“Excuse me?”
“That’s just an excuse. You don’t need five hundred grand to get out of Canada, Meals. You set a ridiculous number to keep yourself there.”
“Why would I do that?” I snapped back. “You think I want to be a whore for the rest of my life?”
He threw his hands up in defense. “I never called you that. I think your issues are a lot deeper than what you do with your body.”
That stung. “Don’t play like I’m the only one with issues.”
He smirked. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll have to figure out who the fuck you are and what you want from life? Scared to make friends and let people get close to you? Maybe even start a relationship? I think you’d rather take your chances with a murderer than actually trust someone.”
“Yeah? Well maybe that’s because I trust assholes. Like you.” I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and spun me back around to face him.
“You’re still so fuckin’ afraid of rejection you won’t let anyone see who you really are. You won’t even talk to the ol’ ladies.”
After running into Toby, I’d spent most of the weekend holed up in my room, familiarizing myself with the changes to the third-grade curriculum while avoiding Carly, Jessica, and the other ol’ ladies. The broad squad—as I’d nicknamed them—seemed nice enough, but couldn’t take the hint that I wasn’t looking for new besties. They’d been almost gangster in their pursuit of me, and I didn’t want any part of their little clique.
It wasn’t them; it was me. I wasn’t ready. Polly’s death felt a lot like getting a bad wax. I was in that numb stage, right after my body hair and skin follicles had been ripped from my body. The pain would get worse before it got better, and going in for another wax too soon would cause irreparable damage. A person could only take so much, and I was teetering on the edge of my breaking point.
“My best friend just died. Don’t I get some sort of mourning period before I have to endure that shit again?”
He threw his head back, chuckling. “You really believe friends are some sort of punishment you have to suffer through? No wonder you want Toby to be a psychopath. If he’s a killer, you don’t have to re-form a relationship with him.”
I’d had enough of being Levi’s punching bag and came up swinging. “What about you?” I asked. “You act like some sort of human psyche specialist, but you spend at least ninety percent of your time in front of a computer, and the other ten percent with your club. When was the last time you even went on a date?”
Expression hardened, he pushed away from his desk and headed for the door. “That’s none of your business, Meals. I have to go.”
“Oh hell no.” I hurried to cut off his escape. “You don’t get to go all Dr. Phil on me, and then disappear. No. You want to talk about my issues? Fine. Yes. You’re right. I fuck strangers because I like pretending to be whoever they want me to be. I’m afraid to stop, because I have no clue who I am, and that terrifies me. But I’m not the only one with problems. What happened to you in the Air Force? Why are you always working? What areyouafraid of, cuz?”
For a moment, his mask slipped. His eyes filled with pain and regret, giving me a glimpse of the wounded man beneath. Then just like that, the mask popped back into place and his lips twisted into a scowl. “I have to go get ready for church.”
After shining a goddamn spotlight on every single one of my insecurities, he wasn’t even going to acknowledge his own. “Fuck you, Levi,” I spat.
“You know, you can only push people away for so long before they give up on you for good. Maybe that’s what happened between you and Hound. Maybe he’s sick of trying to care about someone who can’t seem to care about him back. Go make a friend, Meals. You need one.” He pushed past me and stormed out the door.
Levi was wrong. I didn’t need a friend. Hell, I didn’t need anyone. All I needed was to keep from going out of my goddamn mind until I could go home. I followed him out of his office and hurried down the hall. Voices were coming from the dining room, so I dove around the corner, avoiding the doorway. Someone was coming down the stairs, so I ducked behind the bar and waited for them to pass, feeling really fucking mature in my introverted antics.
While I waited, surrounded by bottles, I decided I needed a drink. Champagne was my poison of choice, but there was none in sight. Not surprising, considering this was a bar in a biker club. No doubt these guys preferred distilled motor oil or something equally as vile. Since good taste wasn’t an option, I settled on alcohol content, grabbing a bottle of Cazadores Tequila. My experience with tequila was limited at best, but the elk on the bottle looked harmless enough. The bottle didn’t have a price tag, but it couldn’t have been too expensive. I pulled two twenties out of my wallet and waited as the footfalls rounded the corner and faded away.
Bottle in hand, I stood and came face-to-face with a gorgeous black woman I’d never seen before.
“Mm-hm.” She gave me a disapproving stare down. “I thought I saw someone slip back here.”
Tucking the bottle closer to my body, I met her gaze. “I’m paying for it.” I plopped the cash on the bar.
She laughed. “Ease up there, Richie Rich. Nobody here is worried about your money.” Her gaze drifted over me. “You must be Mila.”
I eyed her, wondering who the hell had told her about me and what information they’d disclosed.
Her smile widened. “I’m Monica.”
Not to be intimidated, I smiled right back. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to the club?”
“No. Stocks and I run a halfway house, and it’s difficult to get away. My parents are in town, though, so I thought I’d come for the afterparty.”
“Afterparty?” That sounded terrifying.
“Yeah. After church, they usually have a party. Weren’t you here last Friday night?”
