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I march my happy ass toward the long row of potluck food. The entire neighborhood chipped in, bringing a slew of homemade goods that would make Martha Stewart jealous. Chicken and noodles, with those thick noodles, mashed potatoes, beef and noodles, pulled pork with bbq sauce, and finally, the glorious bbq ribs stacked high. I nearly come when more gets added to the platter, fresh, hot, and ready for my mouth. I'm practically drooling by the time I grab a clean plate and pile it high with ribs, adding mashed potatoes and even a little potato salad because nothing says hello Midwest, like cold potato salad on a hot day or any kind of cold salad, for that matter.
"I know what you're up to." a menacing voice says from beside me, breaking me from my rambling potato thoughts.
I clutch my plate, and my heart races in my chest. Shit. I almost dropped my food at the sound of his deep voice. And that's a goddamn tragedy. There are hungry people all over this city who'd die to get a taste of these ribs and the seven different types of cold ass salad that doesn't involve lettuce.
"Wow, you caught me. I'm just grabbing a bite to eat," I say, my voice dripping with heavy amounts of sarcasm. There’s no way I’d show this man any amount of respect.
Every time I'm face to face with this pain in my ass, he's nothing but a walking, talking dickhead. I cock my head, imagining his bald head into the shape of a dick, and wouldn't you know, he's not as intimidating.
He snarls at me, lifting his upper lip. "First, you poison my son Van with your filth, and now those four? You're really moving through them, aren't you?" Disgust fills every molecule when he steps up to me, letting me feel every inch of his over-inflated body.
Reading between the lines, I see exactly what he's throwing down. Whore. Slut. Trash. Yeah, I've heard it all. But screw him and all these people who look at where I come from instead of looking into my heart. I know exactly who I am and where I come from. The fucked up thing is, if I had even some of my dad's money, I'd be richer than all of them. How ironic is that?
Wrinkling my nose, I pick up my plate and take a big bite of my rib. "It's funny you think that," I say with a shrug, moving to walk past him, but he grabs my arm with lightning speed, squeezing tight.
I narrow my eyes at the fat fingers holding me captive. I could tell a cop when he leaves bruises, but big and round Judge Drake is just that—a goddamn judge. No one would believe the poor Central girl over the reigning judge of Central County. Besides, I’ve been down this road before with the police. They laughed at me then, and they’d laugh at me now.
"I don't think so. I know so. We all know how you tramp Central girls work. Trap a nice, hardworking Lakeview boy, and then you have a cushy future." His teeth grind back and forth when he speaks. I’m surprised he doesn’t break a tooth.
I nod, taking another bite of my rib without care, working around the hand holding me hostage.
"You know, I shouldn't explain anything to you because, in your mind, I'm nothing more than this idea you have. But let me clarify it for you, Judge Drake." Van's father's eyebrows raise when I use his formal term with venom. "I work two jobs, more than your precious little angel Van ever has. I go to community college to better my future. I literally don't give a flying fuck about anyone on this side of town. I want out of this place. Now, let go of me." I bite into my rib again when his fat fingers finally peel away from my arm, and he wipes them on his pants like I have a disease on my skin.
What a twatwaffle.
"Don't think their parents will sit back and let them continue this little pipe dream of theirs, which doesn't include you. Go back to the hole you crawled out of and leave this side of town," he growls his entire sentence, shaking his head in disgust. "I'll make sure they know all about you." At that moment, I see the first glimmer of a wicked plan developing in his pea-sized brain.
“River,” Callum says in a tight voice, coming to my side and placing an arm around my shoulder. “You okay?” he murmurs, staring daggers at the Judge, lifting his chin.
“We were just chatting,” Judge Drake says with a crude smile. “I’d watch yourself if I were you, son. She’ll bring you nothing but a damn headache.”
Callum cocks his head to the side. “I happen to like my headache,” he says confidently, squeezing my shoulder. “Come on, let's go sit.” I nod in confirmation as we take a few steps from the stupid judge and stop in front of the large trashcan.
Great. Just what I need, pissed-off parents coming after me for no reason. I sigh, looking down at my delicious plate of food, and grieve with a broken heart that splits in half and cries. Lead sits in the pits of my stomach, threatening to send my already delicious ribs back up. I have a feeling they won't taste as orgasmic the second time around. There's no way I'll be able to inhale this food like I wanted to after all his words sink in. I'm only human, after all, and sometimes the words people throw at me do stick. I'm not worthless or whatever because of where I come from. I'm trying my best, but no one will ever see it from this side of town. They only see a Central girl clinging to their kids with stars in her eyes.
With a heavy heart, I mean seriously, my heart hurts when I toss my full plate in the garbage, thinking about all the hungry souls out in the world begging for a full plate of food just like that—what a waste. But I can't imagine biting into that food without it tasting like ash in my mouth. Grabbing a few napkins, I wipe all the sauce from my sticky fingers and mourn the loss of the delicious food staring back at me.
I shove my hands into my shorts pocket and peek around the party again with Callum at my side. The parents mingle, drinking their martinis and whatever fruity shit they have in their glasses. Judge Drake stands close to Kieran's mom and another man I haven't seen before, discussing something. Or someone.
“How-how about a walk?” Callum suggests, nodding his head toward the sidewalk.
I wrinkle my nose, flipping them off from my pocket, as we start walking through the party. Looking around, I don't see the others who dragged me here anywhere. How can they abandon me in the depths of Hell like this?
“You’re still my favorite,” I mumble, leaning my head on his shoulder for support.
“I won’t-won’t tell them,” he whispers, kissing my hair with such love my heart pumps double time.
“Good, because they’re seriously trailing behind,” I grumble when we make our journey up the sidewalk away from prying eyes.
A soft chuckle vibrates through his chest when he kisses my head again and hums. Every day I swear he breaks out of his shell more and more. We haven’t done more than kiss—oh, and what we did in bed with Rad. Callum’s taking things at his pace, doing what he needs to do, and I’m waiting on him. Whatever my sweet Callum needs, he’ll get.
“Can I ask you something?” Peering beneath my lashes, I glance up at Callum, who shrugs.
“Sure,” he says through a breath, furrowing his brows.
“Your house,” I mumble as our walk slows. “I…” Callum’s lips pull up into a tight smile, and he shifts uncomfortably to my side, nervously peering around the neighborhood. “No. You don’t have to talk about it. I’m just nosy,” I say, playing it off with a laugh.
“What do you want to know?” he asks in a deep voice, slowing our steps to a stop at the edge of the party madness as we overlook everyone milling around with plates of food in one hand and an alcoholic beverage in the other.
