Dear Doc Watkins excused us as a group to “indulge in the array of refreshments,” as he so eloquently worded it. Which was a fold-up table pushed against the wall, topped with bowls of Goldfish crackers, a jug of some kind of powdered fruit-flavored drink mix and packets of fruit snacks. It was a dope spread for a gaggle of preschoolers, but for a group of adults in their twenties, it did little to make us feel better after spilling our guts.
Doc Watkins used this time to call us privately for one-on-one mini sessions—which meant he’d talk to us about our progress that week. When he called up Brett, I sighed. He’d very likely call me last, which meant I’d be stuck listening to Molly groan about the Sahara Desert that her vagina had become.
“I can’t help it,” she said, a dreamy look in her eyes as she twirled her golden hair around her finger. “He’s just so hot. It’s like I’m a magnet for dudes with glasses and ties.”
“Oh, ya think?” I snorted, popping a whole packet of gummies in my mouth and rubbing my jaw when the juice inside of them squirted all over. Molly was either oblivious to my snark, or completely disregarded it as she continued.
“When he nibbles on the temple tips of his glasses?” She sighed. “I’m a goner.”
“Yeah, watching men eat plastic really does it for me too.”
Still ignoring my sarcasm, she continued. “Right? And the tie. Oh, hell. The tie. The way he wears it is just … magic.”
I grabbed a pack of Twizzlers from my purse and ripped off one, offering it to Molly. She grabbed it, and still with those dreamy eyes she ran her fingers over in a way that made it appear entirely too phallic for me to endure without alcohol.
“You should see him, Lucy. Don’t get me started on his shirts. How he rolls his sleeves.”
“Maybe you should get a job in a men’s department store. I’m sure they could put your enthusiasm for clothing to use.” I chewed on one end of the Twizzler as my eyes caught on X, who was staring suspiciously at the contents of his cup.
“I do love clothes,” she said after a sigh.
“For someone who loves clothes, you seem averse to wearing them.” I gave her a meaningful look up and down her body, over the booty shorts and slim-fitting tank, which caused her to smile. “Is it because of Richie Rich over there?”
Molly looked right at X, and she practically melted from the heat that radiated off of her body. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“Eh,” I lied, “I’ve seen better.”
Molly looked at me sideways. “Sure you have. I suppose you met a lot of Johns in your previous profession.”
I laughed at her and swatted her with a Twizzler. “I was a drug user and dealer, not a prostitute. It never got that bad.” But it had come close, thanks to the debts I’d continually racked up. “You’re the resident whore here.”
“I think, because I don’t get paid, I’m technically a slut.” She winked at me, her attention on X momentarily broken. “And don’t say it so loud. I don’t think he goes for that kind of girl.” Molly took another Twizzler from me and ran it through her hands in that disturbing way some more. “Why do you think he’s here? I mean, it’s obvious why you’re here, why I’m here. Brett—well, I think he could use some serious institutionalizing. But him?” She nodded toward X. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s got to be something disturbing under all of that polish.” We both eyed him long enough that he caught us staring. “I’m gonna find out some dirt.” I pushed the Twizzlers in her hand and moved toward him, swiping a plastic cup from the stack beside the drink mix. “Is it radioactive?” I asked him, filling my cup with the questionably dark liquid.
He seemed surprised that I was initiating conversation with him. “I suppose it’s possible.”
I looked over his jeans and his coat, trying to figure out where he’d keep his wallet. A guy like him, he probably carried a nice little stack of bills with him. It wouldn’t be enough to pay off Ron, unless X carried five figures, but it might buy me a little more time. I tossed back the juice in one gulp.
I stepped around him, leaning over to grab the goldfish on his other side. No wallet impression in the back of his jeans. It had to be in his front coat pocket. With one hand, I reached around his front and raised my eyebrows. “Can I take your cup?” With my other hand, I dipped into his coat pocket and felt the smooth, cool leather wallet on my fingertips. He turned his body just slightly, so we were nearly facing each other, and with an easy smile, I took the empty cup from him and tucked the wallet to my side. When I was completely clear from him, I swiftly turned around and shoved the wallet under my shirt.
I almost hated that it’d been that easy. I’d had a solid fifteen years of practice lifting things off of people, but usually I had to work harder than that.
After tossing both our cups, I stepped down the narrow corridor to the bathrooms and locked myself in a stall.
His wallet was full of cards—absolutely no cash. With a disappointed sigh, I slid each card out one by one, amazed at the sheer number of them. I’d had this many cards once—all stolen. Which was why I wouldn’t be messing with X’s cards. And then I came upon his driver’s license, which I lifted to the light and stared at.
Bartholomew X. Lockwood.
With a name like that, it was no wonder he went by X. Whatever that stood for.
He was twenty-six, an organ donor, and he looked almost angry in his driver’s license pic.
I glanced at his address, which I recognized to be Lake Forest, a swanky Chicago suburb, and decided right then and there that I’d need to break into his house and steal something. The watch he wore alone would probably pay off Ron. I slid my phone from my pocket and snapped a pic of his address before putting all the cards back in the way I thought they’d went into the wallet.
After checking my reflection, I touched up my lipstick and spritzed a bit more perfume on the back of my neck. I knew my looks carried me a lot further than my voice did, so I’d need to get up close to X to be able to drop the wallet back in his pocket. And it’d be a hell of a lot easier to do that if he was distracted by my face.
When I left the bathroom, Doc was talking to Molly, so I knew X would be next, if he followed the pattern he’d followed the week before. And once he was done talking to X, X would leave. I had to get his wallet back in his pocket before he suspected anything fishy.
He was standing at the snack table, hands in his pockets as he looked at everyone around us like we were aliens who threatened his safety in some way. I supposed he wasn’t too far off.
I pulled my sleeve down and tucked the wallet into my hand, concealed by the sleeve, as I made my way toward him. He wasn’t looking at me at all; in fact, he appeared to be looking everywhere except at me. For all I knew, he was probably a really nice guy, so in that moment I felt mild regret knowing I was about to steal from him.
As if he sensed that I was making a beeline for him, he shifted his body at the last second, causing me to bump hard into him. His hands settled on my shoulders, steadying me, and my hands grasped the sides of his waist, as I blinked rapidly. “Oh!” I exclaimed softy. “I must have lost my balance.” I slid my hand down his waist and dipped it into his pocket, gently letting go of his wallet. To disguise the weight his wallet would add to his coat, I leaned my head into him.
“Whoa. What are you, the nympho?”
I laughed and pulled my body away. His hands were in the air, like he couldn’t wait a second longer for me to stop touching him. “No, that’s not me. But you’re right. We all have roles to play.” When his arms settled to his sides, he eyed me warily. But at least I had his attention. “Like her?” I tipped my head toward Molly. “She’s the nympho. She calls herself a slut, though. And I think it’s obvious what he is,” I said turning my head toward Brett. “Well, maybe not obvious. He thinks he’s dead. So he’s our zombie.” I tilted my head at Ryan, who was refilling his cup. “He’s obviously a murderer.”
Ryan paused to look at me, and I continued. “Look at him. I bet he’s imagining chopping me up into a hundred pieces and feeding my flesh to his enemies.”
Ryan’s eyes were dark and his jaw was firm. I was sure he thought the look in his eyes would turn me to stone, but I just shrugged. X seemed uncomfortable with how … intensly Ryan looked at me, so I gave Ryan a big smile and continued on, nodding at Derrick who was staring at the eagle mascot painted and peeling off the gymnasium wall. “And he’s our resident rageaholic. Not that he’s ever been violent. He just tells us he is.”
“You sound disappointed by that.”
“Well, when a dude tells you that he can rip a door off its hinges with his bare hands, but his arms look as toned as spaghetti, you start to feel a little betrayed. So, what’s your deal?”
“My deal?”
Nodding, I held my hands out. “Yeah. Why are you here with the rest of us degenerates?”
“X?” Doc Watkins called, halting X from answering me. Molly blew me a kiss on her way out the door, quickly followed by Brett and Ryan, who seemed all out of patience for me tonight.
I hovered around the snack table until X had finished with the doc, and pretended to be looking at something engrossing on my phone when Doc walked him out. “I’ll see you at seven tonight, then, X?”
X nodded, his eyes briefly meeting mine over Doc’s shoulder, before he turned and stepped onto the sidewalk, where a sleek, black town car awaited him. A man wearing black got out of the driver’s seat and came around to open the door for X, who slid into his seat without another glance back.
I was going to break into his house that night, while he was gone. I just needed to make sure my car would make it to his neighborhood.