With a quick nod, which I’d seen numerous homeless people use as a way of sayingthanks—whatever that really meant—I headed inside. Yesterday after showering and dumping the clothes I’d worn to slash Philip, I’d left my bag here with Yoyo.
He stood behind the counter at the convenience store, his short brown hair tucked under his bright red cap. The moment he saw me as I strolled inside and the cool air wrapped around my body, he gave me a toothy, braces-filled smile that made me think he might have a crush. I wasn’t entirely sure. That’s what another attendant had told me when Yoyo had a day off.
He perked up, straightening. “Aramis. Hi!”
I winced. He’d seen my driver’s license and had called me that ever since. I hated that name—it was what my parents had called me, and I preferred Ari—but I didn’t want to get to know Yoyo, so I hadn’t corrected him. “Hey. Can I grab my gear?”
“Yeah, sure. Would you like a pop or something while you’re here?” He flashed me a grin and waved his hand toward the drink fridges. “I get one per shift. The boss doesn’t need to know it went to you.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, great.” I went to grab a Coke out of the fridge and came back. He stared at me, and I stared back before I realized what he was waiting for. Clearing my throat, I curved my mouth in the best smile I had in my arsenal. “Thanks.”
He beamed at me. “You’re welcome. Did you want anything else? I could—”
“I’d like my bag now.” I blinked at him when he reached behind the counter and pulled out his wallet. He yanked out a couple of twenties and handed them to me, and I took them because I wasn’t stupid enough to say no to money. Since leaving Pleasant Beach after my first artwork, cash was rare.
“This is for you. I know you’re tight on funds, and I got some extra shifts last week.”
I nodded, like I had to the truck driver who’d brought me here, then stuffed the money into a pocket of my jeans.
He blinked at me, but this time didn’t wait before he grabbed my bag from behind the counter and passed it to me. I didn’t say anything as I turned and headed back outside, the drink still clutched in my hand. As soon as I was back in the summer heat, I popped open the lid and took a long sip, sighing in pleasure. It’d been too long since I’d had a soda.
Throwing the bag strap over my shoulder, I headed out in the direction of the city. I didn’t plan on hitchhiking far because I had a spot saved for me in one of the homeless shelters. This one was special, for LGBTQ young adults who’d been kicked out of their homes for being a member of the rainbow, and as far as they were concerned, I was one of those people. A little lying got me a long way, and it wasn’t like they could call my grandmother, who’d taken over our guardianship after our parents’ death, to ask.
A Home for the Heart had opened a new shelter on the west side recently, smaller than the one in the south side of the city, and it wasn’t a bad place to stay. They had warm beds, communal showers, and food, but sometimes it was hard to get into. The only reason I got a bed tonight was a quick blowjob to one of the staff, who promised to leave a spot open for me.
I snorted. For such acharitableplace, I still had to pay a price. I was almost tempted to take him out, too.
By the time I got there it was an hour later and sweat soaked my shirt. A Home for the Heart was a boxy brick building with a large glass window that had the charity’s name printed in big red letters with a kitschy heart. Inside was a lot nicer than I’d expected from a shelter, with a few leather chairs placed around the reception area, which I guessed were easy to clean if someone smelly sat on them. The floor was lined with laminate that resembled wood, but I knew cheap when I saw it. After growing up in a mansion with the best of everything, it was difficult not to notice the less-expensive stuff. The desk was barely what I would call wood and was already chipping at the edges.
And therehewas. He called himself Donny, but I didn’t know if that was his real name or not. He took the night and early morning shifts and looked as smarmy as his name suggested. I fucking hated Aramis, but at least I wasn’t aDonny. His dark hair was smoothed off his forehead with gel, and he had unnaturally straight white teeth. He even had the audacity to wink at me when I entered. I felt like I’d walked into the TV showHappy Daysand met the Fonz. That reminded me of my parents forcing me to sit down in the afternoons after school to watch the ridiculously old show, and it made my gut churn. I fucking hated that they’d made me do that.
“Hey, Aramis!” Donny walked around the reception desk and immediately slapped his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. “Glad you could make it. You’re early. The others need to be out by three.” He slid his hand down my arm, fingers tickling over my thin T-shirt and then to my bare skin. “You could spend time with me if you want.”
And they thought there was something wrong withmebecause I couldn’t understand emotions like other people.
I shook my head and stepped away. “That’s fine. I’ll be back later.”
He reached for me, but I left through the front door again, the tiny bell tinkling, and walked fast down the sidewalk, hoping to avoid the extra blowjob he clearly wanted. What was fun about giving one? I didn’t know. He enjoyed it, though, and it got me what I needed.
I was halfway down the block when a car pulled up beside me, and I paused at the sight of the red and blue lights on the top, which weren’t flashing, but a warning buzzed in my head. The passenger window slid down and I bent to see inside, and I couldn’t help but snort at the sight of Rogers again, alone this time.
Rogers leaned across the console, his hand still on the steering wheel and eyes hard. “Get in.”
I cocked my head at him. “Why?”
“Get in,” he repeated, voice rough. He looked massive in the cab of the police cruiser.
I opened the door and dropped onto the passenger seat like he’d told me, surprised his partner wasn’t with him. Didn’t they go everywhere together? I stared at him, and he returned it. I didn’t know how long we sat there before he turned off the car, raised the window again, and finally spoke.
“You’re clean.”
I glanced down at myself, and he grunted.
“Notyouyou. I meant the crime scene, the murder. It’s clean. You’ve done it before.”
I mentally rehearsed a response. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Officer.”
He laughed and the sound shocked me into flinching. “How many times have you practiced that in your head?”
