AllFreeNovel
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“Hell yeah, man. That’s what I’m talking about. You off to a party?”
“Something like that.”
“Fuck, I miss high school. Bet you get a lot of pussy. Am I right?”
“Can’t keep track.” I toss some bills onto the counter, ready to get going. “Take it easy, man.”
“Listen, before you go. Where’s the party at?”
He’s got to be kidding. The dude looks at least forty. “Not sure. The parties kind of find me, if you get what I mean.” I snatch the plastic bag and dip out before he can start up another conversation and ask me to hook him up with a cheerleader. Britney would probably do him.
Bitch will fuck anyone who gives her attention.
In the parking lot, I spot the wannabe pumping gas as Dahlia stares at her phone in the passenger seat. I tap on the hood. “Yo. We’re wanted at home,” I lie, having no damn clue why I’m doing it. “Come on. You can just ride with me.”
Lauren frowns as Dahlia swings her door open.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
I smile to myself in victory.
“I’ll text you later. Have fun at the party,” she tells the dork.
“I’ll probably just go home. Don’t want to show up alone.”
I feel like an ass, but not enough to truly give a fuck.
“Next time. Though, hey. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow,” she offers, and I roll my eyes.
I’ve got to find her a better friend and plan to tell her as much once she’s in my car.
They talk for a second while I start up my car. I rev my engine, signaling her to come the hell on. Dahlia struts toward my car, hips swaying in time with the swish of her ponytail that I’d like to wrap my fist up in and yank on as I hit her from the back.
The fantasy flashes through my head as she slides into the passenger seat. Not giving her time to secure her seat belt, I veer onto the highway, driving us in the opposite direction of all our friends and home. I already gave the drugs for the party over to Gauge and Remy. They won’t even miss me.
“Where are we going?” my pretty little doll questions and I ignore her. Because I don’t have an answer. I simply drive as the wind blows through her hair. “I thought you said we had to go home. Late for curfew or whatever.”
Reaching into the bag in my lap, I hand her the bottle of vodka. “Open it.”
“No. You’re not drinking and driving me.”
“Do you always have to be so damn difficult? Such a good girl?”
“No,” she grumbles.
“Right. Only thought you’d like to cut loose and have a drink without everyone watching and judging.” And maybe a few drinks before bed will help her to sleep. Last night I awoke to her crying out in her sleep. She must have been having a nightmare. I climbed into bed with her and held her until her breathing evened out. I doubt she even knew I was there. If she remembers she hasn’t brought it up.
Her eyes are on me, but I keep my focus on the road, deciding at the last minute to take her to the old church. Her fingers peel at the red wrapper, flinging the scraps out the window.
“You didn’t strike me as a litterer.”
“I can be bad on occasion.” She takes a swig, making a horrified sound. “That’s disgusting.”
“Wait and I’ll give you something to pour it in.”
“A little warning would have been nice.”
“You ever been drunk, Dahlia?”
