It’s late morning when Sebastian stumbles into the kitchen and starts banging through the cupboards, then the fridge, cursing under his breath.

I watch him from my chair at the table, lowering the ice pack from my swollen jaw, the noises he’s making going like spikes through my pounding head.

He slams the fridge door shut, and then gasps when he sees me. He lifts the last bottle of beer I had inside, as if to hit me with it.

I stare at him stonily, waiting to see what he’ll do—yell at me for no reason, break things, or ignore me and stomp off.

It’s a toss-up these days. Living with a guy hooked on drugs is like living with a live grenade. You never know when he might go off.

“Whatcha doing here?” he mutters.

“I live here, fucker. Like you.”

He just shakes his head, like he can’t believe his bad luck in finding me in front of him, and takes his beer and foul mood out of the kitchen.

“Hey! You got money for the rent this time?” I call after him.

He doesn’t reply.

Dammit. Bracing on the table, I get up, take a tentative step and swallow down a curse. Icing my knee didn’t do much good. It’s fucked ten ways to Sunday, and it’s a goddamn miracle I made it home on my feet last night. I was still high on adrenaline.

And pleasure.

Was it worth it, getting into a brawl for the sake of Gigi’s friend?

For the sake of Gigi. Cuz she asked for it.

As I limp out of the kitchen, I’m still debating that. If I should ignore Sydney next time I see her—because I have no doubt our paths will cross again, if her mutinous look at Gigi as she dragged her indoors last night was any indication about her intentions—and if having Gigi touch me again, even for the wrong reasons, is even a possibility…

Goddammit, Jarett.

Angry at myself, I hobble across to Seb’s bedroom and slam my fist on the door. “Hey! Open up. You can’t keep taking my money and never pay anything. I can’t pay the fucking rent on my own, man.”

But no reply comes through, so I turn the handle and open the door.

He’s not there. The room’s empty. Fuck. He snuck out as I was busy trying to get up, that fucking jackass.

I drop down on his bed and shove my fingers through my hair. What am I doing here? Renting this place when he almost never pays his part, never wants to work, only thinking he’ll be the next mafia boss or something and swim in dollars. I feed him and protect his sorry ass—for what?

For a promise. Yeah, I did swear to protect him, ever since he started hanging out with the gang, getting deeper. The stupid shit doesn’t have a clue what he’s gotten himself into. He thinks he’s invincible.

That’s the guy I’m trying to save.

Most of the time I wanna kill him myself, save anyone else the trouble.

I scrub at my scalp, in the vague hope that it will ease the headache, ease the burden of this impossible task I’ve undertaken.

But of course, for that, too, like with everything else, it’s too damn late.

* * *

“Christ, what happened to your face?” Suzie stops and stares as she gets ready to leave the bar. We swapped shifts, and hers is ending as mine is starting. “Did you get into another fight?”

I shrug. “Got in the middle of one.”

Indecision flickers over her face. “Want to talk about it? I have…” She checks the time on her phone. “Five minutes before my friend picks me up.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her gently, cuz she still has a crush on me, and I don’t want her thinking I feel the same way, even if it feels good to have someone care enough to ask. “Go on, go meet your friend. David and me, we’ll hold the fort.”

David gives her a thumbs-up from behind the bar.

She nods uncertainly and steps out into the drizzle.

“Before I forget,” David tells me as I tie on the black apron with the bar’s logo, “a girl came asking about you the other day. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.”

I shoot him a surprised look. Many girls ask for me here, and David has long since stopped giving me their messages. “Go on. What did she do? Was it bad?”

There was one girl who left me her phone number—written in permanent marker on her unwashed panties.

And then there was that girl who made a video of herself getting nailed in the ass by an older guy and asked for my phone number to send it to me.

I stopped giving girls my number after that. It was the last drop in an ocean of craziness. I don’t need this shit.

Sure, I like watching a pretty girl getting off as much as the next guy, and flirting and fucking gets my mind off the shitty reality that is my life on most days, but this… it’s too much.

“She was… different.” David finishes polishing a shot glass and places it carefully in a row of many other small shot glasses. He verges on OCD sometimes, and also sometimes I wonder if he’s into both girls and boys. There’s something in the way he looks at me.

Like now.

“Different, how?” I turn away, busy myself with checking the alcohol we have behind the bar, to see if anything needs restocking.

“Well, for starters she didn’t leave you her panties or bra, or even her number.”

“True, that is different,” I concede.

“She also didn’t ask if you have a girlfriend, although she seemed glad when I said you don’t.”

“And how do you know I don’t, huh?”

He ignores my protest. “She said she only wanted to see the place where you work.”

“That’s fucking weird, if you ask me.”

“She said she wanted to see if the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“She never said. But she did say you were old friends.”

I still, my breath going out, because it can’t be. No fucking way.

Why would she come here, asking about me? I turn slowly back around to face him. “Did she say her name?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, eyes fucking twinkling.

“David.”

“Okay, okay, I remember now. Gigi. Unusual name.”

It sure is. “It’s short for Augusta.”

“Heh. She didn’t tell me that.”

A grin spreads over my face, for some reason glad for that, and I rub at my mouth to hide it. “So she said we’re old friends, huh?”

“Ah-huh.”

“What else?”

“Nothing much. Oh wait, she did ask if you sleep with all the girls who come looking for you.”

I choke. “And what the hell did you say?”

He laughs at whatever it is he sees on my face. “What was I supposed to say? Wait…” He takes a step back, lifting his hands when I glare at him. “Hey, relax. I said no, okay? I swear.”

What does this all mean? Why did she come here? What rumors did she want to verify—that I fuck around? Well, screw that. I do whatever the hell I please.

It’s not like I have any reason to keep my dick in my pants. Any reason to behave, or be responsible, with no real family to hold me accountable and no girlfriend to wake up to in the mornings, no friends.

And yet I’m responsible for more people than I can handle. Isn’t that a fucking joke? When I can barely look after my own damn self.