BAM. BAM. BAM.
The sound of someone pounding on my door makes me jump.
“Fuck,” Journey growls, rolling off me. “Are you expecting company?”
“No.” I sit up, pulling my shirt down. “Who would?—”
“JUNE ANN!” My mother’s voice cuts through the door. “I know you’re in there!”
My blood runs cold. No. No, no, no. Not now. Not with him here.
“Jesus Christ,” Journey mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks at me. “Is that your mom?”
I nod, mortification washing over me in waves.
“JUNE ANN!”
“Coming!” I call, my voice cracking.
Journey’s already on his feet, stalking toward the door. I notice he’s not bothering to put on a shirt, and I’m suddenly very aware of how this must look.
“Wait—” I start, but it’s too late. He’s already yanking the door open.
My mother stands there, one hand raised to knock again, the other clutching her purse. She looks Journey up and down, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.
“Well, well, well,” she drawls. “I didn’t realize you were entertaining.”
“Mrs. Calloway,” Journey says, his voice surprisingly polite. “It’s late.”
She looks past him to me. “June Ann, aren’t you going to introduce me to your... friend?” The way she says “friend” makes my skin crawl.
I tug my shirt down as far as it will go. “Mom, this is,” I stall for a second, not sure what to call him. Then I decide fuck it, and give her the name everyone else calls him, “Journey. Journey, my mom, Virginia.”
My mother’s gaze slides over Journey’s bare chest appreciatively before shifting to me, her expression immediately hardening. “I’ve been calling you all day.”
“I know,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’ve been busy.”
She pushes past Journey into the apartment, then stops short when she sees the state of things. “What the hell happened in here?” She kicks at the garbage bag next to the door. “Did you have a tantrum?”
I clench my jaw. “Someone broke in.”
She hums, and doesn’t even bother to ask if I’m okay.
Journey crosses his arms over his chest, his expression darkening. I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Mom opens her purse, pulling out a cigarette. “Got a light?”
“You can’t smoke in here, Mom.”
She rolls her eyes but puts the cigarette away. “Fine. I need to talk to you.” She looks pointedly at Journey. “Alone.”
To Journey’s credit, he doesn’t budge.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, though everything in me screams for him to stay. “We’ll just be a minute.”
Journey’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “I’ll be right outside.”
The second the door closes behind him, my mother rounds on me. “So, that’s how you’re making money now?” she hisses. “Spreading your legs for bikers?”
