And now, it’s not enough that he made me a sex-villain in his future marriage; he’s texting me again, and I don’t know what to do.Cece has no idea what went down between us, and if I get my way, she never will.
As far as I’m concerned, Tristan Taylor was just a single stop on my sexual humiliation tour, and a pretty unremarkable one at that, considering his dead dick. But it was easier to feel that way when the prick was living in London, not at his parents’ place a few streets from where I’m staying.
I turn the wheel hard, pulling onto the side of the road. I switch off the engine and step outside. Unlike the front of Thompson Farms, there’s no barbed wire here. Just a low chain-link fence separates me from Thrasher’s enterprise. I shove my phone into my pocket and give the wire a tentative touch. It’s not electrified, so I shove my toes into two gaps in the wire and clamber over. The field stretches as far as I can see. It’s been tilled, but nothing’s planted, as far as I can tell, so I shouldn’t run into anyone. I probably won’t find anything, either, but Thompson Farms isn’t my priority right now. I need to deal with Cece’s brother.
I pace into the rows of turned earth, composing mental text after mental text, discarding each one in turn:
Fuck off cheater
Too inflammatory.
I’d prefer we didn’t catch up this weekend
Too polite.
I’m weighing the advantages of skipping town when a flash of orange catches my eye. A girl in a fluorescent work vest is sitting in the next field over. Her face is buried in her hands, and she’s clearly crying. Unless this is some commonly held place for women to have a shit time in Pukekohe, she works for Thompson Farms.
I glance at Cece’s car, barely visible from where I am now. I can go back and drive away, or I can try to talk to this distressed woman and find out why she’supset. I’m trespassing, but if I’m caught, I doubt that’ll get me anything worse than a fine. It’s a kiwifruit farm, not the fucking Oval Office. I feel creepy, approaching a crying woman, but at least I’m a woman, too. I doubt she’ll think I’m trying to take advantage.
I pull out my phone, delete Tristan’s text, open voice notes and hit record before sliding it back into my right pocket. As I do, my fingers brush my knuckledusters. I want to slip them on in case one of my ex-classmates shows up, and I have to punch them dead in the groin. Or just decide to.
But there’s no way to approach a lone woman wearing a neon purple fist weapon and not come off as a complete screwball. Instead, I pull out my vape and walk toward the girl, drifting right so she’ll see me coming if she looks up. When I’m less than thirty meters away, she does, revealing she is, in fact, crying her eyes out.
“Hey,” I say loudly. “I think I’m lost. Do you know how to get back to the main road from here?”
The girl blinks like she’s trying to work out if I’m real. “You work here?”
Whoever she is, she’s young. Twenty-one, if she’s a day. She’s also very pretty, with long dark hair and huge velvet-brown eyes. A chill runs down my spine. I bring my vape to my mouth and suck for Australia.
“I don’t work here,” I say on the exhale. “I got lost on a hike. Do you work here?”
“Yes.” She eyes my vape with a look I know all too well.
I hold it out to her. “Want some?”
She gets to her feet, and I’m sure she’s going to book it, but she moves toward me, a small smile on her face. “Not allowed.”
“It’s all good. I won’t tell anyone.” I close the gap between us and hand her the vape.
She takes a deep pull, smoke blasting from her nostrils like a pro, then shakes her head. “I, uh, might get in trouble. If someone sees.” She takes another drag.
“Is Thrasher a cunt about vapes?” I ask, cold still seeping into my bones.
The girl laughs. “Daniel? Yes. You, uh, know Daniel?”
I grin at her, shoving my shaking hands into my pockets. “We went to school together. How do you know him?”
She shifts away from me, glancing over my shoulder toward the gravel road. “You, uh, walked from there?”
“Yeah.”
The girl takes another long draw on my vape, her eyes moving from me to the road, and then behind her. I’d bet any amount of money that’s where Thrasher is.
“Grace,” she says, tipping the vape to her chest.
“Ada. Ada Renaldo.”
Grace extends the vape to me, and I inhale, then give it straight back, eager to maintain the tie between us.
