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“Nothing.” Cole smirks as he munches on dry Cheerios. The guy hates milk for some unknown reason. “I’m not the one glaring at my clothes.”
With a sigh I ruffle my hair and avoid his gaze. “Just trying to find something clean.” I hesitate, then decide to be honest. “I’ve got a job.”
He stops picking at his cereal. “What do you meana job?”
“Just something to make some extra cash.” I grab a red tank top with no visible holes and pull it over my head.
“Fuck, Dash. You driving again? We agreed. None of that shit anymore.” Cole’s voice goes low and angry, and I wince when I realize what my hedging must’ve sounded like.
“No, man. I swear. I’m not driving. Nothing illegal. Just, this woman adopted a dog the other day and asked if I’d help out with obedience training.” I make sure to meet his eyes, so he knows I’m not lying.
Cole and I met while serving out our sentences. We were both in a program where convicts worked with rescued animals. The idea was to give us some responsibility. Something to care for. Also, it gave us life skills once we got out. The director of the program, Charlene, liked both of us. Apparently, she thought we weren’t lost causes. She told us to get in touch with her when we got out, promising to find us full time work. Charlene came through for us, and we decided to keep each other in check.
Cole’s anger is completely valid if he thinks I’ve fallen back into old habits. He watches me, his insanely blue eyes tripping over my face until his glare finally fades.
“Okay. Obedience, huh? You sure you’re up for that? Been a while since you worked directly with the dogs.”
“You’re just jealous that I was always better than you.”
He smirks, flipping me off before digging back into his bowl. “Which dog?”
“A brindle pit bull. Brought in a few weeks ago.”
“Paige?” I flinch when he says her name, then realize he’s talking about the dog.
“Uh, no. The dog’s name is Pumpkin now. Paige is her new owner.”
Cole studies me again, probably seeing too much. I busy myself by slipping my wallet into the pocket of my basketball shorts and searching for my phone in the pile of clothes on my bed.
“That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
I shrug. “Not really. She’s the one who found the dog. Came in wanting to adopt it the next day. I told her she’d have to wait. The dog needed a name, and I suggested Paige, not expecting the girl to show back up. I was wrong. End of story.”
“And, now you’re going over to her house? Tohelpher?” The way Cole says it adds an extra layer to the question.
Luckily, my phone starts ringing, giving me the perfect excuse to cut this conversation off before he digs any deeper.
“Yeah. Later.” I open my beat-up, out-of-date flip phone as I head to the front door, not sparing my roommate another glance, even though I can distinctly feel his smirk burning against my back. “Hello?” The front screen of my device cracked a few months back, meaning whenever someone calls it’s always a mystery.
“Hey, Dash. How’s my favorite ex-con doing?” The sultry voice caresses the question, as if the label is a compliment. Knowing Teresa, she probably thinks it is.
“Hey, Tea. What’s up?” I reach my shabby white Saturn and brace the phone against my ear with my shoulder, needing both hands to wrench open the door. A metallic screech from the rusted machine drowns out her response. “Sorry. Say that again.”
“Come over. I wanna have some fun.”
I stick the key in the ignition, mouth a silent prayer, and smile in grim satisfaction when the engine sputters to life. After turning the radio down, I consider her offer.
Teresa’s version of fun is hot, sweaty, and doesn’t involve clothes. Exactly what I was looking for after getting out of jail. I had this almost unquenchable thirst for a body in my arms.
The problem is, after more than a year, that thirst is still there. Teresa hasn’t been filling the void the way I hoped she would. And now, as I think about canceling on Paige and driving over to Teresa’s house, my gut reaction is to shake my head.
Because fucking Teresa isn’t worth the loss of revenue.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Sorry, Tea. I’ve gotta work.”
“But you have Sundays off.” I can hear her pout through the phone.
