The sun broke the horizon. I wished that Sheriff Davis had cuffed me in the front instead of the rear.
Would’ve made smuggling a quick smoke a hell of a lot easier.
* * *
Tara Rogers
What in the hell am I even doing here?
I pulled up to the dingy house, a place that looked like it hadn’t had a repairman visit since the twentieth century. I took a gulp of water and popped in some chewing gum, knowing I was likely to grind my teeth when I approached that house. I turned the car off, suffocated under the blitz of the New Mexico heat, and looked around the nearby neighborhood.
As far as I saw, there was no one out, no one walking a dog that would wonder why a girl dressed as if she’d just gone to church had shown up here. I put on my sunglasses, lowered my eyes, got out of the car, and hurried over to the front door, trying not to step onto the loose bricks leading up to the door that would sprain my ankle. I pressed the doorbell and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, growing impatient, I knocked.
And then, only then, did I hear footsteps on the other side.
The door opened. And there, in a white wife-beater, gray gym shorts, and black socks, with facial hair that looked like he hadn’t shaved since last summer, was my ex, Steele Harrison.
“Tara,” he said, measuring me up. “Come on in.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “Not unless I know why you insisted on me coming over.”
Steele pursed his lips.
“No one inside is naked or drunk,” he said. “They’re all still—”
“Passed out. You’re all predictable,” I said. “Can we please talk outside?”
Steele stared at me with a harsh coldness that masked something more for me. Unfortunately for him, the feelings were a little one-sided.
Actually, that probably wasn’t the most unfortunate part for him. He didn’t even know what the most unfortunate part was.
He acquiesced, stepping outside and sitting on a porch chair. Even with me standing a few feet away, I could still smell the liquor emanating from his pores. The entire place reeked like something I would have sniffed on a Sunday morning in college, not like something I would have expected a few years past graduation.
“Are you going to tell me why you begged me to come over?” I said. “Or was this a ruse to see me?”
“Not a ruse,” he said with a sigh. “Brock got arrested this morning. Reckless driving. It’s all bullshit. You know the sheriff here’s a corrupt piece of shit. He’s asking for a thousand-dollar bail. We can’t afford that. I was hoping you could help us out with that.”
I was too stunned to laugh.
“So…I’m like an ATM to you now? You think—”
“Look, I’m asking it to you as a favor, OK?” Steele said. “We can sit here and play games all day, but I know who your daddy is and what kind of money you got. Let’s not pretend that we’re only some stupid high school acquaintances.”
You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Steele.
“Which one is Brock?” I said.
Steele groaned. I knew full well which one was Brock. I’d had something of an eye for him, even in the earliest days of my relationship with Steele.
Brock, in his circle of friends, was only one of two, maybe three men who seemed like he was genuinely a good guy. He drank, smoked, and partied like the rest of his friends, but in quiet moments, in moments when Steele and I seemed near each other’s throats, he was the one that brought calm to our world and made me feel like I wasn’t just a fuck toy for Steele. Brock was one of the few guys who saw the bigger picture, who seemed to have aspirations beyond whichever blond or brunette had popped up on his social media.
Brock was also one of the most handsome guys in the group, but I never let myself indulge my attraction to him when I was dating Steele. Time, though, had sent the two of them in different directions.
