Taking Mine Read online

  “Excuse me,” a man passing behind Kaley says, forcing her to scoot up.

  Kaley smiles up at him. “No problem at all.”

  Both of their smiles linger longer than they should.

  I give her a disapproving look. “He’s twice our age, Kaley.”

  “He’s not that old.”

  We look over at him at the same time and he catches us staring. “He has gray hair and crow’s feet.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s just flirting. It’s not like I’m going to fuck him in the bathroom.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from responding. I can’t judge. She’s got her vices and I’ve got mine.

  I’ve wondered if I got lucky having no dad. Kaley has one, but he might as well be dead considering he’s gone half the time. Her parents travel, I don’t know what for. I’m not sure Kaley even knows why. But it’s a whole new level of loneliness in a mansion with only fish as pets. At the very least, I’ve always known someone loves me—Kip.

  “You could be leading him on,” I say.

  She shrugs like it's no new news to her.

  “Leading who on?” a voice says behind me. I already know it’s him. If I couldn’t tell by his voice, Kaley's reaction would have given it away.

  I carefully cool my features.

  Justin pulls a chair up beside us and straddles it, folding his arms along the back.

  Kaley jumps on the opportunity for a distraction and shifts the attention to him. “How much trouble are you in?”

  “Withdrawal from the class,” he says. “Not too bad.”

  “He flunked you?” I ask, astounding. “How is that not bad?”

  “He could have had me expelled.”

  The waitress comes by again, refilling my coffee and taking Justin’s order.

  “What are you majoring in?” I ask, blowing into my cup, attempting to cool the scalding hot liquid.

  After a moment of not receiving an answer, I look up to find Justin staring at my mouth. I don't catch on until I open it to take a sip and his eyes follow the movement. Pausing mid sip, I wait for his attention to shift back into focus. I can see him pull himself together, like gaining traction after slipping.

  Kaley hides a smirk behind her cup.

  “Um, English. And you?”

  “Undecided.”

  Kaley taps out a response on her phone before shoving it into her purse. Justin and I watch her stand with her tea. “I've got to meet a friend about some Biology notes.”

  I start to stand with her. “Okay, let me get the check—”

  “Stay,” she says. “I'm probably going to be a while. I'll call you before we go out tonight.”

  She doesn't wait for a reply and saunters to the door, waving at the gray-haired man along the way.

  “She's...” Justin trails off.

  “She doesn't take Biology.”

  He looks at me questioningly.

  “She's not meeting someone about Biology notes. Nor were we planning on going out tonight.”

  It dawns on him. “Oh,” he draws out. “She's dropping hints.”

  “More like atomic bombs and trying to disguise them as balloons.”

  The waitress comes by again, handing Justin his coffee, her top few shirt buttons undone.

  Classy.

  Justin waits for her to leave before picking up the conversation again. It's the first time I can take a leisurely drink of my coffee without feeling like he's watching my every move.

  “Are you two close?” he asks, rolling his cup between his hands.

  I shrug. “Depends on how you look at it. Closest thing either one of us has to a best friend.”

  He bends to take a cautious sip, and now it's my turn to be mesmerized by his mouth. My eyes trail the stubble along his face, down to his neck as he swallows. I have a quick image of running my lips over his Adam’s apple.

  I like to torture myself, apparently.

  “So, where do you go when you go out?”

  I smile. “Oh, I'm not going out.”

  “No?” he asks. “Why not?”

  “I don't drink, I don't dance, and I have no interest in being hit on by guys who wear polos and drink cheap beer. It leaves a lot to the imagination.”

  He tilts his head to the side. It adds just the right amount of boyish charm to be cute. “What if I fight the guys off for you? I'll be your designated bodyguard for the night.”

  “You forgot about the drinking and dancing.”

  “I'll buy you endless non-alcoholic beverages, and dancing is optional—fun, but not mandatory.”

  “Look,” I say, trying to let him down nicely. “You make a compelling argument, but I really can't. I need to get a jump-start on my schoolwork. No room for dilly-dallying this year.”

  “Dilly-dallying,” he repeats.

  I nod.

  “Okay,” he says, resigned. “Education is first priority.”

  I snort. “Says the guy who got kicked out of a class on the second day of the semester.”

  His smile grows. “But it was worth it.”

  “You have a thing for public nudity?”

  “It looked like you did.”

  He's flirting with me. Holy shit. I'm not a blusher. In fact, I can’t recall a single time I’ve been uncomfortable enough, but he oddly makes me self-conscious.

  “I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

  “You’re worried about embarrassing me now.” I laugh. “How about when you were stripping in class?”

  He shakes his head, smiling at the table and then back at me. “I wasn’t trying to draw the attention to you. I was trying to draw it away. You were worried about Professor Whitticker. I figured I’d eclipse your minor wrongdoing with a much bigger one. A much, much bigger one. He probably doesn’t even remember you.”

  When he puts it that way… “Then I guess I should be thanking you.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He looks older. Not as drastic as Kaley's infatuation a few tables down, but like maybe he’s seen some shit in his time that most haven’t. The kind of look that accompanies soldiers coming home from war.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four,” he answers, caught off guard by my question. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.” For some reason, I don't want our conversation to end, and it's a tad unsettling.

  “Tell you what,” I say, standing.

  He leans back, looking up at me. “What?”

  “Blackjack's. Tonight.”

  “The shady bar on the west bank that biker gangs frequent?”

  “They don't frequent,” I say. “Just every now and then.”

  He drinks the rest of his coffee, setting the empty cup down with new determination. “Blackjack's it is. I'll make sure I'm packing.”

  “Don't be so dramatic. You'll live.” I keep a straight face as I add, “Maybe.”

  He breathes out a laugh. “Looking forward to it.”

  WHEN I GET HOME, I find Kaley occupying my bed, wearing nothing but her bra and underwear, lying belly down and flipping through a car magazine from my nightstand.

  “It should be a testament to our friendship that I don’t find this weirder than I do.”

  She jumps at the sound of my voice. “Don’t do that to me,” she breathes out, letting her body relax.

  “You’re the one half naked in my bed; technically, you shouldn’t be doing this to me.”

  “I thought you were Kip again.”

  “Another testament,” I lilt, plopping down next to her. Kip’s seen Kaley naked more than anyone else in his life. Most likely, anyway.

  “So, how’d it go?”

  “We’re going out tonight,” I say.

  “Shut up,” she says, sitting up.

  “To Blackjacks’s.”

  Her excitement dissipates. “You are the lamest college student I know.”

  “Do you want to go or not?”

  She kicks off the bed. “I’m
going. This is the first time I’ve seen you take a liking to anyone since high school. I’m absolutely going.”

  “It’s not like that. We’re just hanging out, one time, as friends. Nothing more. Don’t make this something it isn’t.”

  “I’m not.” Her smile tells me otherwise. “I’m making it what it is. The boy basically made a public declaration that he’s into you. There’s no way he wants to be just friends. Not unless it’s the benefits kind.”

  “Kaley.” I say her name in warning.

  She gives me a devilish smile, backing toward my closet. “We’re going to go out tonight and you’re going to let Justin buy you a drink and give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Kaley,” I repeat in the same tone.

  “Here,” she says, throwing me the sequined dress she bought me last Christmas.

  “Nope,” I say, tossing it back.

  We do this a few more times before she gives in. “You’re so stubborn.”

  “I’m consistent.”

  “You’re going to dress like a hobo, aren’t you?”

  “You’re going to dress like a whore, aren’t you?”

  I duck just as my car magazine flies past my head. “I’m approachable,” she says.

  “I don’t want to be approachable.”

  “Couldn’t tell,” she deadpans.

  A HEAVY WEIGHT SITS at the bottom of my stomach as we walk up to Blackjack’s downtown. Kaley’s heels echo, bouncing off the vacant buildings. The bar sits right on the edge of town, bordering the west and east banks. Blackjack’s gets business from both sides, college students and working class, sometimes people of a darker nature. The warehouses surrounding the bar have been vacant for years. Wearing heels is equivalent to painting a flashing beacon on your back saying, I’m over here, one set of footsteps, so I'm alone. Come and get me. Oh, and I can't run.

  The bar’s front door is solid black. The only indication it’s an open establishment is a small neon sign shaped like playing cards. Rock music thumps through my chest as we enter. Two men in security t-shirts check our IDs and usher us through. Considering it’s a weeknight, the bar is decently packed, the dance floor occupied with people jumping around to the music.

  We squeeze our way through the crowd, trying to get to the bar. Kaley takes the initiative, parting the crowd before her. Kaley dresses to the nines wherever she goes. It’s not that she’s wearing anything outlandish, but her clothes scream designer, expensive. We’re an odd match, me in the skinnies I’ve had since high school and worn-out Chucks.

  The bar is overrun with patrons, and the two female bartenders tend to gravitate only to the male customers. The petite bartender stops in front of us, looking over our heads to the person behind us. “I’ll take two beers and whatever these two ladies want.” An arm stretches out beside me, gripping the bar next to my hip. Trapped in, I swivel my head, following the arm back to its owner. Justin’s eyes lock onto mine and my chest constricts.

  In this lighting his eyes are cast in shadow, highlighting his cheekbones and jaw. There’s something carnal about being so attracted to someone, something that makes me want to leap out of my skin because I can’t handle what my body is telling me. And it’s weirding me out how he keeps popping up everywhere.

  “Lilly,” Kaley shouts in my ear, snapping my gaze away from Justin. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Soda is fine.”

  I pull a twenty from my back pocket, bumping into Justin behind me. I clench my teeth. I can acknowledge the fact that the back of my hand just grazed the front of his jeans or I can ignore it. I feel Justin’s chuckle more than hear it. Shooting him a glare, I push a finger into his chest, trying to put distance between us.

  “Where would you like for me to go?” He laughs.

  The crowd has us blocked in and it gives no room for adjustment. People push past us, trying to escape with their drinks in hand, so Justin grips my hip, guiding me away from the traffic and putting himself even closer. I smell him and I’m sure he can smell me. His breaths fan my shoulder where my shirt stops. I don’t know what prompts me to do it, but I look up to find him watching me. Or not me, but my neck. Self-consciously, I place a hand against my pulse point, blocking his view of my racing heart.

  Kaley passes the drinks back to us, breaking us apart. Justin grips my drink along with his two beers in one hand, pulling me along with the other.

  “I have a friend holding a pool table,” he says over the music. I can’t play pool. Granted, it’s better than dancing, but asking would have been nice. Kaley shrugs her shoulders, skipping behind us.

  The pool tables are nestled above the dance floor, on the opposite side of the band, and Justin takes the time to help Kaley up the few stairs in her heels.

  “This is us,” Justin says, pointing to the farthest table. I immediately recognize the tall blond-haired boy leaning against the railing.

  “You sneaky bastard.” Kaley points at him. “Did you know I was going to be here?”

  Lance smirks. “Contrary to your beliefs, I have a life.”

  Justin looks between the two of them and then to me. “They know each other?”

  “Apparently,” I say.

  “Do you know how to play?” Lance asks, a slight northern accent rolling off his tongue.

  “Don't be condescending,” she snarls.

  He smirks.

  Kaley pulls the cue stick from his hand. “I’ll break first.”

  Lance holds up his hands in surrender. “Ladies first?”

  “Teams? Boys versus girls?” Justin asks.

  “No,” I say. “Kaley and Lance and me and you.”

  Now it’s my turn to be under the wrath of Kaley’s glare. She wants to meddle in my business, I'll meddle in hers. And it's also what she gets for lying in my bed with no clothes on. Lance wastes zero time racking, also avoiding her.

  I lean close to Justin. “I don’t know how to play.”

  “It’s alright, I’ll help you.”

  Kaley breaks, scattering the table and dropping a stripe into a side pocket. She shoots Lance a look, eyebrow raised, challenging.

  “Don’t get too cocky. Beginner’s luck. Statistically, breaking gives you the best odds to sink a ball.”

  I can see Kaley’s teeth clench from fifteen feet away. Something about Lance irks her in just the right way. I kind of love it. She makes another bank shot before missing and it’s our turn. Justin scopes out the best position, aiming for a solid in a corner pocket. He makes the first shot, but misses the second. Would nice be too weird to describe his forearms? Because they are.

  Justin and I laugh as Kaley prances around Lance, directing him on how to shoot. He bends over, lining up his shot, and she leans over him, using her hands to demonstrate the right angle. Lance looks up from his position, listening to Kaley drone on, and shakes his head. I now have a better understanding of why he thinks of her as a stick in the mud.

  The bad thing about going last is that all of the easy shots are taken, leaving me with only complicated combination shots. Justin lets me scope out the table myself, figuring out which position I feel comfortable with. I see nothing I can successfully pull off. I give him a look, asking for guidance, and he shakes his head, motioning for me to shoot.

  Feeling frustrated, I line up my cue stick and shoot. Not only do I fail, but I completely miss the cue ball. The cue stick slips from my grasp and scratches the felt on the table.

  I look at Justin. “Don’t laugh. You said you’d help.”

  He tries to tamp down his laughter, failing. “You’re right,” he says. “I just wanted to see what you could do first. Good news is you have a general idea where the ball needs to go and what you need to do to get it there. Bad news, you don’t know how to hold a cue stick, let alone shoot straight.”

  “Well, it would be great if my partner would help me.”

  “Okay,” Justin says, taking a sip of his beer and setting it on a stool. “Come here.” He waves me toward him.r />
  Timidly, I walk toward him, trying to deflect my nervousness. He takes the stick from my hands and turns me around so my back is facing him. “You’re not holding the stick right. Here.” He picks up my hand and leans it on the side of the table. “Create a bridge with your pointer finger and thumb.” He positions my fingers for me. “Now hold it at hip level. You want it to be angled as close to horizontal as possible, so when you shoot, you don't miss its mark. Try.”

  I line the cue ball back in its original position and lean over. I have my cue stick ready to aim when Justin's hand clasps over mine. “Loosen your grip. You’re not trying to stab the ball. Relax. Imagine you’re trying to push the ball forward, not murder it.”

  Taking a deep breath, I line up my shot. On my exhale, I push the stick forward. The cue ball hits a solid with a clack, and the ball rolls to the side pocket and drops in…followed shortly by the cue ball.

  “Scratch.”

  “But it was much better this time. You’ll figure out the amount of force the more you play.”

  Lance and Kaley still beat us, but we hold our own for the greater part of the game. A couple of people wait on the outskirts of the table, vying to play the winner. Sweat runs down the nape of my neck and I hold my hair up, fanning myself. Justin shifts his head toward the exit and I nod. We escape into the back parking lot, the air balmy against my damp skin.

  “Do you think they’ll keep our spot?”

  “Hard to say. Depends on Lance’s sobriety.” He pulls a cigarette pack from his pocket, slipping one between his lips.

  “Didn’t know you smoked.”

  He lights it, inhaling and exhaling, before answering me. “Bad habit, I know.”

  “Everyone has a vice, right?”

  He eyes me over the ember and smoke. “What’s yours?”

  For a split second, I think of just saying, I steal cars for a living. Sometimes I get so tired of feeling like I have a deeply hidden secret the world would look down upon if they knew. There is only a handful of people in my life who know what I do, but they do the same thing, so I’ve never had an objective point of view. Is it a vice if it’s not born of habit?

  “Procrastination.”

  He smiles around his cigarette. “That’s all you’ve got? You get lazy every once in a while?”