“Oh.”
6
________
Connor
Be strong, man. Melissa’s beautiful dark curls and elephant print pajama pants were luring me into her siren song. What was wrong with me, if the best way to get my attention was to storm into a party wearing slippers and insulting everyone?
I had almost convinced myself I was indifferent to her, and now here she was again. It didn’t help that Rob was back to banging on the bongos, and I had zero interest in returning for the end of his concert.
She said something I didn’t quite catch, so I leaned closer. Just for hearing purposes, of course. “What was that?”
Melissa narrowed her eyes at me, like she could read the lies I was telling myself. “Why haven’t I seen your roommate before tonight?”
“Were you hoping to?”
“No. It just seems suspicious that I’ve never seen him.”
“He’s a weird dude who keeps weird hours.”
“Is he the reason all the strange cars are coming and going from your place all the time?” She looked irritated, but there was expectation threaded through her question, too. Like she hoped it was my roommate who was the shady one and not me. Why?
And then it hit me. She was attracted to me, just like I was attracted to her. Miss ForeverNotSingle secretly liked me. No, no, no. That wouldn’t work.
I ducked my head, channeling every after school special I’d ever watched growing up, even shuffling back and forth like the question made me nervous. “Nah, that’s me. It’s just to make a few more bucks, and then I swear I won’t do it anymore.”
Melissa backed up from me, as I knew she would. “Okay then, goodnight.”
“You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”
Her eyes widened before she attempted a look of casual indifference. “As long as it stops.”
“It will. I just have to get rid of this last stash.” Maybe adding that last part was a bit too much. I didn’t want to get falsely arrested. I just wanted her to turn around and never talk to me again. She was too tempting—as all hot messes were.
Melissa was almost to her front door when a vehicle honked from the street, making us both jump. “Yoo-hoo! Are you Connor Harwood? I’m here to pick up the set of back scratchers you had for sale in the Facebook yard sale group.”
An older couple in a minivan had stopped in front of our duplex. They couldn’t park because of the cars in front, so they were idling in the road with the passenger-side window down. The woman looked at us expectantly.
“Nope, wrong house,” I called back. It about killed me to send them off. Who else was going to buy a bag of used wooden backscratchers for fifteen bucks?
“No, you have the right place,” Melissa called out. She turned to stare me down. “Go get their backscratchers, loser.”
“I’m still a drug dealer,” I said.
“Sure you are. I should have known when I heard the bongos from your super lame party.”
“They’re buying drugs from me.”
“The minivan people? And they know your real name?”
“Connor Harwood is my dealer name.”
Melissa laughed, and I loved the sound a little too much. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so determined to prove you’re a terrible person, but whatever. I’m going to bed.”
“I am a terrible person.” I was. I was falling into her trap right now. I wanted to follow her home. Even if it meant faking my death later to get away from her.
Instead, I went inside to find the stupid backscratchers.
