom. Turning on the water, I step in and allow the hot water to cascade down my body.
Once I’m done, I wrap the towel around my waist and brush my teeth. Tossing a pair of basketball shorts on, I go downstairs and fold her laundry. Opening the door to Trey’s old room, Chrissy is curled up in the fetal position under the sheets. Hearing her light breathing assures me she’s okay, so I quietly place the stack of clothes on the chair and shut the door.
Climbing into my own bed, I hear laughter from Sadie and Brady’s return home. I listen to their happiness and carrying on as they take each step to their bedroom. Then Sadie’s laugh somehow knocks me right in the heart. A sense of loneliness washes over me. Shaking my head from the absurd thought, I grab my ear buds and listen to music until I eventually fall asleep.
STRETCHING MY BODY, I scan around the foreign room that only consists of a bed, dresser, and nightstand. I’m surprised it has sheets and pillows because the rest of the room is bare as a jail cell. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and look at my horribly dirty feet. Then I spot my broken sandals by the door, I guess they’ll be tossed in the trash. Standing up, I open the door, revealing the empty hallway. Walking by a stack of my clothes neatly folded on the chair in the corner, I stop. I pick up a shirt and bring it up to my nose, smelling the fabric softener. “Dex,” I sigh, because the familiar scent of him is similar to a blanket warming me in the dead of winter. I could recognize that smell anywhere since the age of eight. I’m elated that he must have grabbed my clothes from my car and washed them for me last night.
Venturing to the other door, I peek in through a sliver of an opening and spot the bathroom, jackpot! I do my business and then scour the drawers for toothpaste or anything to brush my teeth. Remembering my suitcase was in the room, I go back into the vacant room and grab my toiletries bag. After I floss and brush my teeth, I down two aspirin for the splitting headache and decide to take a shower. Before the scum of those pieces of shit last night and that crappy establishment are permanently embed in my skin.
I lean my forearms against the tiled wall, so the water beats down my back. Flashes of last night go off in my head like booming fireworks from a dark sky. What the hell am I thinking by gambling with the little amount of money I had? Regardless of the consequences I left behind in Akron, I can’t do that. It’s everything I hate, everything I despise. Fast money isn’t the way to get what I need. A ‘blessing’ isn’t going to help me.
As my plan slowly comes into shape, I turn off the water and begin drying the beads of water off my body. When the door flies open, I back up against the shower wall, throwing my arms over my personal parts.
“Shit. Sorry, Chrissy,” Dex apologizes, retreating back the way he came. Right before he shuts the door, he pops his head in one more time. “Good morning.” Dex winks and then shuts the door.
“Dex!” I screech, and I hear his chuckle as the door clicks shut.
I step out so fast, my feet almost slip on the tile floor. Holding myself steady, I wrap the towel around my body and depart to my one night room. I scurry directly to the other door to make sure it’s locked, and then I notice the bathroom door has a hook on it, so I flip that over. Finally, feeling secure in the space, I drop the towel and dry myself off the rest of the way.
“Crap,” I mumble, remembering my toiletries are back in the bathroom. The room I now hear water running in, meaning Dex is in there, naked with a soapy body. The image alone ignites a tingling sensation from my head to my toes and then back again. God help me.
FORGOING THE LOTION, I put on the most designer outfit I own. A skirt and a cotton peasant shirt. If memory serves me right, the girls Dex hangs out with are pretty trendy with their clothes that I’m positive cost a lot of money. Lucky for me, whoever occupied this room previous, left a mirror. I judge myself in front of it, positioning my clothes and finger combing my wet hair.
A small knock on the door distracts me from critiquing every minor detail of my face, hair, and body. I reach over, unhook the latch, and open the door to the bathroom. Dex stands in the doorway in shorts and a navy t-shirt that has small wet circles indicating he didn’t dry himself completely off. Was he as anxious to see me as I was him? A clump of his longer, wavy, golden-blond hair lays just above his eyebrow.
“Sorry about earlier,” he says, stepping into the room. I watch him make his way to the bed, and it sinks at the edge from the weight of his body. “Let’s talk.” He pats the spot next to him. A rush of regret that I’m here, causing more trouble in his life loathes inside of me. What did I think was going to happen?
“There really isn’t much to say,” I tell him, keeping my distance across the room.
“Why were you there? You hate that scene,” he continues, and my eyes roll up and around his head, not making any contact.
“I made a mistake. Thought I could make a quick buck,” I lie.
“Chris—you hate everything and everybody that gambles. Something more must be going on.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs and looks at me from the corner of his eye.
“Can we please let it go? How much do I owe you?” He must have paid Len; otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d still be there, passed out on some stool like the other fools.
“It’s nothing. I took care of it, and I don’t want you to pay me back.” His blue eyes are filled with so much concern, I wonder if things could have been different for us. Could we have made a go of it? Then another memory of last night flickers to life. Him loudly making noises.
“Was your girlfriend over last night?” I ask him, great defensive mechanism to veer away from the current conversation.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, standing up.
“I swear I heard you—”
He places his palm on the back of his neck. “Let’s just go get breakfast.” He interrupts me and holds the door to the bedroom open for me to pass through first.
“Dex, it’s okay, is she still here?” I press the subject even with the knots forming in my stomach, and he deeply sighs.
“I told you, I don’t have a girlfriend.” The finality in his voice tells me there is or at least was someone. I think I may have gotten off by the sounds of his pleasure coming from his room last night. Drunk check. Horny check. Yep, I’m pretty sure I did.
“Are your roommates home?” I ask, stepping into the hallway, like I’m checking the temperature of the pool before getting in.
“Yeah. You’ve met them all back at Trey’s. Well, not Rob.” He places his hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward. My feet stumble slightly because I don’t really want to see his roommates. The thought of leaving the safe confines of a room I have no attachment to frightens me. His friends will judge and make assumptions, probably truthful assumptions, about me. “Come on,” he urges, grabbing my hand in his.
We walk down the stairs, and as soon as my bare feet hit the hardwood floors, I can hear laughter mixed with pans and plates clanking on the stovetop and counter. My heart races, and I bite the inside of my cheek with the anticipation of all their eyes on me when they find us in the doorway. Quickly, I take my hand out of Dex’s, and he sharply turns in my direction with question.
Ignoring him, I focus on my first obstacle. Get through breakfast, get my shit, and then get out. Plan noted. Dex saunters into the room without a care or worry, while I take a few steps and stop. He grabs the orange juice from the fridge and two glasses from the cabinet before anyone even notices I’m there.
Sadie is the first. Dislodging her arms from Brady’s waist, who is at the stovetop flipping bacon, she begins to turn. “The grease is splattering,” she whines, shaking her one hand. Once her eyes meet mine, she stops mid shake. I avert my eyes to Dex and then the wall. “Hi, Chrissy.” My name slowly leaves her lips, making Brady’s head rotate toward me.
“Hi, Sadie … Brady.” I give a shy wave.
“Hi.” Brady greets me and then a huge pop from the bacon grease diverts his attention back to the stove.
“Glad you all remember each other. Want some orange juice?” Dex interrupts the awkwardness of the situation.
“Sure,” I accept and make my way to the vacant chair next to him.
“Are you guys hungry? We’ll have plenty,” Sadie asks, placing paper plates and forks on the table before retreating back Brady’s way. I couldn’t be happier that my back is to them. I would never want to see the shared snide looks to my re-appearance.
“That’s okay—” I begin, but Dex overrules me.
“Sure,” he says standing up. Please don’t go. Coming back a second later, he hands me a piece of bacon. “Here. It does a hangover good,” he jokes, and I roll my eyes, snatching it from his hand.
“Oh, did you have too much to drink last night?” My head rises up, finding Sadie sitting next to me.
“Yeah,” I mention. “I popped some aspirin this morning though, so I’m feeling better.”
“That’s good. Well, Brady’s breakfast will help.” She smiles, easing my anxiety a little.
“It’s a miracle worker,” Brady adds, bringing over plates overfilled with food.
“Do you always make this much?” I ask him while Dex grabs the plates, spooning piles of each food onto everyone’s plates. “Thank you,” I say, but Dex doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his fork and starts eating.
“It’s either that, or I just end up making more if the guys are home,” Brady says, just as the back door swings open.
The guy’s footsteps halt at the door and he peruses the scene in front of him. Mostly likely noticing someone isn’t like the others. He eyeballs me, and I keep my focus on him. He’s tall, lean and muscled with dark spiky hair. Tattoos cover the majority of his arms, leading up past the sleeves of his shirt. A creepy smirk crosses his lips once my eyes reach the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I always thought Dex’s were like glass, but this guy’s resemble the waves in an ocean. Where the tip of it is almost see-through, except for the smallest hue of blue.
“Who’s this?” He nods his head in my direction and then officially enters the room. Flipping a chair around and swinging his legs over, sitting down, eyes on me while he shovels food onto his plate.
“This is my friend, Chrissy.” Dex introduces me, and I wipe my hand on my napkin before holding it out to him. He shakes his head and picks up his fork.
“Is that what we call it these days?” He cocks an eyebrow to Dex, who shakes his head.
“It is possible to actually have friends of the opposite sex.” Sadie comes to our defense, although I don’t really care what he thinks.
“No, it’s not,” he blatantly says, shaking his head while chewing his eggs.
“Yes, it is,” Sadie continues, and Brady shakes his head at their banter.
“If that was the case, I’d be friends with Jessa.” He cocks that eyebrow again.
“That is completely different circumstances, Rob.” Oh, so this is Rob. I had assumed, but it was now confirmed.
Then his eyes dart to Dex and I. “Have you guys ever hooked up?” he asks, and I itch my neck, trying to divert the topic.
“No,” Dex answers.
“Have you ever wanted to? You know one of those almost kiss moments the movies like to do so much.” He actually places his fork down and focus completely on us.
“You going soft and watching romantic comedies now?” Brady asks, chuckling along with Sadie.
“No, you watch enough of those for all of us. Pussy-whipped,” he coughs, and then his attention comes back to us. “So?”
I concentrate on my meal, not wanting to be the one to answer. I’m not sure if I’ll be offended if Dex denies it, but, then again, if he admits it, it proves the asshole right.
“No,” Dex answers again and then buries his head into his food.
“Bullshit,” Rob says, and Dex’s head flies up. Their eyes peer into one another’s, until Rob gives a slow nod of his head and lets the whole subject go.
“How long are you staying?” he asks me, and this is a question I can answer.
“I’m leaving right after breakfast.”
Dex’s eyes look at me from the corner and then back to his plate.
“Why don’t you stay for a little while? It’s Sunday. Do you have to go to work?” Sadie asks me, and I can see Dex’s eyes land on me, anticipating my answer.
“Um … no, but I should go home.” I fight every urge telling me to stay. Dex has his life and I’m not a part of it.
“Brady and Sadie always take in the misfits,” Rob chimes in, and I narrow my eyes his way.
“Come on. We were going to have a cook-out tonight. The weather is starting to change, and we want to use the grill before it turns cold outside. It will be fun,” Sadie begs me, and, for some reason, I agree. It’s only one night.
“Okay, but I insist on making something,” I say, thinking about how on earth I’ll afford the ingredients. The two hundred dollars I have tucked away won’t last long.
“Sure. What’s your favorite dish to prepare?” she asks, and I bite my lip thinking. Having a dad not around, I learned to fend for myself but it’s not like I make gourmet dishes.
“Why don’t we make those hamburgers?” Dex peers over to me, raising his eyebrows.
“Um … okay,” I agree, liking the use of we too much. I figure I’ll use the one recipe my dad taught me.
