Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits, #5)(11)

“Frat, a few weeks, and he’s cool.”

All the happiness disintegrates. This isn’t Houston’s usual ammo. He brings me his high school buddies, guys he’s played soccer with since elementary school, frat brothers he pledged in with...people he has had established relationships with, not someone he thinks is “cool.”

“Popsicles are cool, autumn days are cool, bringing me someone who you’ve known for a few weeks...not cool.”

Houston sobers up and when I peer into his eyes, I spot it—something I don’t often see—he’s not high. Alarm bells are ringing and I’ve overwhelmed with this desperate urge to bolt.

“I need your help,” he says. “And I know dragging you into this is wrong, but I need you to read him. You’ve got great instincts and I need to know if he’s going to cause problems for my frat.”

Oh, for the love of God. My feet are moving in the opposite direction and Houston catches up to me in the crowd. Because he’s twelve of me combined, he’s able to easily pull me into a dark corner of the club.

He may be bigger, but I’m scarier. I lean into him and he cowers. “How dare you f*ck with me. Bringing me in here, putting my business in danger because you can’t smell trouble. And when I ask you about him, you tell me he’s cool? You should have never thought of introducing us.”

“I’m being pressured,” he spouts. “The president of our frat got caught a few months back with heroin.”

I freeze. Heroin’s not my thing. I deal pot. Nothing else. I can barely handle the burden of selling something that’s legal in Colorado, to say nothing of selling something that can kill you in a heartbeat.

“He’s been forced to step down, but the college didn’t expel him. A few weeks back, this guy shows. All his paperwork is in line. Shows that he was a member of our frat that was disbanded at another college and when I try to talk to Nationals about it—they stonewall me. He is cool, too cool, and he’s pushing for a dealer. He doesn’t know you’re my dealer. He knows we’re meeting someone tonight, but he thinks it’s a guy, not a seventeen-year-old girl.

“I know how you are. I’ve seen you interview plenty of guys. You’d never tip your hand of who you are, but you can read people, and I need you to read him. Please help me. My frat—we party. Won’t lie. But we don’t deal in heavy drugs and I can’t let my frat brothers go down on petty shit because our president f*cked up.”

I roll my neck. Run, Abby, run. “He’ll figure out I’m the dealer, and if he’s a narc, that will only draw unwanted attention to me.”

Houston’s shaking his head. “Already said, we told him the dealer’s a guy and I got my cousin who is in town for the weekend to play the role later. Just interview him like you did all the rest of us and then let me know if I’ve got problems.”

There are two types of people who buy from me. Those who are in search for the elusive good time everyone else seems to be having and those who are striving to forget. Doesn’t matter how many different ways someone tries to slice it, all of my clients end up in the same state of nothingness and numb.

Knowing this, I do know how to read people—I can read their intent.

“Please, Abby.” Houston’s eyes soften as he begs. “There are good guys at risk here. I’m at risk.”

“Fine, but if you ever do anything like this again, I will cut you off.”

I don’t mean it, but the fear registering in his eyes says he believes me. He takes a deep breath and tries to give me his dimpled smile, but it fails. “This is how I’ve got it figured. We just ran into each other and you’re a friend of my little sister. Her name is Mallory.”

Great. Backstories.

“She goes to school at—”

“Save it. Let’s go.” I start for his table first, but he muscles past to take the lead. Yes, I’m partly doing this to help Houston, but mostly to help me. If this is a narc and that frat gets disbanded and those boys get kicked out of school, I’ll lose 50 percent of my clients. That’s not a financial loss I can withstand.

Thank God, Houston’s regained his good humor by the time we reach the table and there are genuine smiles from three of the other guys there. I sell to them too and I don’t miss how their eyes warily jump from me to this new guy. It’s like they’re trying to privately warn me and I appreciate their support.

“I know you,” says Jeremy—best friend of Houston’s since birth. “Aren’t you Mallory’s friend?”

I have to fight to not roll my eyes as that was a bit heavy-handed. The new guy’s gaze snaps to mine and I meet his stare head-on. He’s attempting to read me and he’s not checking out my cleavage. Not a good sign, but he could be gay, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. But then again, he would be checking out Houston because if Houston wasn’t a client, I would be all over that boy.

Houston lops an arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t she cute, Albert?”

Cute? I slug him in the kidney and Houston bends with the pain, yet he laughs. I draw my attention back to the guys and the three I know gape at me in a what-the-f*ck mode and the new guy’s eyes are about to pop out of his head.

I jack my thumb toward Houston. “He’s annoying.”