Page 26 of Hooked on Trouble

Lily twists the ring on her necklace. “God, can you imagine what it would be like to see Rose after all this time? Did she look like you?”

The reality of finding my sister whispers through me, leaving a chill in its wake. The same unease that seized me at Nico’s questioning. Holding out hope for a relationship with her is dangerous business. She could be a drunk like our mother. Violent like my father, who raised us both. She could blame me for it all. The smell of bacon and waffles veers from heavenly to acerbic. “Yeah, we looked a bit alike, but it’s hard to remember. We’re both a quarter First Nations. She had dark hair and eyes like me and our mother, but her father was Scottish, so her skin was fair. And she had the most perfect teeth.”

Shay makes a choking sound. “Honestly, you and your teeth. The gap in the center is hot. Totally in these days. Tons of models have it.”

And Nico likes it, I don’t say. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to hide my smile.

We discuss our website for Over the Top Events, but my thoughts drift to my upcoming outing with Nico. An idea’s been brewing in my mind for a while, a concept for a photographic essay on street life. Ever since I learned my grandmother spent time on the streets, I’ve been drawn to the people there. The stories.

Something else Nico wants to help me with.

His offer to visit that homeless community has emotion rising thick in my throat. This is the whole package he alluded to: a man in my life who cares about my interests, plays my stupid-question game, and kisses me like I’m his last breath. My mind fills with all things Nico—his chest, his lips, his eyes. His sexy grunt when our tongues brushed. Yep, there’s no resisting him.

I pull my phone from my purse. Someone needs to teach him how to sext.

Do you prefer lace, silk, or leather?

Seconds later, my phone buzzes.

Can’t talk right now. I’ll pick you up Thursday night at eight.

I frown at his reply, a niggle of uncertainty curdling my gut. No cute banter. No hint we’ll chat over the next four days. The man really needs to work on his dirty talk. Either that or he’s brushing me off. I give myself a mental slap. I don’t do insecure. I don’t do needy. I’m just worked up about searching for Rose and dating Nico. Slow is good. Slow is what I want.

My phone lights up again. Your wallet came in. No cards or cash, but your ID is inside. I’ll drop it in your mailbox.

Drop it in my mailbox? How did we go from pawing each other to “drop it in my mailbox”? Where’s the sweet guy who told me he wants the whole package? I scowl at my phone and attempt to ignore my unease. Technology has a way of twisting words and meanings. That’s probably all this is, and I’m just being a nutjob. He was nothing but affectionate on the beach.

Eight

Raven

Rundown neighborhoods have a smell about them. Sometimes pungent, sometimes subtle, but there’s always an undercurrent of stale cigarettes, body odor, and exhaust. The alley Nico leads me through is no exception. Eau-de-vomit hangs in the air as we pass an entranceway blocked by two men passed out on the stairs. Graffiti decorates the crumbling bricks and barred windows, bold slashes of yellow, white, and green crisscrossing in random patterns.

If done well, graffiti elevates a neighborhood and empowers teens. These walls look like they’ve been painted by a blind seeing-eye dog.

And I love it.

I’ve been in fast forward all day, the prospect of getting photos for my project like mainlining Red Bull. At work, I had Sasha’s gear loaded in her car in record time. I helped set up a couple of shots, even suggested we take a client’s reflection in a puddle. Afterward she scrolled through the images with me, explaining why each one sucked or rocked. Every day my brain expands with knowledge, my creativity hurrying to catch up. The more I can practice on my own, the better.

Nico slows as we near what looks like a construction zone and stops at a chain-link fence. He tips his head toward the gaping hole. “Once we’re in there, I don’t want you wandering off. Most of these folks are just down on their luck, but some will take advantage if they think they can.”

I was a tad disappointed when he picked me up today. A small (large) part of me hoped he’d be in his uniform, providing a tasty image to add to my ass montage. Although he’s in civilian clothes, the view is still mighty fine. His jeans stretch over the expanse of his thighs, his worn black belt tilted forward along the slide of his hips, his snug gray T-shirt practically painted on. I force my eyes to his face. “You could leash me if you want. I’m not opposed to bondage.”

His Adam’s apple bobs down his throat. “I’m serious, Raven. No playing around in here.”

I’m serious, too, about our outing, and possibly the bondage. But he doesn’t crack a smile. I gesture for him to go ahead. “I promise to stay on your heels.”

There are other parts of him I’d like to be on, but Nico’s body language has been as cool as his minimal texts. I’d given up sexting him after the first fail, and he never initiated. All I got was a peck on the cheek when I opened my door today. My taking-it-slow speech must have made him extra cautious. Nico is proving to be sweet like that.

He ducks and tilts his wide frame to fit through the gap in the fence, and I follow close behind. Once inside, he juts his chin toward the pile of rubble at our left. “The city was set to flatten this whole place, but there was a dispute over the land. The demolition stalled partway through. More squatters show up every month.”

Half of an apartment building fills a section of the fenced area, as though it’s been sliced through with a knife. A few toilets are visible in the open rooms that climb toward the sky; pipes and wires hang, attached to nothing. On the ground, people huddle in groups, piles of clothes and garbage bags and mattresses dotting the area.

We hang back, taking it all in. “Not exactly homey,” I say.

“No.” His tone is clipped, the lightness in his eyes clouded. “My brother lived here for a while. Six months or so.”

“Josh? Before he got arrested?” A whiff of smoke joins the sickly-sweet smells rising from the earth, and I wrinkle my nose.