“Stop with the hasslin’, for Christ’s sake! And stop sending people after me. I’m fine!”
“You’re an idiot,” Jack grunted, undeterred. “You should come back. Rest. Though I have to warn you, Anabel’s here. And she’s pissed.”
Rest? What was I? A geriatric?
Not interested in a hookup that wouldn’t take no for an answer, I rang off and called Ray. “What?”
“Hello to you, too,” she retorted, one of the few unfazed by my black moods and snarls. “Stop ignoring your friends. Come over. I’m off tonight. I have muffins and battery acid, er coffee. Don’t worry, it’s strong enough to burn a hole in your belly, exactly the way you like it.”
About to feed her the same line I had Jack, the truth hit me. I really had no place to go—and I badly needed some shut-eye or at least a place to pace in private. Though I shared the house with Jack, I couldn’t face another endless party. Ray, however, never pried and let me be. Hopefully, she’d let me crash on her couch again because I didn’t want an empty hotel room, or worse, my own company.
“Fine.”
At my abrupt agreement, her snort coasted through the line, crowding my ear. “Hold it, dude, I’m no longer at the dorm. I moved in with my sister. Here’s the addy.” She rattled off the address.
Damn. I’d have to go back to Jack’s afterwards. The pain in my head amplified. Unable to ignore it, I finally dug out the prescribed meds from my tote. My hands shook as I tried to open the bottle—damn childproof caps. Finally, I got it off and popped two pills.
Taking stock of my surroundings, I glanced once more at the dancing girl, but she wasn’t looking my way and was now engrossed in a book. Shifting my tote over my shoulder, stuffing my hands in my pockets, I headed up Pine toward Fillmore Street.
What felt like years later, I rapped on the wooden door of a modern building. Thankfully, my headache had eased somewhat. The door jerked open, revealing a tall girl of nineteen sporting a short cap of inky hair with pink-streaked bangs.
“Finally. C’mon.” Rayen Logan grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, as if sneaking in an undesirable. The way I undoubtedly appeared in my wet, rumpled clothes, I didn’t blame her if she didn’t want the neighbors to see exactly what she hustled into her home. But I also understood that was just Ray’s way.
With her assistance, I entered the contemporary, two-story apartment, drenched with the scent of coffee. The foyer opened straight into the living area on the left, with another closed door on the right side. A wooden staircase against the wall led up to the second level.
In the open space, a large, old-looking, maroon couch leaned against a faded cream wall next to a stuffed armchair piled with cushions. In the corner near the window stood a wooden dining table. The place was too calm, too peaceful, nothing at all like Ray’s bouncy personality.
A painting on the wall caught my attention. I’d never seen San Francisco from that point of view. Dark and eerie. A web of spidery branches crept around the city as if to swallow it whole. Whoever had created the painting possessed a shitload of darkness. The thing suited my gloomy mood.
Ray skipped off toward the kitchen and waved me along. “Come on, Maximus. Quit studying our boring décor.”
I dropped my tote on the wooden floor and followed, propping a shoulder in the arched doorway of the small kitchen. A window above the sink showcased the rainy night. The open door on the other side revealed a tiny laundry space. The digital clock on the microwave blinked the time. 8:04 p.m.
Jesus. The night had barely started. Exhaustion weighing me down, I rubbed my eyes as if the action could wipe away the grittiness there. Lack of sleep, a delayed flight, followed by a ten-hour journey back to the States would do that to a guy.
Ray poured coffee and set the mug on the counter. “Sit.”
I dropped on one of the three stools. Hell, I really didn’t need the added stimulant to stay up. I did just fine on my own.
She leaned on the opposite side of the counter and blew the overlong bangs from her brow into disarray. “Shoot, I forgot the muffins.” She jumped up and brought out a flimsy white box. The multiple stud piercings she sported in one ear glinted in the light. “Here. And happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“You look tired, Maximus,” she said like some old soul who understood the depths of my pain. Truth? I just felt empty.
“It will be okay.” She patted my hand on the counter.
I stared at her in bafflement as she got the OJ from the fridge and poured herself a glass. How she’d integrated herself into my life, I still had no idea. Since the day I’d kicked the asses of some drunken jocks who’d cornered her after her part-time waitress shift down in the Mission, we’d sort of fallen into this relationship, a friendship of sorts.
She was pretty, with striking, hazel eyes and naturally tan coloring due to her mixed-race parentage, so no surprise she was hit on all the time. But Ray didn’t seem interested in hooking up with anyone. All she cared about was school and her job at Mulligan’s.
She filled me in on what had happened while I was away, about moving in with a sister I never knew existed, and then something about her folks who’d just celebrated their twenty-sixth anniversary. Ray could talk the ears off anyone without so much as a pause for breath at times, and, obviously, had a friggin’ fairytale family life.
I tuned her out and stared at my now calloused hands gripping the mug.
“Want to talk?” she asked quietly.
“No,” hovered on my lips, then I shrugged. “I had enough of the party. I left.”
