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“Iris—” Adam started to reach out to me, but the scowl I gave him stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t you dare. If you hug me, I’ll cry again.” He stared me down with his sweet-boy eyes that brought in all the ladies, but they’d never once worked on me. He still tried it from time to time when he wanted something—or wanted to getoutof something. Sweet boys didn’t charm me, though. I was more into the bad, bad boy who would either murder me or eat me alive.
With a sigh, Rodrigo took a tin from his pocket and passed it to me. I set down my G&T to open the tin and remove a nice fat spliff. He always rolled beauties, and this one was looking extra fine. Lighting it up, I filled my lungs and rested my head on the cushion behind me.
For a minute, silence blessed my ears, and I relaxed into it, waiting for the high to take away the tension that had been squeezing my muscles since I’d walked into my apartment this afternoon.
But Adam had an innate talent for ruining moments.
“Who do you think did it?”
Before I raised my heavy eyelids, I heard a scuffle, the sound of skin slapping skin, and a cry of pain. Then, “Jesus, woman, are your arms turbocharged by the devil? I was just asking a question.”
I opened my eyes to see sweet Hope looming over him, a threatening hand poised in the air, Adam cowering away from her. The sight was particularly amusing because Adam was tall as hell and Hope was a dainty pixie. Rodrigo met my lazy gaze with a proud grin.
“Shut up, Adam.” She patted his face gently. “She already got questioned by the cops, and, honey, I don’t see your badge.” Hope had only been around for a year, but she fit in like she’d always been here.
I puffed on my J while they bickered, the day fading behind a fog of smoke. It wasn’t gone, but the pain from the hot, fiery poker wedged in my chest dulled to a low roar. Rodrigo grabbed his tin from my lap, lit up a fatty for himself, and lowered on the couch beside me.
“S’up, flower child?” he rasped out, pinching his joint between two fingers.
I laid my head on his shoulder. Rodrigo was the sweetest human alive. He’d managed to hang on to his kind heart and optimistic soul through all the corruption and blackness of our industry.
“I’m pissy, Roddy. My beautiful bed is all gone.”
“That sucks, man. Want me to buy you a new one?”
“Yes, please.” I held my joint up to my lips, pinky out like a goddamn lady.
“You got it.” He tugged on my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened. I’m worried about you.”
I picked up my head, goose bumps pricking my arms. “Don’t worry about me. I’m safe and sound.”
“What were you thinking not having an alarm?” he admonished gently.
Hope raised her hand from across the room. “Don’t make me whack you too, Go.”
Adam rubbed his cheek. “She’s violent.” His eyes narrowed, and his mouth tipped into a playful smirk. “Maybe you like that…?”
I sputtered a laugh, smoke passing my lips. “Shut up, Adam.” That was such a common refrain in our group, he didn’t even blink when we said it. “And I do have an alarm, I just forgot to set it.” I mumbled that last part, but from the groan coming from Roddy, he heard me. I would have groaned at me too. I’d lived in the city my whole life. I knew better. But sometimes I forgot I wasn’t invincible. My possessions sure as shit weren’t.
Rodrigo tapped my nose. “Set. Your. Alarm.”
I blew a puff of smoke in his face, which he inhaled into his own lungs. “Talk. About. Something. Else.”
The mood mellowed, and attention slid away from me to the movie Adam turned on. I was too high to read the captions toTrain to Busan, but I’d seen it at least a dozen times, so I probably could have recited the Korean dialogue if I had a gun to my head.
Thank fucking Christ there were no guns around. Weed had a tendency to make me overly confident. I’d probably end up with a hole in my skull.
By midnight, I wasn’t so much devastated as I was pissed off. That was when I finally remembered the Irishman I was supposed to have met at my favorite pub. He could’ve been between my thighs right now. Instead, I was smooshed between Hope and Roddy while zombies overtook Korea on TV.
Although it was probably for the best, I was disappointed I’d never find out how thick his accent became when he lost control. I squirmed, my thighs clenching, imagining it must’ve sounded like music.
The person who broke into my place hadn’t stolen anything, but there was no doubt I’d been robbed. Whether it was for the best or not, I’d regret never knowing what might have been.
