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I adjusted the front of my pants and threw my head back against the padded leather of the high backed booth. This was going to be a long fucking night.
Because now I wanted her boobs.
The minutes ticked by, and I sipped at my drink, texting back and forth with Lincoln, and sometimes Walker, trying not to follow Blake’s every move.
At some point my gaze snagged on a group walking along the crowded sidewalk in front of me.
A teenage boy dressed in all black, no older than sixteen, was deftly weaving his way through a crowd of businessmen. I could tell what he was about to do before he even did it—he was beingwaytoo casual. He sideswiped one of the corporate yuppies, his hand grabbing the man's wallet, no doubt fat with credit cards and cash. He got it out without the man noticing, but because of his rookie status, the boy totally fumbled his sleight of hand.
The wallet slipped from his grasp and plopped to the concrete. Which obviously caught the attention of the guy he’d just stolen from. There were some yells from the group, and it was pretty comical to watch the emotions dancing across the businessman's face: anger, disbelief, and the sudden realization that he’d become part of an impromptu street drama. He bent down to retrieve his fallen property, but the boy scooped up the wallet from the ground and made a daring escape, disappearing into another bustling crowd.
A skilled pickpocket's retreat.
It was a sight to behold; art, really.
As I watched this scene unfold, it triggered memories I tried not to think about very often, dark chapters from my own past.
The group home where I’d been unceremoniously dropped off as a toddler could have been literal hell. Neglect and cruelty were the only hallmarks of that place, and I’d barely survived.
When I was eight, I’d run away. I’d figured I had a better chance of surviving out on the streets than in that place. I was terrified when I left, but I couldn’t take it anymore.
I was a child, lost and alone, navigating a world that had given me nothing.
After a few days, it was clear I did not have what it took to survive on the streets. I thought I would die out there, crouched in a grimy alley, and I was ready for it.
Then Logan showed up. Nothing about him said good intentions, but he became the savior I desperately needed.
He took me under his wing, took me to a rundown house where other lost boys, just like me, sought sanctuary. Logan assumed the role of both our mentor and protector, teaching us the art of survival. And in Logan’s world, survival meant pickpocketing.
Those three years with Logan and the others had been an interesting blend of ruthlessness and camaraderie for a little kid. I thought I’d found a band of brothers, people who cared about me. For awhile, It almost felt like I had a family for the first time in my life.
I also got damn good at pickpocketing.
But nothing like that lasts forever. One of the other boys tried to pickpocket a federal agent. After being caught, he told them all about us, and they raided our place. Amidst the chaos, Logan was shot, and I was forcibly torn away from the makeshift family I had come to love, and taken to a different group home than the one before.
As I watched the teenage pickpocket sprint around a corner and disappear, there was a little ache in my heart. Life had a peculiar way of intertwining our past and present, reminding us of the roads we had traveled and the choices we had made.
I guess everything happens for a reason. I never would have met Layla—Blake—if it weren’t for all that.
But a lot of that had really fucking sucked.
My phone buzzed and I grabbed it like it was a lifeline. I hated thinking about my past. It was Blake, thank fuck. Her texts came in rapid fire…adorably awkward. I’d changed her name in my phone to Mrs. Lancaster, and I felt like a giddy little kid watching it pop up now.
Mrs. Lancaster: They’re letting me off early since it’s a slow night.
Mrs. Lancaster: But we totally don’t have to hang out.
Mrs. Lancaster: Because it’s late.
Mrs. Lancaster: Sorry I’m texting so much.
Me: On my way, sunshine.
I grabbed my empty cup, smirking to myself at how the barista was avoiding looking at me.
It was go time.
CHAPTER12
