Say When (2 page)

It’s a far cry from the ride I came in, but I don’t care. I just want to get the hell away from here. Karri’s passenger window rolls down with a lot of squeaking and a few pops. Her spiky pink hair rustles as she ducks her head.

“Hey, Jackson.” She nods toward him and smiles. “Nice tie. You got something on your shirt, too.” She looks down at her pale peach tank top that reveals more cleavage than should be legal. “Look.” She points to a stain that circles her entire left breast. “We match, only mine is baby puke.”

Jackson regards her with a scowl before turning his attention to me.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he lifts his chin. His neck and shoulders are rigid now, and I can tell he’s doing his best to look like a strong, self-assured man.

I know better. He only pretends to be strong so he can manipulate me into doing what he wants.

“Out,” I drawl as I open Karri’s car door and throw my purse inside.

“Call me tomorrow,” Jackson says. It’s not a request or a plea, but a command.

And you know what? I’ve had about enough of Jackson bossing me around.

“No,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

Jackson arches a narrow pale brow, made too thin from over-plucking. “No?”

I lean forward and slap my three carat engagement ring in his hand. “No.”

Chapter Two

“So, hey, I dropped off Tyler at my mom’s house.” Karri sounds like she’s overdosed on caffeine, or maybe she’s back on meth. Gawd, I hope she’s not back on meth. She’s way too energized, squirming around and acting like she’s trying to pop a bubble under her ass. “I’ve got the whole night,” she squeals.

“Great,” I answer through a sigh, slumping in my seat. I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m keeping Karri away from Ty. Why is my best friend’s priority in life all about finding a babysitter? We’ll probably get so shitfaced tonight, we’ll end up sleeping until late afternoon. Karri will make sure to leave her baby with her mom as long as possible.

She gives me that look that she gave me after the time I told her Jackson’s penis size was just right. Apparently, “just right” is code for small dick.

“Great?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “I’m babyless on your birthday. Let’s go get drunk and fuck some hot guys.”

I shrug. “I like the drunk part, but I’m not having sex with strangers.”

“They’re not strangers. I’ve already got a few friends lined up.” Karri flashes her infamous wicked smile, revealing two rows of off-white teeth.

“Why am I not surprised?” I say wryly. Random sex with random dudes on my twenty-first birthday. Just the thought makes me want to hurl.

“Come on.” She licks her lips and then smooths her fingers across her bulging cleavage and down a curved thigh. I swear all I have to do is mention the word “sex,” and she gets wound up like a vibrator on steroids. “It’s your birthday! Live a little.”

“Can’t we just go to a club?” I hate the whine in my voice, but I’m so not in the mood to be the sex police tonight. “I want to go dancing, and I’ve never actually bought a beer using my own ID before.”

It was such a nice feeling to wake up this morning and toss that fake ID with the peeling laminate. I’d paid some IT kid at the library five hundred bucks for it two years ago, and surprisingly, it had worked at my favorite college bars, mostly because the bouncers were in Jackson’s fraternity. My old ID had a glaring typo, claiming I weighed 150 pounds instead of 105, a two hundred dollar fix, the kid had told me, even though the mix-up was his fault. I could finally be me now, Christina Duval, five foot three, 105 pounds, green eyes, auburn hair, age twenty-one, and totally legal.

“In case you don’t remember," Karri said as she motioned to the puke green bulls-eye on her tit. “I’ve got baby puke on my shirt.”

“It’s my birthday,” I said, keeping my voice firm. First Jackson and now my BFF? Nope, I was not going to be pushed around again. Not on
my
night. “I want to go dancing.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “I need to stop off at my apartment and change.”

The thing about me and Karri is we go way back, all the way to second grade when I caught her picking a wedgie behind a bucket of playground equipment. I don’t know why I was drawn to her. She got me into a lot of trouble at school and home. No matter how hard my mom tried to keep us apart, Karri always figured out a way back to me. Even though we’ve chosen separate paths in life—me excelling in college and her barely graduating high school and then getting knocked up by some random dude (she’s got the daddy narrowed down to three guys now)—we’ve managed to stay close.

Karri is a terrible parent, a lousy daughter and can’t hold a job to save her life. Sometimes I wonder what our friendship says about me. And yet, I cling to her. Why? Because she was the friend who comforted me when things at home got rough. When I confessed to her everything that happened between my dad and me, she didn’t pass judgment. She’s kept my dirty, dark secret and she’s never betrayed my trust.

Never.

For that, I think I owe her something. And right now, the best I can give her is continuing to be her friend, even when she does some majorly stupid shit, like fuck random guys while her baby naps in the other room, or forgetting to change his diaper for an entire day, causing him to develop a painful rash. Yeah, Karri’s got issues, too.

* * *

Why am I surprised to find two totally greasy guys waiting outside Karri’s apartment? I swear her run down studio in the ghetto is like a Venus Flytrap for tattooed ex-cons and druggies, all looking for sex.

“Hey, Karri.” One of them strolls up to the car, eyeing us both like we are prime cuts, or in his case, two large pizzas and a bag of weed. He holds up a six pack of cheap beer, his exchange for fifteen minutes of fun on Karri’s futon.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Karri asks the greaseball with perhaps too much forced shock.

He scrunches his brow and rubs his shaggy beard, looking momentarily disoriented. “What do you mean?” he slurs as spittle flies off his tongue and smears Karri’s half-open window. I can tell he’s probably already had a six pack by himself. “You sent me a text.”

Greaseball number two sidles up to the window. “Anyone hungry?” he asks. He’s got a shaved head and I suspect his tattoos outnumber his IQ two to one. He’s carrying a pizza box, tipping it on one side as he leans into his friend. I can hear the contents of the box slosh around, and I realize there’s probably only a few slices left.

Karri smiles real wide as she leans over and nudges me. “Robbie and Ben, this is my friend Christina.”

They both smile, and I’m pretty sure I can see strings of drool hanging from their bottom lips.

“Karri,” I growl under my breath. “This is so not cool.”

“Just a minute, guys,” Karri says to them as she rolls up her window.

Their faces fall as they glare at us, making them look like a couple of rabid wolves getting ready to make a kill.

“Would you just relax?” She groans. “Robbie has got a freaking huge schlong.” Her eyes widen as she holds both hands far apart, and I’m reminded of those fishermen who used to come into my dad’s dealership and exaggerate their records.

“Omigod! How do you know this?” Stupid me, asking that question when I already know Karri’s probably fucked them both already. I’m suddenly thinking texting Karri to save me from Jackson wasn’t such a good idea. I watch the two beasts steam up the window as they pant like bulls getting ready to charge, and I think maybe I’d prefer Jackson and his farty Chinese food breath to these guys.

Karri waggles her eyebrows, licking her lips. “Tell you what, since it’s your birthday, I’ll let you have Robbie.”

I shake my head, crossing my arms. I don’t feel like celebrating anymore and am ready to ask her to take me home. “You’ve slept with him and now you want me to have sex with him?”

“It was just casual sex.” She shrugs. “It’s your special night. You deserve a guy who doesn’t have the anatomy of a Ken doll.”

I’m so angry, I’m seeing red. “You know what, Karri, just take me home.”

“Hell no, I’m not taking you home!” she screeches and then gives me the once over.

“Fine, I’ll call a sorority sister.” I slip my phone from my purse.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Karri snatches my phone. “I saw you give Jackson the ring. You’re single now. Live a little.”

My nerves are rattled and I hug my chest tight just to still my shaking hands. I want to close my eyes and count to ten in an attempt to calm down, but I’m afraid to let my guard down for one second with those two horny hounds panting on the other side of the car door.

“Screwing drunk, greasy guys isn’t my idea of living.”

I narrow my eyes and get a good long look at the girl I’ve been calling my best friend for the past fourteen years. I see the dark circles under her eyes, her once vibrant complexion beneath a smattering of red freckles now pale and worn. The longer I stare at her, the more her upper lip twitches. If I confront her, she’ll try to blame her current condition on baby Ty, but I know better. Karri is back on drugs. Why the hell am I still her friend?

“Fine. We’ll go dancing,” she says, pouting. She nods to the creeps still hovering outside. “They are not going to be happy with me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to them later,” I say while rolling my eyes.

She rolls down her window and tells them we have to go. They’re swearing and punching the air. I squeeze my fists tight as a tendril of fear coils around my neck and snakes down my spine. Karri does the smart thing for once and puts the car in drive, despite nearly running over greasy guys’ feet. They’re still swearing when we pull out of the parking lot. She mumbles something about needing to change her baby puke shirt, but, thankfully, she doesn’t turn the car around.

Even though I end up getting my way this time, I realize Karri is the wrong friend for me. I’ve been foolish to cling to the memories we shared as kids, when we are clearly two different people now. I’ve been putting up with so much crap from so many people for so long. Maybe I shouldn’t stop with Jackson. Maybe it’s time to eliminate more people from my life.

Chapter Three

“Karri, something’s wrong with your car.” I peer over her dashboard, squinting against the light from the beams of oncoming traffic. Vapors rise from her hood, first a light grey, then white. This is so not good.

Karri leans forward, makes a face and then shrugs. “It’s humid outside.”

Could she really be that stupid? “No, it’s smoking.” I point to a nearby gas station. “Pull over.”

As she’s pulling in, I sink in my seat and curse myself for listening to my mom and wearing a skimpy-skirt and fuck-me-pumps. This is not the best side of town to be dressed like a whore. I’m fairly certain most girls dressed like me are charging by the hour.

We park next to an empty pump beneath the glare of the overhead lights. The smoke gets thicker and it’s starting to smell up the cab. I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about cars, but I fear her engine’s blown.

She grasps her cropped hair by the roots as her mouth hangs open. “Shit. What happened?”

I lean over and peer at her dash. Two alarm bells go off in my head. First, her oil level gage is on empty, and second, her check engine light is glowing red. Crap. “When was the last time you got an oil change?”

“Um, never.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t afford a mechanic.”

I’m sure she’s had the money to get her car serviced, but spent it on drugs or beer instead. I glare at her, shaking my head. “You’ve had this car like two years.”

She waves me off with a flick of the wrist. “Robbie looked at my car last week and said it was fine.”

Karri probably exchanged a blow job for second rate car service. I realize that not only is my friend a slut, she’s a stupid slut. This doesn’t sit right with me, and I think again that maybe I should reconsider this whole friendship.

“You’ve probably blown the engine,” I grumble as I slip my phone from my little purse. “I’m calling a tow truck.”

“No, you’re not,” she says, snatching my phone before I can dial. “I can’t afford it.” She sets my phone aside and pulls her cell out of her pocket, punching a name from the top of her history. “I’m calling Robbie.”

Oh, how nice. Karri has her druggie friend on speed dial.

I turn up my chin before snatching back my phone. “I’m not riding with him. I’ll have Grace pick me up.”

Karri makes a face as she holds the cell to her ear. “That stupid sorority bitch?”

“She’s always nice to you,” I say, irritated by Karri’s jealousy. “She bought Ty a high chair.”

“I don’t need her charity.” Karri turns and mumbles something into the phone. I’m assuming greasy guy has answered her call for help.

I fire off a text to Grace and she answers me right away. Luckily, she’s down the block at Dylan’s Rodeo Dancehall. She says she’ll be by to pick me up in ten minutes. Good thing because the toxic smell in the car is getting worse. Bad neighborhood or not, I can’t sit in the Sentra another second longer.

I get out and inhale deeply. Luckily, the misting rain has stopped, even though the warm air is thick with moisture. I walk toward the entrance to the station. Neon lights flash through the window, advertising cigarettes and soda. I scan the pumping stations and the darkened parking lot and repress the urge to shiver as a few men standing around the store gawk at me. One guy has the nerve to whistle. Knowing he’ll head toward me if I make eye contact, I look away and quicken my pace.

My gaze tunnels on the door to the store. I’m almost inside where I can wait for my ride, in what I hope to be a somewhat safe environment. I’m moving so quickly now, I practically barrel into the guy coming out the door.

I gasp and step aside, nearly colliding with his broad chest. “Excuse me.”

I don’t know what force of nature compels me to break my “no eye contact” rule. Maybe it is his heady musk, or the warmth radiating off his frame, but when I look into his eyes, I swear I nearly wet my pants. The guy is gorgeous. Warm chocolate eyes, thick lashes, flawless tanned skin, marred only by the slightest bit of stubble on his square jaw. Black hair cut short frames his angular face. And that mouth, so full and sensual, my traitorous lips part as if compelled to kiss him.