Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(12)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I graze my thumb over the end of the cigarette and ash flutters to the floor. I nod, even though I don’t want to go down to f**king Johnny’s, one of Dylan’s suppliers. I want to go into my room and stare at the water stains. Maybe draw. But if I don’t go to Johnny’s then Dylan will get pissed and when Dylan’s pissed everyone’s miserable, since he’s usually the one with the biggest stash and he has the connections to get more. “I already told Tristan I’d go with him.”

“Good.” She stands up straight, stuffs her hand down her bra, and rearranges her br**sts. “But I’m going with you, not Tristan.”

I put the cigarette out on the counter. “Who made you the boss?”

“Dylan did.” She grins as she struts over to me and traces her finger up my arm while tucking a roll of dollar bills into the front pocket of my jeans. “Because the last time you two went and picked up something for Dylan you had it finished off before you even made it home and we don’t want that to happen again, since if it does, you’ll both end up out on the streets and you’re too good-looking to be out there.” She winks at me. “They’ll eat you up in a day.”

“So what are you now?” I ask, not necessarily pissed, just being blunt. “My baby-sitter or something?”

“Don’t you wish.” Her fingers travel from my arm to my shoulder, then down my chest. “You know my offer’s still on the table.”

“What offer?” I honestly can’t remember and the longer I try to remember the more I think about drawing and the water stains. And Nova. Her lips. Her eyes. God, her voice triggered something inside me. Life maybe? And I don’t want life in me. What I want is to forget, to stop thinking about Nova and focus on being where Lexi is, under the ground. Lexi. I need to be thinking about Lexi, get high enough that I feel closer to her—never forget her. Always love her. No one else.

Stop f**king thinking of Nova.

Delilah’s hand drifts downward until she’s cupping my c**k through my jeans and I’m so numb at this point I can’t even tell if I’m hard or not. Then she leans forward and puts her lips up to my ear as she presses her br**sts against my chest. “You can take me whenever you want. All you have to do is say yes and I can wipe that sad look you always have on your face right off.”

I don’t move her hand, shove her back, or breathe. It’s not like I want her. She practically sleeps with anyone now, I think because Dylan’s ignoring her and f**king other women, sometimes right in front of her. But for some reason I can’t seem to find the willpower to move and when she stands on her tiptoes, ready to kiss me, I plan on letting her, knowing she’ll be a really good diversion from the beautiful girl who called me out of the blue. The girl who has eyes that look blue, but are green, too. Who used to look sad but from the sound of her voice on the phone seemed happy and I wish I could be happy for her.

Delilah’s lips brush mine, her auburn hair grazing my cheek as she slants her head to the side and grabs my c**k harder. I’m about to part my lips and let her and the drugs potently mix in my head and erase my thoughts, but then I hear someone say something from the living room and Delilah quickly jerks away like I’m made of fire.

Her head whips toward the curtain, which is pulled back so we have a full view of the living room. “Oh thank God.” She places her hand to her chest when she sees it’s just Tristan. “I thought you were Dylan.”

“Would it really matter if I was?” he says as he walks into the kitchen. “He didn’t care when you slept with me and I don’t think he’ll care about Quinton, just like he doesn’t care about anything else you do.”

“Fuck you, Tristan,” she snaps, flipping him the middle finger as she spins on her heels and puts her back toward me. “You’re just pissed because I f**ked you once and then wouldn’t do it again.”

“Baby, don’t think you’re something special because you’re not,” Tristan retorts, blinking several times, high as a kite, and I doubt he even knows what he’s saying. I’m not sure any of us do.

Delilah slaps her hand against his chest and he stumbles back a little, tensing and looking pissed, but then the crystal kicks in because he pops his jaw and his anger unravels. He blinks his focus off Delilah and onto me. “So are we going or what?”

“You two aren’t going anywhere together.” Delilah rubs her eyes, smearing mascara all over her face.

Tristan’s gaze cuts to her. “And who’s going to stop us. You?”

She takes sharp breaths, anger rising on her face, but she’s too weak to do anything to stop us. “Dylan said you two can’t go together anymore. You use all the stuff before it ever makes it back here. And your dumb ass has pissed off Trace and the last thing you need is to run into him. Even though Dylan got him to cool off, he says you need to lay low for a while, just in case. Plus, he hangs out at Johnny’s sometimes. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t give a shit. And besides, Dylan’s not here to stop me, is he?” Tristan states with a crook of his brow. “So that means we get to decide what we want to do. And I’m going to Johnny’s. With Quinton. Trace can kiss my ass if he shows up.” He signals for me to follow him as he turns for the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

I hesitate, my mind briefly making it through the veil of drugs to see a real problem arising. “Tristan, maybe I should just go alone. You pissed off Trace pretty bad and he’s not a guy you want to mess around with. Remember when he and his guys stabbed that one guy for…well, I can’t remember what for, but he still did it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, brushing me off as he sidesteps a bucket. “If Trace is there, we’ll just leave.”

I want to argue with him more, because he’s only thinking with his addiction, but the veil in my mind closes back up, and I lose track of why I should worry so much. “All right, let’s get out of here.”

“You guys are such ass**les,” Delilah huffs, stomping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest.

Tristan shrugs as he opens the front door, scooping up a backpack that’s near the doorway. I cross the living room and step over a large glass bong sitting in the center of the pathway between the two smelly old sofas, the only furniture we have. Then I walk outside into the sunlight and it stings my eyes, which already felt like they were bleeding. Tristan mutters something to Delilah about keeping his bed warm for him while he’s gone and I hear something shatter, probably the bong. Then he slams the door, shaking his head as we start across the balcony, past all the shut doors and windows covered with curtains or blankets.