Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(51)

“You’re not here to deliver food, are you?” I whispered loud enough for her to hear, even though I already knew the answer.

She shook her head no. “I’m your new best friend, remember?”

She walked over to the beat-up coffee table in front of me, taking off her backpack and setting it on the floor beside her. She opened the top zipper, reaching in and pulled out several bags, throwing them on the table in front of me.

My eyes wandered to all the bags on the shitty table. I couldn’t look away from the truth that was so blatantly staring me in the f*cking face. I could feel her looking at me. I could sense she was waiting for me to say something, anything.

I couldn’t.

I felt like my mind was playing tricks on me, like this was a joke and I was waiting for her to say, “Just kidding.” Like she wasn’t supposed to be the person who showed up at the door ready to numb my pain.

So when I heard her take a deep breath, my eyes shifted to her beautiful face. Her serious, solemn expression mirrored mine, and then she confirmed all my illusions and stated,

“I’m the drug dealer.”





<>Briggs<>


And just like that…

The look he had for me seconds ago. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about. The one that no one else had ever shown me…

Was gone.

Mike opened the bathroom door and walked out before I could give it anymore thought. Before I could dwell on the fact that I was his supplier and he was now my new client.

“Sweet!” he said, sitting beside Austin on the raggedy couch, eyeing the drugs spread out on the table, like a kid in a candy store.

The only response I was familiar with in the room.

“Austin, what pills do you want?” Mike asked him.

Silence.

“I’ll take an eighth of weed. Two of those bad boys.” He pointed to the Ecstasy. “And like ten of the Percocets.”

Austin just sat there blankly staring at me, not saying a word. I reached into my backpack again, pulling out some empty plastic bags to fill Mike’s order.

“What’s the damage?” Mike asked, pulling out a wad of money from his pocket.

“Four hundred even,” I simply stated, exchanging his bag of goodies for money.

“On that note.” Mike stood, throwing some weed on the table. “I’m going to head out. Pleasure seeing you again, doll. I’m glad I kept your card. I’ll be in touch.”

I nodded, unable to form words, only plaguing thoughts.

“Austin, I’ll see you later.” With that he turned and left.

Leaving us in the silence that was deafening in the room.

Austin grabbed the cigarettes off the table in front of him, pulling one out. Looking around the room, patting his jeans for a lighter. I reached into my backpack again, throwing him some matches instead. He caught them mid-air, still not saying a word to me and lit his cigarette.

He took a drag and blew the smoke out toward his left, the furthest away from me. I never told him I hated the smell of cigarettes, but somehow he already knew that. I learned right then and there that Austin could read people as well as I could.

That wasn’t an innate skill.

That was survival.

“So,” I announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence that echoed all around us. “What’s your poison?”

He narrowed his eyes at me before glancing back to the table, pointing to the Percocets with the cigarette in his hand.

“How many?”

“All of them.”

My eyebrows raised and my mouth parted, immediately taking in his scars. Just as I predicted the night I met him, there were several scattered around his chest, and back.

In that moment, in that second, I wanted so f*cking badly to ask him what had happened to him, to reach out and ease his pain.

Instead I just grabbed the bag, handing it to him.

He reached into his wallet and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I looked away from him, taking in the room.

The place was a shithole. Most people rented this room by the hour. It’s where whores turned tricks and junkies OD’d.

Austin wasn’t one of those people. I knew that, I was sure of it.

Why was he staying here?

As I took in my surroundings, I noticed there was a dirty, tattered up duffle bag leaning up against the crumpling wallpaper in the corner of the room. The boots placed beside them looked like they had seen better days. The soles were ripping underneath them, and the shoelaces didn’t match.

There were clothes scattered throughout the room, drying over the air vent like he’d just washed them in the shower with him. And the jeans he was wearing were thin, old, and had stains.

He wasn’t one of those people at all.

Austin was just broke.

“How much?” he asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

I looked deep into his vibrant blue eyes. It was then that I noticed it was like looking in a reflection of my own truths.

“It’s your lucky day.”

He frowned, pursing his lips, confused.

“We’re best friends now, remember? I don't charge best friends,” I chuckled, wanting to break the tension between us.

The truths all around us.

His.

Mine.

Ours.

“There’s a shitload of pills here, Briggs.”