Page 39 of Wrecked

“I’m teaching a summer program for the next few weeks, but after that, I’d love to lend the time.”

She flips her hair and shows off her gorgeous, silky skin. She’s so pretty. I need to set her up with someone. Maybe she’d hit it off with Tim or Gary from Homes for All Souls.

“I’ll text you the details.” I’m walking to the wrecking ball when I see the guy from the bike gang again.

He puts his hand inside his pants pocket, takes something out, and palms it to one of the girls. My head goes into high alert. I look for Juice, who is at the front, all the way at the other end of the bar. Ron is in the back. Paulie is closest, helping a girl off the wrecking ball.

“Paulie,” I call out to him, “grab Ron!”

Without asking why, Paulie gets the two-hundred-fifty-pound bouncer while I work my way toward the exchange.

“What do you have there?” I ask the girls.

I recognize them. They’re a year older than Luke, which means they’re still in college and barely drinking age.

“Nothing,” one says, holding her palms up.

The other is clenching on to the shoulder strap of her bag like it contains a million dollars.

I turn to the guy. His eyes are clear. His stance is confident, not like someone who did something wrong. For a second, I wonder if I made up what I saw. I eye up the girls and then look back at him.

“What did you give them?”

He smirks at me—freaking smirks—while leaning back onto the wall, crossing his arms, wearing his long-sleeved shirt even though it’s a thousand degrees and the middle of the summer.

My nostrils flare. I whip my head to the girls. “Did you buy heroin from this creep?”

“Heroin? No way. That stuff is harsh! We just got a few pills,” one girl says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She puts a hand on her hip, her chin tilted down at me. “Come on, Leah, you know how to party. What’s the big deal?”

“I don’t party like that,” I state as Ron and Paulie come up behind me.

Ron grabs the biker to haul his ass out.

“Watch the leather,” the biker says.

I want to kill him for sounding like the great McConaughey from Dazed and Confused. Ron doesn’t seem to care as he pulls the guy away.

I turn to the girls. “Did you take anything? Where are the pills?”

The stares I’m getting in return show they realize the seriousness of the situation.

“I’m calling a cab for you.”

“You can’t make us go anywhere,” one of the girls says.

“Of course I can. No drugs are allowed in my bar. And I’ll be damned if something happens to you on my watch.”

“It’s not your bar,” the other says with a hip sway and a way-too-cocky attitude.

I’m reeling at the fact that, out of this whole situation, that is the one thing she heard.

“Out!” My hand points to the door.

“Whatever. This place blows anyway.” She starts walking out.

I follow them to the front, making sure they get their filth out of here.

As I’m escorting the girls out, Ron and Paulie are walking in. Juice is inside the door, sitting on a stool.