Page 1 of The Price of Forever

CHAPTER ONE

JORDAN

“Outta my way, bitch.”

The hunched man threw his shoulder into me before storming past on the sidewalk. I barely stumbled—I had a lot of practice keeping my balance under pressure—and didn’t offer a response. By now, I knew better than to take it personally. Or maybe I should take it personally, since he seemed to only regularly snipe at me. Like he knew me and loathed me, just from sight alone. He said the same thing to me whenever I made the morning commute to my coffee shop job.

A poetic way to start the day in NYC. It was one of the many things to expect in this grand and gritty place—getting harassed by the unwell on the street. Along with eating delicious thin crust pizza. Being regularly boggled by prices and the sheer diversity of human life throbbing around you. Buying a hot dog off the street. Finding a prized Pokémon on your commute to work.

I hoisted my backpack strings, needing to readjust the contents since my eight-inch heels were currently stabbing the middle of my back. My regular hard-sided backpack broke unceremoniously last night after my shift at the club; this soft drawstring bag was the only thing I’d been able to find last minute this morning. Not a great bag for stripper heels.

I resettled everything, weaving through pedestrians as I beelined for Columbus Park. I had about five minutes of leeway this morning—early for my tardy ass—and I planned on taking full advantage it. I pulled out my phone, loading the app to see if there were any new Pokémon this morning. I usually hunted them in the fringes of my days, like now. On my way to or from work, since that was the main reason I left my apartment. That and goddamn delicious rice noodles.

As my account loaded, I scanned the plaza, looking for any red flags, creeps, or other signs I should move the fuck on. Even half past seven wasn’t too early for fucked-up shit to happen. I knew from experience. Nobody stood out save a few early risers playing mahjong along the edges of the sidewalks, and a few more practicing Tai Chi on the grassy part. The mid-September mornings and nights were getting chillier, but plenty of people still gathered outside in the crisp air. By four p.m., New York would collectively be sweating—but I wouldn’t have to worry about my makeup melting off because I had stripper-grade finishing spray.

I rolled my shoulders back, checking out a loner near the huge bronze statue of Dr. Sun Yat-sen in the center of the park. He pinged my radar for some reason—seemed familiar. It was the red hair, the curved shoulders as he hunched over his phone. He turned slightly, and that’s when my stomach twisted.

Fuck. Dustin.

I didn’t have time to talk to Dustin this morning. I didn’t really want to talk to him, even if there was time.

I lifted my backpack again, the damn heels still scraping my vertebrae, and tried to spin slowly, without looking like I was running away from him—which I was.

Before I’d finished swiveling on my heels—which surprisingly was not easier in regular old black tennis shoes than the eight-inch mama jammas in my backpack—I could feel Dustin’s attention prickle over me. I was barely two steps in the other direction before his gruff voice broke the calm morning air.

“Jordan!”

He thudded up to me a moment later, a goofy smile on his face. “Jordan. Hey.”

I offered a tight smile, waving my fingertips at him. “Sup, Dustin? Looking for the Snorlax, huh?”

“It was here earlier,” he confirmed. I started walking toward the main sidewalk. My Pokémon window had officially closed, and I hadn’t even gotten to hunt like I’d wanted. “But it’s gone now. Were you looking for it too?”

“Yeah. Bastard keeps escaping me.” I heaved a sigh. Pokémon Go had been one of the main things that kept me from spiraling into a complete mess as my life unraveled around me through middle school and high school. Now, it was one of the small comforts I had in my life. I was an orphan—a single girl drifting through the boroughs of New York. No attachments. No roots. No nothing.

Except a space to call my own and the lure of the Snorlax.

To be honest, I didn’t want to change a thing.

Mostly.

“I’ve heard from some of the other guys that it’s been showing up around three,” Dustin said, his words coming out smashed together, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough. His elbow bumped into me as he followed me into the throng of pedestrians. I walked quickly as I resumed my commute. “You wanna meet here and we can team up? Throw a lure?”

“I’ve gotta work all day,” I said.

Curious gazes swept across us as we walked. I had the trifecta of attention grabbing—clothes like a nerd, face like a stripper, and a guy who looked like he might still live in his mother’s basement. I adjusted the backpack again—these fucking heels!—and Dustin shouted with something like glee a moment later.

“Whoa there! What’s that?”

I stopped mid-stride, twisting to follow his gaze. My backpack. I groped blindly behind me, hand connecting with the actual spike of my work heels. I sighed, swinging the bag around front to assess the situation. In doing so, a translucent eight-inch heel went tumbling to the cement. I swore under my breath and scooped it up as quickly as I could, stuffing it back into its home.

Maybe Dustin didn’t notice. But as I looked sheepishly up at him, his saucer-wide eyes told me there was no getting out of this one.

“Are those shoes?”

No, I wanted to say. They are weapons, and they will kill you if I’m provoked.

“They are shoes. I don’t have time to explain. I have to go.” I picked up my pace, but Dustin kept stride.

---