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God, they’re so expensive. I’m going to have to find another job. A friend of a friend does hostessing at a club, and I remember she once told me she can make a grand a night with tips. Sometimes more. If that fails, maybe I’ll open an Only Fans and sell boob pics or whatever’s hot on the market these days.
I fill out the contact forms for five lawyers that specialize in juvenile criminal matters, text my friend, and by the time I’m done, the bell on the microwave dings. I’m in the process of washing up when the door bangs open and Mick comes in.
“Food was great,” I say. “Thanks for cooking.”
He nods as he toes off his shoes.
“Before you go hide out in your room, we need to talk.”
He freezes for a half second and then mumbles, “Tired.”
“No, now.” I point to the empty chair. “I’m trying to keep you out of prison.”
His head jerks up. “Prison?”
“Yeah, it’s your third offense after the cigarettes and beer, only this time the value is eight thousand which means it’s a felony, not a misdemeanor. Felonies come with prison time. Neither of us want that.”
He trudges over and drops into the chair. “She got her bag back, and I gave all the money I got from the pawn shop back to the dealer. He said we were cool.”
“She’s not cool. She wants to press charges.”
“What do I have to do? I can work it off.”
“She’s not interested in a deal.”
“How do you know that?”
Because she’s threatened me twice. “I talked to her about it, and she’s not interested in making this easy. She thinks we’re all trash, and I guess believes sharing the same space as her is offensive. I emailed five lawyers. I’m going to send you their responses. Let’s pick one out that you think you can get along with.”
“And how are you going to pay for this? Are you turning tricks like Mom?”
“No!” I slap my hand on the table. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Where the hell did your boyfriend come from?”
“Nowhere. I don’t have one. I met this guy once at work and that’s it. I don’t even know how he knew where to find you.”
Mick views me with suspicion, and I glare right back. He breaks first. “Get some sleep,” he orders like he’s my mom, and because I’m so fucking tired, I do just that.
Chapter Eleven
GRIFF
Since I can’t get my hair cut twice in two days, I resort to loitering outside of the Blue Salon. If I was a cop, I guess I could call it a stakeout. My patience pays off around six when Lauren appears. Her shoulders are slumped and her head is down. Girl looks exhausted. Anger swells in my chest. Lauren should be at home, with her feet up, eating ice cream and watching anime instead of working herself to the bone. I gun my Ducati and speed across the empty lanes of traffic to pull up next to her.
She jolts at the sound of the motorcycle engine and hops back away from the sidewalk when she spots the bike.
I brake and pull off my helmet. Her whole frame sags in relief, and for a moment, her face lights up with pleasure at the sight of me. That is before she remembers she hates me for some stupid-ass reason.
I reach behind me for the spare helmet and toss it to her. She catches it against her stomach. “Get on.”
“Not for all the money in the world.” She throws the helmet back at me, but it’s heavy, and she misjudges the strength needed. The helmet falls onto the cement with a loud cracking sound.
Her eyes meet mine with horror. “This is your fault.”
I kick the stand down and climb off the back. “It is. The helmets are fucking heavy. Sorry.” I pick the damaged object up and strap it onto the back of the bike. “I don’t want to leave the Ducati here, but there’s a parking garage not very far away. Wear my helmet and we’ll catch a cab to your place.”
“You’re not coming home with me.” She backs up.
