That Girl (That Girl, #1)(5)
I had barely sat in the chair and plopped a mouthful of caramel ice cream in my mouth when I heard, “Oh, f*ck me harder.”
Without thinking, I looked to my left and saw Junior’s ass bent over taking it to a blonde. Unintentionally, I let out a gasp, causing the two to turn their attention on me. Complete and utter horror filled my veins. Junior took a step back, allowing himself to fall from the blonde, and that’s when I bolted. Blowing out of my chair, grabbing my book, I dove into my window. Not just any dive, but a leaping, nine star dive. My shorts caught a piece of metal on the window frame, and I heard one very long tear. The sound was deafening, and in that moment I knew my ass was bared just as Junior’s was. Wiggling from the window frame, I felt a long, searing pain ripping down the front of my leg. Then I felt the blood flowing. My face landed in the bowl of ice cream, and as soon as I was able to gather my thoughts, I leapt from the floor, slamming my window closed.
“Tiffany,” I heard Junior’s voice, “are you okay?”
Immediately, without thinking, I said, “Fine. Yes, just fine. Just practicing my gymnastics is all.”
That was two nights ago, and here I sit on my bed staring at the long cut over the front of my leg and giggle a bit, because in all honesty it was a hilarious scene. Mortifying, but hilarious. Junior is a sleaze to the max, but I could tell he was genuinely concerned for me. That little escapade taught me two things: f*ck paradise, and definitely f*ck outdoor sex.
Last night I was brave enough to venture into some of the vacant rooms. I was a little nervous each time I opened a door. It was a very beneficial exploration. I scored a television, two pillows, and a silver necklace. I didn’t feel bad for stealing any of it, because I was borrowing it all and never planned on taking any of it permanently. Well, if I’m being honest, I’ll steal the necklace to remember this part of the trip. In the last town, I took salt and pepper shakers from the diner where I worked. I loved the owners so much I almost ran back and replaced them on the table, but I would’ve missed the Greyhound.
Tonight I’m hooking up the television. There is a mysterious black cable cord running from my wall, and with any luck I might be able to score some television, not that I have any time to watch it between work, scavenging for goods, and walking down to the grocery store. Times like this I need Jazzy. That girl could hotwire anything. She could get you free cable, internet, and milk without blinking an eye. Don’t ask me how she did it.
Channeling my inner Jazzy, I scour the back of the television looking for a hole that matches the end of the cord. Finally, I find a silver something that actually looks more like a screw but has a hole to put the cable in. Right hole, right fit, and we are in business. Giving myself a little pat on the back and shaking my ass for a little added reward, I push the power button. Nothing. Fuck. I try unscrewing and re-screwing the cord. Try every other hole in the f*cking back of the television, and for good measure I try the holes in the front of the television.
Giving up, I plop back on the bed and settle for a dill pickle and a terrible, corny, cheesy mystery where it’s obvious the doctor is killing his patients. Three chapters in and there’s a knock on my door. I freeze. Not moving, I hope the knocking goes away. Freezing doesn’t work; the knocking continues and even gets harder and faster.
“Tiffany,” a voice hollers.
Again, scared shitless, I hold very still and hope this all goes away like a bad dream. Mentally, I’m noting the catalogue of people who actually know my name in this town. Junior, but he’s never here on a Saturday night. Senior, who is too fat to get out of his Buick. Gordy, the cook, who I don’t think is smart enough to knock. And all the construction workers, but they always hit the bar on Saturday night. So, whoever is knocking can just keep knocking until they lose interest.
“Tiffany, it’s Junior. Get your ass out here.”
Covering my heart and checking my panties, I head to the door.
“Junior, you can’t do that again. You scared the shit out of me, almost literally.”
“What, did you think I was a bad guy or some shit like that?”
“I didn’t know who you were and never get any visitors. Just spooked me.”
Junior rolls his eyes. “Well, I knew your reclusive ass was in there. Answer on the first knock next time.”
The closer I look, I can tell he is very agitated, and something is not okay. Beads of sweat are pouring off his forehead, and his fists are clenched.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“Are you gonna be home tonight? I need a favor.”
“Really? Just got through calling me out for being a loner, and now you’re asking if I’ll be home.” I pause then reluctantly add, “Yes, why?”
“I need to deliver a package and can’t make it. My customers said they’ll come pick it up here. I just need you to keep it in your room until 9:30 tonight, and then set it out on the sidewalk,” Junior finishes, nodding toward the sidewalk lining the pool area.
“Nope, no way, Jose,” I instantly fire back and try to close the door.
Junior sticks his boot in the doorjamb, gets right in my face, and growls, “You will do it this time. I’ll never ask again. They won’t hurt you. One of my men will be in room twenty-eight keeping watch.”
I look up and see a giant of man covered in tattoos, and he nods at me. The man is fit and very good-looking. I’ve never seen him before, and I wonder if Junior has hired him for protection.