Objective (Bloodlines #2)(23)
The living room and eat-in kitchen are all open when you enter, making it easy to see anything out of place. All lights in my trailer are motion-sensitive, so when you enter a room they come on automatically. I can override that feature from my phone on some app, so that if I ever need it to be pitch-black, I can make it happen quickly. The lamp to my left switches on as I pass into the small hall that leads to the bathroom and then the bedroom. My furniture, although sparse, is all nice and modern. Shabby chic meets Ikea. I love it. I love how the modern clean lines blend with the distressed country cottage look. I tuck my gun under the pillow opposite mine on the bed and head back to the kitchen to pour myself some bourbon before bed. I like the way the ice clinks against the glass. It soothes me.
Drink in hand I unlock the three deadbolts on the side door and exit the trailer to sit on my little slice of AstroTurf that I pretend is a deck. No one is up and milling about at this hour so it’s peaceful and quiet. I plop down in my Adirondack chair and take a deep breath before taking a swig of my drink. I don’t need to live like this. I have money. So much that I don’t know what to do with it all other than stare at it sometimes. But I don’t often look at it. I don’t touch it unless I need to. It reminds me of what happened. Of what I did. So I work instead, and live off that money as much as possible. That money isn’t tainted.
“Nice night out, huh?” a deep voice rumbles to the left of me in the darkness. It startles me from my thoughts. Bentley. He once told me that he was born in his trailer, it was his parents’ until they passed and left it to him. I’d asked why they named him Bentley, and his reply had been that they thought if he had an expensive sounding name that he’d make it in life…that he’d make it out of this trailer park and do great things. So much for that, I think as his chiseled jaw peeks out from the shadows. Damn, that man looks good with stubble. His rough good looks really should be kept in check.
“I hate it when you do that, Bent,” I squawk at him. He chuckles lightly before emerging from the shadows and sitting next to me in the vacant Adirondack chair to my left.
“Got any more?” he nods to my glass. “I could really use a drink tonight.” He smirks. I sigh and nod before getting up and quickly fixing him one. When I reach out to hand him his drink our fingers brush lightly against each other, causing me to quickly pull my hand away. There’s something there but I ignore it like always. He notices, but says nothing, knowing better than to bring it up. We aren’t friends per se but we aren’t strangers either. He has somehow bullied his way into my life. He shows up at odd times and just sits with me. Sometimes he rambles on about his life and other times we sit in amicable silence together. He never asks about me anymore. He knows I work slinging drinks and he knows that I prefer to be left alone but that’s about it.
He tilts his head back and takes a sip, and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He’s a very, very good looking man. The rough and ready type. Probably a few years older than I am, if I had to guess. He clearly works out because every muscle that I’ve seen on him is impressive, and I’ve seen a lot of them since as he prefers to run topless most mornings. His eyes are a blue-hazel color that sucks you in and that makes him look warm and friendly, and he keeps his chestnut hair trimmed short. Aster would just about die if she ever met him. “Quiet tonight, hun,” he says and winks at me, full well knowing that I’m always quiet, unless I’m irritated. He always seems amused by the fact that I keep to myself.
“Just tired,” I lie. I’m far from tired. I barely sleep in general but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Tough night at work?” he asks hesitantly. I nod my response and give him a half smile.
“You’re late on your electric bill,” he says. I snap my head to him.
“What?”
He pulls a stack of my mail out and sets it on the table between us, the electric bill already open. “Wait, you read my mail?!” I shriek.
“Well what's the point of getting it if I'm not going to open it?” He chuckles. I snatch the mail and tuck it under my rear glaring at him. He takes three more slugs of his drink, finishing it off before setting the glass on the arm rest and standing. I watch his forearms flex as he pushes up and have to stifle my groan. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone in any sort of way and Bentley’s visits only remind my hormones of what they’re missing.
“Thanks for the drink, Princess. Maybe we’ll chat tomorrow.” He winks and grins at me, knowing we most likely won’t talk or it will be him talking, before disappearing into the shadows again leaving me alone.
“Night, Bent,” I call out into the darkness, and smile. He’s so strange, not that I’m one to talk. I pull the elastic from my hair and let it cascade down around my shoulders. Running my hands through it I try and massage my scalp a bit to relieve the pressure in my head, before downing the rest of my drink and carrying two empty glasses back into the trailer and locking up for the night. At three-thirty am I take my prescription sleeping pill. The pills keep me from dreaming. Most nights I don't take them because at least in my dreams I’m happy. I’m where I want to be. After a few months of waking up alone and depressed I’d sought out help from Penny. She had referred me to a free clinic in the area. She was overly concerned about the bags and dark circles under my eyes and seemed pleased that I’d sought her out for help. Not tonight, though. Tonight I have no past. I only have now. At four am I crawl into bed and slide my hand under the opposite pillow. Gun, still there. I heave a sigh of relief and fall into a dreamless sleep for a couple of hours.