The Arrangement Anthology (3 page)

CHAPTER
5

Mel stalks to her room. There’s a frosty silence between us. It’s nearly 2:00am by the time we get back to the dorm. We pass my door first. I move to unlock it, but when I jab my key in and turn the knob, the door smacks into the couch. Again.

“Damn it, Amber! Open the fucking door!” I’m about to lose my mind. It’s the middle of the night. There’s no one to report her to, and I am not sleeping in the hallway.

Mel stops a few paces away and turns back when she hears me yell. Her voice is quiet. “Come stay with us. You can beat the crap out of Amber in the morning.” She doesn’t wait for me to cave and follow her back to her room. I watch Mel’s long curvy form walk down the hall and wonder if
I know her at all. She’s a godd
a
m
n prostitute. How did I miss that? Am I that naïve? I suck in a breath of air and let it out in a rush.

Running my hand through my hair, I push it back from my eyes and sulk down the hallway after her. She opens the door in silence. I follow her into the room and close the door quietly, assuming her roommate is already asleep, but the room is empty. We both live in the west tower at the far end of campus. It’s the cheapest dorm and the one farthest from everything.

Mel picks up a note next to the lamp after she turns it on. The little room is a photocopy of mine, minus my hideous roommate, Amber the skank. The walls are eggshell white with an industrial tile floor. Mel decorated it more poshly than I did. I
could never
afford the pretty curtains and thick throw rug that covers the floor. All the throw blankets, lights, and pictures make it feel like a home. My room doesn’t feel like that. It feels like the prison cell of a sociopath. Amber covered her half with sparkly crap and my half remains empty, barren, like my life.

Mel reads the note and puts it down. “She’s out for the night.” There’s an awkward pause that makes my mouth fill with cotton. I feel like I should apologize, but I don’t want to. She took me to fill out an application to be a hooker.

Mel presses her lips together and looks at me. “I didn’t mean to…” she closes her eyes and shakes her head. Pressing a finger to her temple, she says, “I didn’t mean to upset you and I sure hope that we can still be friends.” She works her jaw after she carefully says each word and stares at me.

“I’m pissed, but I’m not stupid. Why wouldn’t we be friends anymore?” I feel a tug in my gut, a warning that I might actually lose her. It makes me step further into the room. I can’t lose her. She’s my best friend and as close to family as I’ll get.

“You’ve got that look on your face. The one that says condemnation, damnation, and all those other nations where sleeping with a guy is frowned on and followed up with a swift banishment with brimstone.” Her hands move as she speaks, flying through the air. She’s really worried.

I sigh and rub the heel of my hand against my eyes. “Mel, oh my God, that’s
not
it. You walked me into a job interview to be a hooker. I thought I was applying to be a hotel clerk. They’re kind of different, in ca
se you didn’t notice. You fricki
n
’
blindsided me, that’s all.” That’s all, like that’s nothing major. My best friend is a hooker. My shoulders slump forward. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m exhausted and I have to get up early to study, since I have to work tomorrow night. I sit down hard on a fluffy hot pink chair and pull a blanket over my lap.

Mel sits across from me on her bed. She pulls off her shoes and stockings, as she speaks. “You wouldn’t have come if I told you what it was, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not—but you’re screwed. If you get one C, just one, you’re totally fucked. No more scholarship, no more college, poof! It’s gone. You’re walking the line already in Psych. You can’t fail Monday’s test. It kills your wiggle room, and you’ll have to pull straight A’s for the rest of the semester. You know you can’t do that working as much as you do. This is an upper level class, Avery. You’re almost done. It would suck to blow the whole thing now.”

I stare blankly at the wall as she speaks. I already know all this, but hearing it still stings. I don’t look at her. I feel more desperate every day. I can’t handle this on my own, but I am on my own. There’s no one to help me when I fall flat on my face, which seems like it’s going to happen soon. I’m on the downward slope and picking up speed. If things don’t change, I’ll crash. I can’t think about it. I push the thoughts away, unable to deal with the repercussions.

“How’d you end up working there?” I ask, still feeling uneasy, picking at the fringe o
f
the blanket on my lap.

Mel looks at me cautiously. “I was doing what you
are
doing and falling behind. I’m not losing my scholarship. It’s my only way out of that hell hole. When I came here, I said that I wouldn’t go back. Come hell or high water, I
have
kept that promise to myself.”

Determination burns in Mel’s eyes. My eyes just feel tired. I look at her, not understanding how Mel could do it. At the same time, I hear it in her voice—she can’t go back. I have nothing to go back to, but still… I
can’t do what she does. I want
my first
time to be with someone I love
. I never, even for a second, thought about selling sex.

My mind goes in several different directions. I doubt she follows me when I say, “I admire you, you know. You have more guts in one eyelash than I have in my entire body. I’m going down in flames and I can’t stop it.”

“Yes
,
you can,” she says, her voice filled with empathy. “Listen, Avery, you don’t have to do what I did, but you have got to do something. We both see the crash and burn racing up on you. Change something. Take control of your life so it doesn’t happen.”

“You think you can control life? What are you, new?” I shake my head and tuck my feet under my butt. “Life is random crap that happens. You can’t control it.”

“No,” Mel says, her voice full of conviction, “Your life is what you make it, and right now you’re letting a good life slip away. This is a good chance, Avery. Maybe it’s not the way you thought things would be, but working for Miss Black has been a godsend for me. I would have lost my scholarship and had to crawl home. No one said I’d make it. They thought I’d burn out and fail. That gave me more conviction to stay and fight. I’m not living like them. I refuse.”

Mel folds her arms over her chest. Her family abused the crap out of her. She was battered, neglected, and selling dime bags before she was 12 years old. Mel left her family as soon as she was old enough, and cut them off without looking back.

Meanwhile, it seems that all I can do is look back. If my parents were alive, this wouldn’t even be a consideration. I’d be living at home, eating my mom’s meatballs, and having my dad fix my car when it acts up. Instead, my life took an unexpected turn and here I am, fending for myself before I’m ready. I’m so not ready, but it’s sink or swim time and I’m drowning.

My voice is small when I speak. “I can’t let some guy have me and then take the money off his nightstand. I can’t get paid for sex. I just can’t. I know you mean well, but—”

“The guy doesn’t pay you, Miss Black does. It feels like a date, Avery, a really good date. And if you took the deal they offered you, it’d be better than that. You’d have insta
-
boyfriend and he’d walk you through everything, Miss Virgin, which is way better than guessing,” Mel smiles sheepishly, like she’s thinking of something embarrassing. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem that bad to me. It sounds like dating made easy… and by the way, here’s some money.”

I smile at her. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s easier than dating. You never know if the guy’s lying or where his thingie’s been. And he’s just trying to get into my pants anyway. This is easier.” Mel smiles at me.

I laugh. “Thingie? Is that the professional terminology taught to you by the prestigious hooker co-op?”

“Co-op. Cute. Real cute.”

Shrugging, I grin, saying, “I try.”

“No you don’t. You’re just naturally wholesome, like butter. In little quantities you’re all right, but large doses—”

“You are so gross!” I throw a pillow at her as she finishes the sentence.

We talk about random things after that. I don’t want to entertain the idea of working for Miss Black, but it keeps jumping into my mind like a demented bunny rabbit. I start to doze off and
spring!
there it is again. And the question that bothers me most is this:

Would it be so bad?

I see those blue eyes and think maybe not, but I can’t cross that line. Something inside me holds me back.

CHAPTER
6

I’m waiting at the stop light from hell the next night, trying to keep the car running. It’s cold. My breath makes little white clouds in the car as I breathe. I’m wearing an ugly old sweater over my dress
,
with my sneakers tied onto my feet. I watch the RPMs and give it more gas. I feel the car shake and know that it’s going to stall out if the light doesn’t change soon.

I stare at the light, willing it to change. “Change already! Change, you rat bastard, change!”

The light remains red. The car shudders and dies. Exasperated, I slam my head on the steering wheel. The stoplight flips to green and the honking starts. I mutter curses as people move their cars out of my lane and go around me. I reach behind me and grab a can of ether from
the back seat. Throwing the car
door
open
, I march around to the front. This is the last can and I don’t get paid for three days. Damn it.

Lifting the hood, I spray the engine and sigh. FML. I can’t stand this. I didn’t get to study as much as I needed, work sucked, and now this. It’s part of my life. This car symbolizes my life, the damn whole thing. I stare blankly at my car as my insides twist with grief.

I hear his voice before I notice the bike. “So, do you come here often?”

When I slam the hood, I see those sapphire eyes and that boyish smirk. Motorcycle man winks at me. My heart races when I think of his picture, of what he wants, and that he could do it to me if I took that job. He’s wearing the helmet, so I can’t see his hair, but I’m sure it’s him.

“You know it. This is my favorite place.” I round the car and intend on driving away. The guy on the bike moves out of traffic and waits for me to start the car. I turn the key and engine makes an awesome noise, but it won’t turn over. I try again and again, muttering, “This can’t be happening.”

I try one last time and know that it won’t start. I have a test at 8:00am. It’s going to take hours to get a tow truck, which I can’t afford. I lean my head against the steering wheel to gain some composure before freak out tears flood from my eyeballs. My head lightly brushes against the horn. The thing blares like I smacked my face on it. I flinch back, jerking my hands away, but the horn continues to wail. I sit there for a moment and blink before hysterical laugher works its way up my throat.

I kick the door open and get ready to push the car out of the lane. As I throw my weight against the metal between the door and the frame of the car, Motorcycle man appears next to me. I feel him there, pushing with me. The car is instantly lighter and it rolls forward, horn blaring. I cut the wheel and turn it into a parking lot. I’m wondering if I ran his bike over. I don’t see it and I sure as hell can’t hear anything but the horn.

When we get the car into a parking spot, the guy steps past me, pulls the emergency brake, and disappears under the hood. Suddenly the horn dies, and then the hood drops. “That’s better,” he says.

I’m rubbing my arms. Nerves creep up my stomach and try to choke me. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Glad I was here.”

I glance up at him. “Me too. I mean, I’m glad I didn’t have to push the car out of traffic by myself.”

He’s smiling at me. I let me eyes slip over his body and try not to drool. My God, he’s beautiful. “Like what you see?”

My face flames red as my eyes widen. “Wow, you’re blunt.”

“Sometimes it pays off, and other times…” he shrugs.

“Other times what?”

“Other times it gets me smacked.” He smiles wickedly at me before lifting his helmet off. That dark hair is all rumpled like he’
s
been rolling around in bed. I try not to let him get to me, but there’s something there, some carnal attraction.

“Mmmm. Well, you were out of reach.” I smirk at him and wonder what I’m doing. Something’s wrong with this guy. He wants a virgin hooker. That’s like the biggest oxymoron ever.

He laughs. “What’s that look?”

“Yeah, it’s the
why is this guy here when ever my car breaks down
, look.”

“Hmmm, and I thought I left my crazy stalker helmet at home. Is this the one with the warning label?” He flips his helmet around and pretends to look at it. The corners of my mouth pull up, but I try not to smile. I don’t want to react to him. I want him to walk away and leave me alone. No, that’s a lie. I want to know what’s wrong with him, why he wants a hooker.

I can’t help it, I laugh. “You forgot to take your meds, dude.”

“Is it that obvious? And here I thought I was just being a good citizen, stopping and helping the crazy girl with the spray-start car.” He’s smiling at me and steps closer. My heart tries to jump up my throat and run down the street. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. When did it get so hot out here?

“Stalking isn’t usually considered being a good citizen, in fact, it’s kind of frowned upon.” I have no idea what I’m saying. I just want to hear his voice and see that smile.

He presses his hand to his heart like I
’ve
wounded him. “Is it, now? I thought helping a damsel in distress was chivalry.”

I laugh at that. “Chivalry? I think you mean being creepy.”

“You know what I think, spray-star
t
car girl?” He steps closer to me and looks down into my eyes. “I think you’re enjoying this conversation.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Motorcycle Man. Where is your bike, by the way?” He jabs his thumb in the air back to the intersection where I stalled. The bike is fine. “Thank God. I thought it was stuck under my fender.”

“That bike would have eaten your fender.”

“Would it now?” A gust of cold air blows my hair away from my face.

Motorcycle man’s eyes drink me in before he nods. “Indeed.” His voice is rich. It slips over me and I shiver. Our eyes lock and I can’t look away. We stare at each other even though we’ve run out of things to say. The wind whips a curl over my lips. He lifts a hand
and
tucks the hair behind my ear. After a second he breaks the trance. “We need to call you a tow truck.”

“No,” I say a little too strongly. He glances at me. I explain, “I’ll come get it tomorrow. It just needs to sit. I probably flooded the engine.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

Instead of calling me on it, Motorcycle man nods and says, “Then, let me take you home.”

I stare at him for a moment, a wisp of a smile skirts across my mouth. “Ah, but then you’ll know where I live, and I don’t think we should encourage your stalker habits.”

“I can be more of a bastard, if you like. I could drive away and leave you here in the cold, but then I wouldn’t be around to reap the rewards of my actions. Let’s just cut to the chase, Miss…”

“Smith,” I lie, not wanting to give him my name.

He gives me a crooked grin, like he knows that’s not my name, “Very well, Miss Smith. How about I take you to the general area you’d like to be dropped off. If that’s too creepy, I could call you a cab, but you’re likely to get someone way creepier than me.” He’s smiling at me, and it’s a perfect smile.

Looking into his eyes, I say, “Tell me your name.”

He looks surprised for a second and then says, “Mr. Jones.”

The corner of my mouth tugs up slowly. He’s lying. We’re both demented lunatics because we both seem to like it. “Mr. Jones, will you please drop me off at Frist and Lexington?”

“By the college?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“No problem. I was headed that direction anyway.”

“You were not,” I say and follow him to his bike. Suddenly I notice my dress and sneakers, and my total lack of the correct kind of clothing. The dress is sheer. It’ll blow up to my waist again. Plus I have no jacket and the weave on this sweater is so lose you
could
throw a rock through the holes.

As if he
can
read my thoughts, Mr. Jones opens a saddle bag and tosses me a jacket. It’s some kind of microfiber. I slip it on. It’s thin, but it’s warm. I swing my leg over the back of the bike and tuck my skirt in as tightly as possible. He feels me moving around after starting the bike. “You ready?”

“Hold on. I’m trying to get my skirt to stay up.”

He laughs. “That sounds so wrong.”

“Yeah, well, I bet you wish I was flashing you right now instead of all the cars driving by.”

He looks over his shoulder at me before flipping his visor shut and says, “I can feel your thighs around me. I’m good.”

Before I can say anything, the bike jerks forward and cuts into traffic. I cling to his back and tighten my knees against his sides. Bastard.