AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You guys are still playing this game?” Disdain was written all over his face. He wasn't a fan of video games like Dexter and Mykie were. However, he wasn't totally against them, which Mykie picked up on in past month or so whenever he came by Dexter's apartment. Instead, he seemed like he was jealous and possibly upset that he wasn't invited to play. Despite their age difference, it was obvious that Noah looked up to Dexter slightly.
If Noah liked video games, it was almost guaranteed he’d pick the Rogue character. Physically, he was a fighter; someone who punched first and asked questions later. But, it was when you looked deeper that you realized that he was neither a long-range strategist or someone close-up and in your face. He was somewhere in the middle of Dexter and Mykie, sneaky when he needed to be and a fighter when there were no other options. He was a perfect friend to the duo.
"We were just about to quit for the night, I think," Dexter said before he picked up his glass of soda and took a sip, eyeing Mykie over it.
"Oh..." Noah trailed off, looking slightly perturbed. "Good."
Mykie took that moment as a cue to leave.
“I need to head to Pearl’s before the bar gets crazy, or whoever else is there tonight is going to kill me,” Mykie explained.
“Good thing I came here first, then, or we’d probably both be dead, if you didn’t show up,” Noah chuckled, but there was a humorless tone to it. Again, the boy wasn’t stupid. He knew what the Cantil could do if they were displeased with you, or you didn’t carry out on your side of a deal.
Noah was right, though. If he was going to find her anywhere, he was more likely to find her at Dexter's two-bedroom apartment. Mykie was there more than at her own apartment, she felt sometimes. Her excuse was that time usually got away from her whenever she was at Dexter’s, and there was a free bedroom she could sleep in ever since his old roommate moved out. It also helped that Dexter’s apartment was closer to Pearl’s Pub than her apartment on the rare nights she got drunk and couldn’t drive home.
But, while Dexter and Mykie were old enough to do what they wanted, Noah still lived with his mother and little brother, who expected him to be home at a reasonable hour. Glancing at her watch, she wouldn't doubt that his phone had been going off the entire time, questioning why he wasn't at dinner.
Dexter was trying to convince Noah to move into his spare bedroom, having no problem with the fact that Noah was still paying for college online and wouldn’t be able to pay rent. Dexter wouldn’t admit it, but he was lonely living alone, and would have asked Mykie to move in with him if it wasn’t for her own roommate that she’d be abandoning.
Mykie laughed. “Have fun on your guys’ night without me. Maybe you can play the game with him, Noah. He might actually be able to win against you.”
Dexter guffawed.
“I’ll come by tomorrow if I’m awake enough and not hungover.” Mykie giggled.
One of the conditions of working at the bar was that she was allowed a drink or two while she served them up, especially if a customer requested to buy her a shot. A condition that she agreed to reluctantly. If she appeared a little tipsy, it was usually guaranteed that anyone that met with the Cantil would think she was too drunk to repeat their secrets.
Mykie had the plan to stop at her apartment and change out of her comfortable sweatpants into something more appropriate for the night. Grabbing the files off the coffee table, she walked over to the shoe rack by the front door and pulled her sneakers out. She slid them on slowly, careful not to drop any of the things in her arms. After she had both shoes on, she grabbed her keys from the bowl on top of the rack and opened the door.
She turned around to tell the boys goodbye, but Dexter already had his hand above her head on a part the door. They were only a few inches apart as she looked up at his tall form.
"Be careful, alright?" he said, his voice stern and his eyebrows knitted together.
"I’ll do my best. Besides, you know I can handle whatever’s thrown at me by now.” Mykie smiled up at him and he visibly softened as he dropped his hand from the door to ruffle her hair.
"It’s not you I’m doubting, A mhuirnín," he said softly. His darling. While she did catch a few Irish sayings coming out of his mouth every once in a while—which he learned from his father as child—most of his slang was southern. He grew up in Illinois with an Irish father and a born-and-raised southern mother. Both his and Mykie’s parents died before they were ready, catapulting them into the type of world they lived in the present time. However, Dexter was lucky—or unlucky—to lose one of his parents young and the other in his late teens rather than losing them both at the same time.
He was always willing to talk about his life in Illinois, though, and to teach Mykie new slang. He didn’t use it often with Mykie, instead reserving it for moments that he needed to catch her attention. It was after a particularly hard night for her that he started calling her his darling. It wasn’t romantic for them, though. It was the love and protection you felt for that friend that kept you alive after more situations than you cared to admit.
"How about we go out for breakfast tomorrow, the three of us? No one in the Snake Pit is going to want to deal with you tomorrow if you're cranky and don’t get food into your system," he said.
Mykie grinned. "You know me too well."
"After this long, I certainly hope I do," he laughed. "Now, go. The faster you get there, the faster you can get it over with.”
She laughed but nodded, moving further out the door and allowed Dexter to close it behind her.
Pearl’s Pub
Dexter was right. By the time she got dressed and got to the pub, there was a long line of people attempting to get in, signaling how crazy the night would be. She passed by the line, much to the groaning and moaning of the crowd. She rolled her eyes. Just because she was a halfway decent-looking girl in a dress didn't mean she was going to be nasty enough to flash a part of her body at the doorman to get in.
However, on her way to the door, she slowed down when she overheard a conversation.
"Calm down, man," a blond boy groaned. "If you keep acting nervous, you're going to make us look suspicious."
His arms were crossed over his chest as he glared at another boy. The one who spoke was dressed to impress in designer black pants and a white shirt under a brown jacket. His hair was finger-combed in a way that was messy but also intentional. Altogether, his look screamed trust-fund baby, or at least someone that had a lot of money in the bank to waste on something stupid like expensive clothes.
Definitely a kid on the wrong side of the tracks at the moment.
