Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
After we finished up in the stairwell, I left Mark scrambling for his clothes. I didn’t ask for his number, even though I wanted to. I didn’t tell him I wanted to hook up again, even though I do. I just told him, “See ya ’round,” and got the fuck out of there.
We’ll see each other again. We move in the same circles. Hang at the same parties. His buds need me for drugs. I need them for cash. And between what we experienced in the basement and the stairwell, I can’t imagine he’ll be able to walk away from this.
Hell, I sure as fuck can’t.
I would never admit it, but damn. I thought I’d already had enough sex in my life to know how good it could get, but I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
I ride my motorcycle to my supplier Jesse’s place.
I keep replaying that hot encounter in the stairwell over and over again in my head. How even when I accidentally came too soon, Mark lapped it up like it didn’t even matter. Like all he wanted was to have me inside him.
I park outside Jesse’s, alongside the street, where cars are packed in front of his place. He’s obviously having a party. I make my way around to the back. The pool is illuminated with a green light, but it’s too cold out for anyone to be in it. A DJ blasts music from a tent on the far side of the pool, next to a bar. A group congregates around the tent, dancing. Beside the DJ tent, a couple of kids hold a guy upside down as he drinks from a tube attached to a keg on a stand.
Jesse’s parties are always little more than frat parties for those of us who didn’t opt for college.
I see Jesse in his usual location, sitting in the hot tub, his arms around girls on either side of him. They’re laughing at some joke he’s telling as I approach. I doubt they find him amusing. Figure they humor him in hopes that he can hook them up with some free drugs.
As Jesse spots me, I can tell by how his eyes light up that he’s been using his stash. He hops up and runs through the water and gets out on the other side of the hot tub. Grabbing a towel off the back of a chair at a nearby table, he rubs it across himself quickly. Water drips from his neon green speedo down his legs. He’s not the kind of guy who can get away with wearing a speedo, but no amount of discouragement from his buddies seems to work. He runs his wet hand through his thinning blond hair, which I assume is expected now that he’s in his forties, maybe fifties—hard to tell with all the Botox his face is pumped full of.
“Babe, how’s it going?” he asks as he approaches.
He wraps an arm around me like I’m one of his sluts and guides me through the crowd, into the house. When we reach his bedroom, he shuts the door behind him.
“What you need?”
“Some coke, weed, hydrocodone. A little K wouldn’t kill me.”
He opens his closet and squats. Rolls of fat fold over the speedo. He unlocks a metal safe, and I give him cash for enough supplies to last me the rest of the week.
“Not exactly making money hand over fist this year, are we?” he says as I unzip my backpack and set it down beside him. He counts my money before passing me bags from the safe. I stuff the load into my bag. “Damn, this is turning out to be a shit year. Bunch of brats are more interested in scripts they can get from overseas pharmas than any of the regular shit. This was a lot easier five years ago.”
I’m making less than half as much as I was two years ago, so I know what he means, but at least it helps us get by.
“How’s your nanna, by the way?” he asks.
“Good. She doesn’t get CT scans for another month, but she’s recovered pretty well since the chemo.”
She was diagnosed last winter, and we fought through the spring with chemo and radiation. She’s just now able to get around after spending two months healing from the lingering effects of the intensive chemo regime she was on.
“Good to hear, good to hear, but I bet those bills are a real pain.”
“Yes, they are. Not something I need to be reminded of. I see them every fucking day.”
“Any scripts you need more of?” he asks as he inspects his stash.
“It wouldn’t kill me to have some extra Xanax and Adderall.”
“Of course not. I got some Provigil in here, too, so I’m going to load you up with that. You’re pitching it as the new Adderall, right? Best study drug on the market.”