It was the name her crowd called her. The ones who pretended it was normal to get out of bed smelling like sour, sweaty liquor and whatever man crawled off of her last.
“You know… I never understood why they called her that–” he started, but my humiliation got the best of me and I spoke right over him.
“Shut the fuck up. They call her that because she is a small-town heroin whore. I know it to be true, so there is no need in pretending you don’t know how she got such a name.”
His hand pressed to my shoulder and slowly began to rub my back.
“No. I know who she is. I’ve met her. But– She isn’t a meth addict. Hot railing is for meth… and you’re right, I’ve never seen her do that. She’d rather ride that white horse than tell it to giddy-up.”
I sighed, unable to speak about Charelle.
“If it makes you feel any better, they called my dad Chef, which is ridiculous, since he wasn’t all that good at it.”
“His bad batch blew him and your mom up.” I had no idea where in the recesses of my mind that fact came from.
I’d never met Chef Aviston, or Anthony’s mother. Surely, Oakland O’Brian must have whispered about it to me.
“Yeah, it did.” He cleared his throat, reached around my hip and slid me closer to him, until my legs dangled over his thigh and I was practically on his lap.
“Fuck all that stuff,” he mumbled, while staring at me like some lovesick fool.
It was as endearing as it was ridiculous. No one had ever looked at me like that outside of a club. It made me a little light-headed and uncertain. I smiled up at him and playfully flopped my head against his chest, before agreeing with a sigh. “Yeah, fuck all that.”
He brought his arm up and cradled me like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it didn’t make a lick of sense, but for some reason, I felt untouchable in his arms.
My whole life had been spent in survival mode, but for just a few minutes, on the bank of that river, I flopped my head against his chest and soaked up every bit of it.
His long fingers and warm palm skimmed my cheek like he was handling something precious and I swear he could have talked me into anything.
Thankfully, talking wasn’t what he had in mind. His lips teased mine and firmed into a kiss that devoured me.
I knew better than to do it, once I started, I couldn’t stop.
I let the world melt away and allowed myself to exist without a single worry beyond how breathless I was getting.
“Look at you, you got me making out on a bench like some high school kid,” I teased, once I found the will to pull away.
“We could go inside.” He pointedly lifted his gaze to the hotel across the street, and his thumb feathered over my cheekbone.
It was dark already. The moon was bright.
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. You got somewhere to be?” he rasped.
I smiled and gently shook my head, “Just an apartment I share with three other women.”
“Then let me spoil you?”
I wet my lips and against my better judgement, gave the subtlest of nods.
“Yeah?” His arms flinched and excitement crept into his tone like I’d surprised him.
“You better spoil me, Anthony Aviston,” I teased, if only to hide my nerves.
“I’m gonna worship you, Crystal. And I ain’t ever gonna stop. I hope you fucking believe me.” He stared into my soul and I was captivated.
I couldn’t speak, all I could do was work my lower lip and pray I wouldn’t lose my nerve before we arrived at the room.
