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“Ahhh, sounds like a lot.”
“You’re telling me,” I mutter. “I’m also doing a Bachelor of Arts, but I’m thinking of putting it on hold for a while. This shit is too expensive to keep up with. I couldn’t get a campus dorm room, which is how I ended up here, and after the move and having to pay rent on top of tuition, you’re looking at the brokest bitch under the sun.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, girl,” she says, dropping down beside me on the couch. “If you know how to mix drinks, there’s a bar just at the end of the street. It’s a shithole, and the boss is an ass, but they’re always looking for extra hands. It’s crazy busy on Friday and Saturday nights, and if you shake your ass a bit, the tips are great.”
Interest slams through my chest. If I’m able to get a job and get my bills under control, I might even be able to splurge on some charcoals and get back into my drawing. “You work there?”
“Nah, not anymore. I couldn’t handle the ass grabbing, so I forced my way into this little indie bookstore and demanded a job until the owner couldn’t say no.”
Laughter bubbles up my throat, and I can’t help the smirk stretching across my face. I hold up my glass and she clinks hers against it. “That’s one way to get things done.”
“Worked like a charm,” she grins. “Stick with me and you’ll never have to want for anything. But shit, are you a reader? Because I can hook you up with some good smut. I’m practically the smut expert, the Smutxpert. Actually, I like that name.” Her eyes widen like saucers and she tears her phone out of her back pocket, madly unlocking the screen. “Holy shit. It’s decided, I’m starting a bookstagram and that’ll be my new handle. Smut_XPERT. Or should it be The Smut Doctor? No, no. I was right the first time. Definitely Smut_XPERT.”
“What the hell is a bookstagram?”
Cara gapes at me, her hands pausing for just a moment. “Oh, girl. I’m about to blow your mind.”
We spend the next hour scrolling through Instagram, and by the end of it, Cara’s created a whole list of books and set me up with a Kindle account. Apparently, it’s called a TBR and the size of it is already freaking me out, but if these books are anything like their covers suggest, I’m all in.
“Hungry?” she questions, once her new bookstagram @Smut_XPERT is all set up, but before I have a chance to respond, loud music blasts from the next-door apartment, rattling the walls. Cara rolls her eyes before letting out a heavy sigh. “Welcome to Faders Bay.”
I scoff, leaning back into the couch, the music already grating on my nerves. “More like welcome back!” I mutter darkly before indicating to the rattling wall. “Is it always like this?”
“Yeah,” she says. “If it’s not music, it’s sex, and if it’s not sex, it’s wild parties. But you’ll get used to it. It’s the full college experience. Besides, every now and then, the guys in this complex prove themselves useful. Especially after a night of reading when there’s an itch that needs to be scratched and the buzz of my battery-operated friends simply won’t cut it.”
I laugh and hold my glass to hers again. “Cheers to that.”
She clinks it right back before tipping the rest of her wine down her throat and refilling once again. “So, you grew up here?” she questions, picking up on my earlier tone.
“Kind of,” I mutter, wondering why the hell I even said anything. It’s not exactly something I like to talk about. “I lived here with my dad before he died and then I was whisked away to Missouri to live with my aunt.”
“Oh, shit. That sucks. I’m sorry about your dad.”
I shrug my shoulders, brushing it off. “Thanks. I was only eight, so I don’t remember much. All I know is one day, he was pushing me on the swings, and then the next, he was gone and I was being shoved into the back of a car. Next thing I knew, I was starting over in Missouri with my mom’s sister.”
“I can’t even imagine how shitty that must have been,” she says, just as something smashes into the wall from the adjoining apartment, making us both jump. “Shit. It’s gonna be a long night,” she murmurs. “I’m ordering in. You want noodles?”
Cara gets busy, and by the time the UberEats driver is knocking on the door, I’ve gotten most of my bags out of my car and dumped them in my room. The rest of my stuff is going to have to wait until tomorrow, or until I can convince Cara how desperately she wants to help me carry the heavy stuff.
I eat with Cara, and after knocking the Missouri noodle place off the leaderboard for the best noodles I’ve ever eaten, I quickly wash up and head to my room.
It’s just after 8:30 p.m., and if I plan on being able to survive in Faders Bay, then I need to get my shit together.
Scrambling through my bags, I pull out an old pair of black jeans and match it with a black tank. It’s not exactly my usual outfit of choice, but if I intend on scoring a job at the bar down the street, I need to fit the part. Screw the ass grabbing and rowdy assholes, I can handle that. They’ll quickly learn what it means to fuck with me, until then, I need this. And I won’t be walking out of that bar until I’ve secured a job.
After tying my golden curls back and slipping my phone into my pocket, I walk out of my room and find Cara curled up on the couch already deep into a new book, somehow able to ignore the booming music coming from next door. “Where the hell are you going?” she questions, looking over the back of the couch at me, her gaze raking up and down my body. “Shit, who would have known you had such a nice ass under those sweats?”
I laugh and pass by the kitchen, scooping up the keys she’d given me earlier. “I’m heading down to that bar to get myself a job.”
“Damn straight you are,” she says, turning her attention back to her book. “Give ’em hell.”
A wave of determination flourishes in my chest, and I hold my head high as I make my way to the door. “Oh,” Cara calls after me as I pull the door open, the music from outside spilling into our small apartment. “Whether you get the job or not, do me a favor and bring me back one of those extra cheesy burgers they have.”
“What?” I laugh. “You just ate.”
“And I’ll eat again,” she cheers.
My laugh fades as I step into the hallway and face the crowd of partiers with red solo cups wandering between open doors. Girls in short skirts linger in doorways as guys squeeze past them, carrying all sorts of booze under their arms. As I try to squeeze through the masses, a figure appears in the doorway directly opposite mine, and the fear that rocks through my body is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
