•••
My heart is beating a little too fast, my gaze darting around, never quite focusing for too long on one spot. I keep shifting uncomfortably in my seat, anxiously running my hands around my steering wheel. I have over one hundred grams of weed in my glove compartment.
Why the fuck did some chick want to meet here, at the damn pier of all places? It’s pretty packed for a Wednesday afternoon, and I’m parked in the main lot as people stream on by. I’m waiting for someone, but the longer I sit here, the more and more suspicious I feel I look. I’ve been helping Declan out the past couple days, but I’ve never felt as nervous as I have now. Probably because all of the other hookups I’ve done haven’t been at the city’s busiest fucking hotspot.
My phone buzzes on my lap and I flinch. I expect it to be Stacey,the girl I’m supposed to be meeting, but no, it’s Tiffani. She’s texted me a picture of her nails, freshly manicured and painted a glossy blue. Probably to match her eyes or some shit. I don’t know.
Just got out of the salon. What do you think???
They’re sharp and she tears half my skin off when she runs them down my back, so no, I don’t like them. But I’d be asking for an argument if I told her that, so instead, I simply text back:
Looks nice. Good day with the girls?
It’s much better to just stay on her good side.
Yeah, we’ve planned a party for Meghan’s birthday. We’re having it at Rachael’s place on Saturday, so keep it free.
She replies. Just as I’m about to begin typing a message back to her, another text comes through and she adds:
Don’t mention it to Declan Portwood or any of that crew. They’re losers and we don’t want that shit at Rachael’s house.
I chew on my lower lip. If only she knew I was one of those losers, out here working for Declan right now as we speak. I promised her I wouldn’t get involved, but I have, and so now I have to be extremely careful. If she finds out…I don’t even want to consider how she’d react. I text back:
No problem
Even throw in a smiley face.
“Hey,” someone says through my open passenger window. I glance over and there’s a girl ducking her head into my car, her hair falling over her face. My heart beats even faster. “Tyler, right?” Her mouth curves into a small smile, and as discreetly as possible, she opens her closed fist and fifteen bucks falls onto my passenger seat. So, this is Stacey.
“Reach down,” I murmur, but my voice is so dry. There are people milling around us. We’re surrounded.
Stacey leans further into my car, and I can see her eyes searching the vehicle, and then after what feels like the most agonizing wait ever, she finally spots the gram of weed in a tiny plastic baggie in the storage compartment of the passenger door. She swoops her hand down and grabs it, then shoves it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Thanks,” she says. “Catch you around.” And just like that, she turns and walks off, casually blending into the crowd on the pier’s boardwalk.
My shoulders sink with relief, and I let out a long breath of air. My heart is still rocketing back and forth against my ribcage, so I stay put for a while, breathing deeply until I feel it begin to settle. How does Kaleb do this every day? I’ve been doing it for three, and already I’m paranoid as fuck.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on my window, right by my ear. I jump straight out of my damn skin and then quickly fire my eyes up, half expecting it to be Stacey returning for more, but it’s even worse than a college stoner. It’s a cop.
Hands on his hips, sunglasses over his eyes, name badge shining in the sunlight, he stares straight down at me through the glass.He totally saw. He totally fucking caught me. He knows what’s up.
My heart rate is erratic again, thumping all over the place as my breath gets caught in my throat. My stomach twists as I roll down the window, and I just stare blankly up at the officer, praying he can’t sense my fear.
“Nice car,” he says with a couple nods of approval. “What year is it?”
What? I furrow my eyebrows, silent for a second while I figure out if he’s kidding or not, and then I force myself to swallow hard and force an answer out. “Uh. ’07.” Is he seriously asking me about my car and not the quarter pound of weed that’s in my glove compartment?
“Nice,” he repeats, then takes a step back and cocks his head to one side as he checks out my rims. I sit in disbelief, my heart still pounding. Then, he steps closer again and places his hands on my door, leaning down to look at me. “You seem familiar,” he says. He pushes his sunglasses up into his receding hairline, and it’s enough for my heart to finally stop. I recognize him, and it doesn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to piece it together once I read his badge. Officer Gonzalez. He’s dealt with me before, back when I was younger. Years ago. More than once. He was there the night that Dad… The night that it all ended.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I splutter quickly, glancing down at my steering wheel. I can’t meet his eyes now. I don’t want him to remember who I am. I don’t want him to rememberhowhe knows me.
“No, really,” Officer Gonzalez insists. He leans even closer toward me, like he’s trying to analyze my features. “Ella Grayson’s son, right?”
I look up at him. He really still recognizes me? “It’s not Grayson anymore,” I mumble. There’s no point in denying it. He’s already figured it out. “But yeah, that’s me. It’s Tyler, by the way.”
“That’s it!” he says as his features ease with relief, but then he quickly straightens up and silently watches me for a few seconds. His expression grows solemn and wrinkles form on his forehead as he squints hiseyes at me. Pity. That’s what’s in them. Fuckingpity. “How are you doing anyway? Good?” he asks quietly.
“Yep, fine,” I mutter stiffly, turning my eyes back to my steering wheel. Uncomfortable, I pick at the ripped knee of my jeans.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, but I don’t even look at him, let alone reply. I just continue to keep my eyes fixated on my steering wheel, my pulse racing. “Take care, Tyler,” Gonzalez adds, and he pats his hand against my car door before he turns around and walks away.
