In Too Deep Read online

  “Oh yeah?” I say. “What would you have pegged me as?”

  He leans down, his eyes locked onto mine.

  “Beautiful,” he says, his voice low, only for me.

  It’s a struggle not to blush as I force a sultry smile in return.

  “That’s a pretty corny line,” I say to him.

  “Not when it’s true,” he says, straightening back up. “You here alone?”

  I shrug, looking out over the bar again.

  “Thought I’d check the place out. Seems cool enough.”

  “It is cool. But you know, this place is run by some pretty bad people. A motorcycle gang.”

  “That’s right,” I say, looking back at him. “The Bullets, isn’t it?”

  He smiles. “You’ve done your homework.”

  I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a teacher’s pet.”

  The man nods. “I’ll bet you are.”

  I force myself not to blush again. He takes his eyes from mine and glances back over at the couches, and I follow his gaze.

  “Well, I know leaning against this shelf is pretty great,” he says, “but I have it on good authority that those couches back there are much more comfortable.” He looks at me. “Interested?”

  I tilt my head side to side, then down the rest of my beer.

  “Only if you buy me a drink,” I say, putting the empty bottle down on the shelf. The guy smiles.

  “My pleasure,” he says.

  And as he leads the way down to where the Bullets sit my heart beats hard in my chest. This is it, Trista, I think to myself. There’s no going back from here.

  Flynn

  Christ, I’m glad I didn’t bring my jacket with me.

  The night’s been hot as hell as the gang and I all sit on the couches, those reserved just for the Bullets. We're drinking beer and talking, the usual stuff, and every now and again I look out at the growing crowd, trying to find some hot pussy to woo and take home with me. The problem is that every girl I see I’m pretty sure I’ve already slept with. There’s nobody here I haven’t seen before.

  That is … until she walks in.

  She's making her way through the crowds the first time I spot her. Hot body, wavy red hair, wearing a black leather jacket with no stitching. She looks confident. Holds herself well. She doesn't look over at us, as most do when they come in here, but goes straight to the bar instead.

  “Flynn? Flynn!”

  I turn around to find Maddox looking at me.

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Nah, he was looking at that fucking hot ginger over there,” Matthias says.

  “Damn, look at that ass,” Chris says as he twists around in his seat. “Oh fuck, looks like she’s taken, Flynn.”

  I look again and, indeed, some guy with gross-looking stubble walks up and talks to her, getting close. I turn back, trying to hide the disappointment in my stomach. Damn, I think. I don't feel like beating anyone up tonight.

  Maddox keeps talking, telling his funny story, and I get back into it. Soon enough we're all laughing, and then I get a funny feeling, like somebody's watching me. I look up to where the pool tables are and my eyes land right on her.

  Her. She's alone, and she's looking right at me. My heart skips a beat in my chest. Our eyes lock and it feels like there's nobody else in the room, just the two of us. Her mouth is open. Her eyes seem to pierce into me, those bright green things.

  But then she looks away and lifts her beer to her lips, and I look away too, feeling like I’ve just escaped from some sort of trance.

  What the hell? That’s never happened to me before.

  I swallow, shaking my head, and try to join the conversation again. But it's like something is drawing me to her, and I have to keep looking over, in bits and pieces, small glances each time.

  One of those times our eyes meet again and I see her blush. I can't help but smile. She looks cute when she blushes. The second time it happens she doesn't blush but just smiles, and I swear I’ve never seen a more attractive smile. But just as we're about to lock gazes a third time I hear a yell, and see that guy she was with walk up to her. He looks much more drunk than he did earlier.

  He must be some jaded ex-boyfriend, or shitty current boyfriend. Jealousy courses through me—something I haven’t felt in a long time—and I have to remind myself that she’s just some chick. The guy looks angry as they exchange words and I wondere if I should go over there to teach him a lesson. He looks strong enough to give most guys here a run for their money, but I'm sure I can take him.

  So imagine my surprise when I blink and she has his arm in a lock, twisting it as she forces him down.

  “AHH! GET OFFA ME!”

  The conversation around me halts as I feel everybody look at where I'm looking. That girl has fire in her eyes, and she leans down and says something to him. His friends are all standing back, looking scared.

  Jesus Christ, I wonder what else she’s hiding? I think.

  “I’m sorry!” the guy cries out.

  “What’re you sorry for?” she asks.

  “For … for making fun of women!”

  I raise my eyebrow and watch the redhead let him go as the couch cushions shift around me.

  “Jesus, who’s that girl?” I hear Chris ask.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.”

  “She looks like a badass,” he declares as she leans back against the shelf and takes a sip of her beer. Jerry, the bald guy beside her, says something to her and I feel another surge of jealousy go through me. Why am I feeling jealous? I don’t even know her name. But it's there all the same, and something urges me on, telling me to get up, that this is my chance.

  So I get up off the couch, drain the rest of my beer, and put the glass down. Then I walk toward her, my stomach going crazy the whole time.

  It’s okay, I tell myself. Just be yourself. She’s just some chick, that’s all.

  By the time I reach her my nerve is worked up, and I put on my best suave self.

  “Hey,” I say to her, proud of how smooth my voice sound. She looks over at me—has to incline her head just to meet my eyes—and she looks even more beautiful than before.

  “Hey yourself,” she says to me. Her voice sounds cool, calm. Like she’s interested but isn’t.

  “I saw what you did to that guy,” I say to her. “To be honest I wouldn’t have pegged you as an ass-kicker.”

  “Oh yeah?” she asks, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “What would you have pegged me as?”

  The perfect set-up, I think. Now all I have to do is lean in, tell her she’s mine, and I’ll have my dick wet in no time.

  I begin to lean in, but as I do my brain yells at me to pull back from my instincts, to not say she’s mine or any other corny thing. Tell her the truth! My lips part and I'm not even sure what I'm going to say. But then it comes out:

  “Beautiful.”

  I'm surprised at myself—surprised because I’ve never said anything so honest to someone I'm interested in before.

  Her face blushes the tiniest bit, and she smiles at me.

  “That’s a pretty corny line,” she says, and I straighten back up, simultaneously proud and terrified.

  “Not when it’s true,” I say. I can feel my heart pounding. Come on, Flynn, take control! You’re out of your element! “You here alone?”

  She shrugs, then looks away from me.

  “Thought I’d check the place out. Seems cool enough.”

  “It is cool,” I tell her. “But you know, this place is run by some pretty bad people. A motorcycle gang.”

  “That’s right. The Bullets, isn’t it?” she asks, and her eyes meet mine again. I'm shocked, and I smile at her.

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  A shrug. “What can I say? I’m a teacher’s pet.”

  I nod, unsure of what to say next. “I’ll bet you are.”

  This is getting to be too much. Usually I’m so in control of these situa
tions, but I feel like she's holding all the cards. I have to look away, so I glance over at the gang. Yeah. Perfect.

  “Well, I know leaning against this shelf is pretty great, but I have it on good authority that those couches back there are much more comfortable.” I look back at her. “Interested?”

  She seems to consider it, then upends her bottle and downs the rest of her beer.

  “Only if you buy me a drink,” she says, putting the bottle back down on the shelf, and I have to smile.

  “My pleasure,” I say, turning and leading the way down to the couches.

  As we approach the gang they all turn their heads and look at us. I can see the curiosity on their faces—I’ve never brought somebody over before.

  “Hey guys,” I say to them. “This is …” Fuck. “Oh shit, I never actually got your name.”

  “And I never got yours,” she says with a devilish smile. “Trista.”

  “Flynn,” I return. Jesus Christ, those eyes. I have to look away again. “And this is Chloe, Matthias, Chris, Tyrone, Jackie, Alyssa, Maddox, and Kendal. I’ll go get you your drink.”

  I turn and head for the bar, leaving her behind with the Bullets. My mind is racing as I thread through the crowds.

  What in the hell is going on? Why do I feel so nervous around this girl? Is it the way she looks? Her attitude? I haven’t felt this way since … Elizabeth. Come on, man. Get yourself under control.

  I reach the bar and Marla comes over to take my order.

  “Hey,” I say to her. “Two beers, one in a bottle. Um, Bud, I think.”

  She nods and goes to get the drinks as I look back at the couches. That girl—Trista—is sitting beside Kendal, at the edge closest to my seat. Tyrone is telling them some story, his hands going wild as he does. Trista looks relaxed as she listens, but … I don’t know. Rapt at the same time. Maybe she’s nervous. As nervous as I’m feeling. Somehow that makes me feel better.

  The sound of glass on wood makes me turn back around to find Marla putting down my drinks.

  “Here you go,” she says. Then, raising an eyebrow at the bottle, “Bud? Really, Flynn?”

  “It’s not for me,” I say, and before I can get into it I pick up the drinks and leave the bar. Marla’s sweet, but she loves to tease me, and this is weird enough as it is.

  I make my way back to the couches and Trista looks over at me. I can’t stop the smile that forms on my face. It feels goofy, like I’m bringing punch back to my prom date. But I reach the group and hand her the bottle, then sit down in my spot. My leg is almost touching Trista’s.

  She raises the bottle to me in thanks and takes a drink. Tyrone’s still talking.

  “… took him back to his house where his mom was there, and I made him apologize for what he said!”

  He looks around at the group, proud of himself. But nobody else is smiling.

  “You made him apologize?” Maddox repeats.

  “Yeah!” says Tyrone. “I wish somebody’d done that to me when I was a kid. Little punk just needed to be scared, and nothing’s scarier than your mom.”

  “Well, I think you did a very noble thing, scaring a little boy,” Chloe says, picking up her beer from the table.

  “Thank you, Chloe,” Tyrone says. But when she snickers his smile fades away and he slumps back in the couch. “Whatever.”

  Alyssa turns to Trista before anyone else can speak. “Okay, so what’s your story then, new girl? Where’re you from?”

  Trista’s in the middle of taking a sip, and her eyes widen as a hush falls over the gang. But she swallows, then doesn’t say anything as she puts the bottle back down on the table and settles in beside Kendal.

  “I’m from Pasadena, originally,” she tells us. Her voice sounds almost too relaxed.

  “Pasadena?” Maddox says, raising his eyebrows. “What made you want to move to this shitty city?”

  She shrugs. “I passed through here a couple times on my way to Arizona. Hit up a few bars, stayed a night or two. Seemed all right, so I moved here.”

  “You working?” Chris asks. She looks at him.

  “Depends. What do you want done?”

  The calm on this girl is insane. She must know who we are, and judging by the jacket she’s wearing she’s in with the life but not part of any gang. If I were her, and I were sitting with the Bullets, I’d be shitting myself. But she seems so collected, and so cool about everything. I don’t even know what to say.

  “So are you slingin’?” Maddox asks her, and she looks at him.

  “Not lately,” she says. “I heard the cops were cracking down on small-timers, so I got outta there. Doin’ other stuff now. Car stereos, stores. Whatever I can offload.”

  Maddox studies her, and I can see the gears working in his head. He’s sussing her out.

  “Ever get into the crystal?”

  Her eyes narrow, and for a moment it’s almost like she’s sussing him out.

  “I never got into it,” she says, “no. I keep myself clean. But I know the racket.” She shrugs. “It is what it always is. People want; the dealer provides.”

  Maddox nods, and everyone else is quiet, watching this exchange.

  “That’s good,” he says. “You don’t want to go dipping into the company inkwell.”

  I know what he’s referring to: the Slingers. We’ve had trouble with them getting high off their own stash, but they know how to get the product out to the people so we keep on supplying them.

  “Well,” Trista says with a smirk, picking up her bottle of beer. “Depending on if that pen is between a pair of legs, I might not say no to a little dipping.”

  Kendal smiles into her beer, and I hear muffled snickers from the other girls around the table. Trista looks over at me with mischievous eyes, a light smile on her lips, and she gives me a wink. My heart skips in my chest and I wink right back.

  The conversation becomes lighter after that. We ask Trista bits and pieces about herself, which she’s more than happy to answer. Her responses inspire anecdotes from some of us and soon enough it’s time for another round. Chris and Alyssa go to get it, and when they come back they’ve got glasses of beer for everybody—including Trista.

  Hours pass, and I’m feeling better and better about my decision to bring this new girl over. Everybody seems to like her, and I can see her getting more relaxed. I’m feeling better too, cracking jokes, enjoying my time with everyone.

  One thing that’s strange, though, is that I don’t have that usual urge to take Trista home with me. More than once my memory kicks into gear: didn’t you want to get laid tonight? Weren’t you going to go hunting for pussy? And I’ve got me a great catch, sitting just two feet from me. But I don’t feel like doing my usual: taking her home, fucking her, and never seeing her again. Instead I … I want to get to know her. I want to see her relaxed and happy, like she is now. I want … something more than just getting laid.

  Early morning comes and people are leaving. The din that filled the bar is beginning to quiet down. We’re all still here, though. I’ve dropped out of the conversation, and I’ve noticed that Trista has too, instead just leaning back against the couch cushions and listening. I look around the bar and see that nobody’s playing pool. An idea strikes me.

  I lean forward on the couch and get Trista’s attention. She turns her head to look at me.

  “Hey,” I say in a low voice. She leans forward.

  “Yeah?” she replies in a whisper.

  I nod toward the pool tables. “You play?”

  Trista has to twist around to see what I’m talking about, but when she turns back she’s smiling.

  “I don’t just play. I win.”

  This girl. The two of us have hardly spoken to one another, but already she’s challenging me. So I stand up from the couch and Trista does the same. I see her sway a little as she does. I grab our beers from the table, handing hers over, and then lead the way to the pool tables.

  “Have you played a lot?” I ask as I put my beer down
on the shelf and take a cue from the rack. Trista puts her beer down too.

  “I’ve been playing since I was a kid,” she says, not looking at me as she takes a cue down and examines it. I smile at her profile before putting the triangle on the table, fishing balls out of the pockets and placing them in. When Trista’s found a good cue she goes to the other side of the table and rolls the balls from the far pockets toward me.

  “Since you were a kid?” I ask, putting the last ball in place and taking the triangle away. “That can’t have been long ago. ‘Cause I heard on the street that you play like a little girl.”

  Trista’s eyebrows fly up and she smiles.

  “Oooh, going for the smack talk, are we?” she asks, and I lean on my cue as she sets up to break. “Well you’d better step up your game, mister. Because you’ll never see a little girl do this.”

  She slides her cue back and follows through cleanly. The balls crack and roll all around the table … including the eight ball, which falls neatly into one of the pockets in the corner. Trista stares frozen at the table, and I nod, still leaning on my cue.

  “Actually,” I tell her, “I have seen a little girl do that.”

  She looks up at me and her expression of utter shock makes me snort out laughter. She smiles too, despite herself.

  “Um,” she says. “Best two out of three?”

  I nod, still smiling, and grab the triangle to rack up the balls.

  The next game goes much more smoothly for her, and I realize that Trista is quite a good player. I give her a run for her money, but she sinks balls one right after the other and manages to win by just a hair. We play again and again, just the two of us chatting now, and I find her smiling much more freely than when we were at the couches. I watch her, admiring her confidence, admiring the way she takes control of situations and knows what she’s doing. And when she bends over the table to take a shot, I can’t help but admire that ass.

  “Hey guys,” comes a voice midway through our seventh game, and Trista and I look over to see Alyssa climbing up the few steps, Jackie, Chris, and Matthias waiting for her below. I look around the bar and find it almost empty. I hadn’t even noticed. “We’re heading out. Trista, I just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you.”