Leaning back into the wall, I state quietly, nervously, “I want to know how you work. How your company works. I want to know what you do here.”
His face turns hard. I have no idea what I’ve said for that to happen, but my palms begin to sweat. Running his tongue over his teeth, he sniffs, then nods to the guest chair beside him. “Sit.”
When I don’t make an effort to move, his eyes find mine and he says more firmly, “Sit, Lexi.”
Taking small steps on shaky legs, making sure I don’t fall, he pushes out the chair with his foot and I sit. Looking up into his soft brown eyes, he watches me, searching my face through narrowed eyes a long while before he states, “The company is a cover.”
My eyes widen as he continues, “Yes, we’re a plastics company. A successful one. Very successful. But there was only one reason a guy like me buys a place like this.” He states quietly, “And I think you know why that would be. You’re a smart girl, Lexi. What do you think we’re making and selling out of here?”
One thing pops into my head immediately, but I push it down trying to ignore the blood roaring in my ears. I think back to the other day when Happy helped me out of my car.
“You’ve been sitting in your car in an industrial area looking like an on-edge crack junkie wanting her next fix for about a half-hour. So either you’re here for drugs, or…”
Drugs. They’re making and selling drugs from the warehouse.
A twisted smile appears on his face. “She knows.”
My stomach drops. Disappointment and regret swirl through my rigid body.
I need to leave. As in, yesterday.
Standing and trying to avoid eye contact, I utter shakily, “It was stupid to come here. I’m sorry for intruding, Twitch. It won’t happen again.”
A hand on my arm halts my exit. “Stop.” And I do, but when he sees my obvious panic, he whispers, “Breathe.”
Sitting back down, I fight the shakes for a full minute before anger flows through my veins. I whisper, “Why would you tell me that? You barely know me.”
He doesn’t answer. When I look up at him, his face conveys his answer. That he knows me better than I think he does. I still can’t believe this. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His eyes narrow; he searches my face lazily and says bored-like, “I ask myself that question every day of my miserable life.”
I allow his comment to slide off me. Now is not the time for sympathy. Feeling defiant, I state, “I could tell the police.”
Reaching forward, he runs his fingertips down my cheek. Breathing deeply, he replies on an exhale, “You could. But you won’t.” Closing my eyes, I lean into his touch, now trailing my jaw. “You won’t because you know what would happen to you, what happens to a squealer, don’t you, Lexi?”
My body tenses. I pull away from his too-inviting touch. “Is that a threat?”
Shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leave mine when he points out, “No. Just the facts.”
Staring him down, I refrain from telling him I know all about drugs. And none of that information came from being a caseworker, but rather from having to remove needles from my brother’s arm when he was too high to notice he hadn’t done it himself.
But that’s what living in our house did to a person.
My parents were never the type to win the parents of the year award. More like the hooray, your children are still alive award. Dad was an alcoholic and just plain mean. Mom was good at pretending things were okay while she worked long hours. Overall, I had two parents who weren’t parents at all. My brother found his way to escape the fact that we were never getting out of the hellhole.
Thinking about my brother always makes me think of that line from the song Me, You and My Medication by Boys and Girls.
“We're all addicted to something that takes away the pain.”
There’s so much truth in that phrase.
My heart aches, suddenly taken back to a time long forgotten, bringing up memories long suppressed.
I’m brought back to reality when Twitch pulls me to stand in front of him. Spreading his legs, he holds my hand tight while I’m guided between them. Looking over me, confusion in his eyes, he states, “Think I’m ready for those lips now.”
His eyes drop down to my parted mouth and I shiver. His arm snakes around my waist, holding me firmly against him. My front pressed into his, my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip. Wanting that kiss so badly, my voice sounds weak, even to me. “You’re manipulating me.”
Reaching up with his free arm, he fingers a strand of my hair and admits freely, “Yeah.” Leaning forward, his lips brush against mine for the briefest moment before he whispers into my cheek, “You have no idea how big a gift my words are. But you will.”
I don’t know what that means. Before I have time to think on it, he orders, “Now, kiss me, Lexi. I won’t ask you again.”
Breathing heavily, I touch the bare skin of his chest. A gentle caress on firm heat. Closing the distance between us, our lips touch and my body jolts. I moan softly, pressing a little firmer until our open mouths brush against each other, breathing each other in. The arm around my waist tightens.
His taste. Chocolate and mint. Just…amazing.
This taste is now committed to my memory. And one taste is not enough.
My mouth closes over his, placing soft kisses onto his surprisingly passive mouth. His tongue darts out, and for a moment, I forget who I’m with. Playfully pulling away, I smile when he growls, pulling me back into his body.
Thwack!
My ass throbs, and his mouth swallows my cry of surprise. No longer passive, his mouth devours mine, hungrily tasting me, coaxing my tongue to play with his.
My already wet core floods.
Reaching up between our bodies to cup his cheeks, he allows this only a moment before he gently removes my hands from him, pushing me away.
The air thick in the office, the only sound is of heavy breathing, Twitch stands suddenly, walking away from me, “I’ll call.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
I walk out of Falcon Plastics a little more informed and whole lot more anxious, because truthfully, I have no idea who I’m dealing with.
It’s around seven AM when my phone pings. Barely awake and sipping my coffee, I open it and read:
Unknown number: Saturday. Dress nice.
I stare at the message for a whole minute before I reply, knowing full well who sent it.
Me: Who is this?
Not ten seconds pass when I receive a response.
Unknown number: Lexi...
And I can almost hear the warning in his voice through the text that I chuckle while typing out my reply.
Me: Yes, TWITCH. I got it. Dress nice. Anything else?
This message must have dumbfounded him, because I don’t hear my phone ping for a whole five minutes.
Unknown number: No.
Smiling to myself, I quickly save the number into my contacts, move to the bathroom, and turn on the shower, trying not to think about the fact that the guy I’m crushing on is, in fact, a drug dealer.
The second I feel his eyes on me, a stupid smile breaks out on my face.
Taking my sushi and bottle of water from the counter of the sushi place in the food-court by my workplace over to one of the benches in the park across the street, I sit down and discreetly watch for him. With my sunglasses on and my phone out, everyone would be none the wiser as to what I’m really doing. When suddenly, my stomach dips.