Scared of Beautiful (Scared #1)(35)

“Really?” He’s dubious about my response, and with good reason. “If you’re sure,” he says finally, reaching for his phone amidst the disheveled sheets. My gut tells me that this is not a good idea. Jackson’s hot and sweet, and has just enough of a bad boy edge to make him extremely f*ckable. But I trust him; if I’m going to love him, I have no choice.





Chapter 18




Jackson

Truth be told, I don’t really want to be anywhere but with Maia tonight. Or any night. But I have to show my face, rep is everything in these parts. Plus, the friends I have who are not *s like Emmanuel deserve a look in. No doubt that in my absence my parents will search their memory banks for my most embarrassing childhood moments to pass on to Maia. It’s all good, though; she knows the worst of me so far and loves me anyway.

“You look hot,” Maia comments from the edge of the bed as I button up my ice blue shirt. The quiver in her voice betrays her as she feigns nonchalance.

“I can stay,” I say for the hundredth time this evening. But the answer won’t change.

“No, go,” she says absently. I lean down and give her the most reassuring kiss I can. I hear the bass from Emmanuel’s truck before it pulls up, and make my exit before guilt tells me to keep my ass at home. As I leave, Maia follows me into the kitchen, where my mother is filling the house with the most delicious aromas. My mother gives Maia a soft smile and shoots me a hard, disapproving glare as I leave.

Emmanuel doesn’t change, he never will. Heavy bass beats over a hip hop track, which I can guess it either about bitches or weed. The bass reverberates against my back, the music all but deafens me as I slide into the passenger seat. Shotgun, just like old times. Our old crew, Tripp, Mike, and Daryl look more than faded. Now more than ever I realize that I’m so over this f-ucking shit. Before we drive off, Emmanuel throws me a Corona and a blunt. I stare down at the offending weed and pass it back.

“What’s the matter, Ivy League? Smoke up, the night’s young. And Amber’s waiting for you at the club,” he shouts over the music with a sly smile. I crack open the Corona and lay the joint on the dash, and Emmanuel’s attitude tells me that this pisses him off.

No one talks on the way to the club, ‘cause who the f-uck can say anything over this loud ass music? Club 40 is exactly where I left it, the same raggedy ass strippers polluting the entryway, the same high as hell fools looking for a fight.

“So, remember I said Amber’s waiting for you? She missed you man. Last time I did her she couldn’t stop talking about you.” Emmanuel chides confidently as we amble over to the club’s door.

Even his gangsta lean pisses me the f-uck off these days. “Not interested,” I say plainly. I have no intention of contributing anymore to this f*cked up plan of his. Why in the hell would I need to stick my dick into some filthy stripper with Maia at home?

“Man, stop being a p-ussy! What the girl at home don’t know won’t hurt her.” Always the argument. Screw now, think later. I turn to face him.

“I’ll know, so quit with this shit already. It’s not happening. The weed, whatever else is stashed in your pocket, none of it, and especially not Amber.”

He throws his hands up in surrender, “Alright man, but don’t say I didn’t try to hook you up.”

The distinct smell of Club 40 assaults my nostrils as I walk in. Nothing but sex and weed, and too many fools who don’t own deodorant. The more steps we take inside, the more I regret not staying at home with Maia. Before too long, I’m running into people that I know, some I’d rather not.

As promised, Amber is there, front and center. Her stretch mark-covered breasts bulge out of an ugly looking corset, and leather hot pants add to the foul opinion I have of her. Seeing her does nothing but make me think of Maia’s smooth breasts and perky ass. My dick rises to attention at the thought, as I try to ignore Amber grinding against me. She raises her head and gives me her best attempt at a seductive grin, and reaches down to grab my crotch. “Not for you,” I yell over the music, moving her wrist away with necessary force. Her eyes flash anger and hurt, before she turns away, whispers something to Emmanuel and stalks off. f-ucking classless whore.

As the night rolls on and the drinks keep flowing, I find myself loosening up, even managing to converse on a real level with Emmanuel once or twice. It’s no surprise that after hearing that I was at Brown, loose women from all over the place are desperately trying to get my attention. And this baffles me, I’m still f-ucking broke, still driving the same car, and not looking to take any of these hood rats from the ghetto and rehabilitate them. I am impressed at how many of them actually do think of the future. More classless whores. Emmanuel threatens a few wannabe gangstas who are getting a little anxious that their women keep trying to ride my dick.

Sitting at a booth in the back, Emmanuel lights up another joint, and passes it over to me. I stare down at his outstretched hands in contemplation. The vibe in this place is crazy, and all around me people are just letting loose dancing and laughing. I can’t trust myself, I know I can’t. But I take it anyway. The feeling of the thin roll between my fingers is familiar, too familiar. I pull back on the joint. What harm can this do, just one, right? Two blunts and a few more Coronas later, it starts to hit me. I vaguely remember Amber walking over to me. There is a distinct haze in my vision, and not from the smoky club. Moments before I pass out, I hear someone say ‘smile’. And I do.