Page 90 of Escaping Our Reality

Ry turns the wrecker in front of me, severing my immediate war with Trey, the drug dealer. I back against the wall of the building, giving Ry a wide berth to back Harlan’s mangled truck into the garage bay. He was right, the whole front end is wrecked.

Swinging the door open, Ry jumps down, depositing a bag of food into my hand. “You wanna get dinner laid out? I’ll unhook this and be right in.”

In the kitchen, my mind can barely focus as I set the table with plates and utensils. Normally, when cheesesteaks are involved, I start eating right away. I don’t even wait for Ry. But tonight, my appetite lays in ruins beneath the bile rising in my throat. Five minutes. Ten minutes. I just sit there. Playing the movie in my head. The movie where I get to make Trey pay for every bad thing he has done. To me and my family. To every person he’s ever gotten hooked on drugs. To that poor Christina girl who sleeps with him, not thinking she deserves any better.

In some scenes I send him to jail. Others, I kill him. I’m not sure which ending would satisfy me the most.

“I can’t believe you actually waited on me. That’s a first.” Ry washes his hands in the kitchen sink, talking to me over his shoulder. “Hey, was somebody here?”

“Huh? What?”

He sits down next to me, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before unwrapping his sandwich. “I was asking if someone was here. There’s some beer cans over by the lamp post, next to your vehicle.”

I lick my lips, focusing on the food in front of me. “Huh. Must’ve been some kid.”

I knew I was going to lie before the words ever crossed my lips. Why? Because I don’t need the man I love going to jail for murder. And I have no doubt that if Ry found out Trey came here—came to confirm that he knows all about my little investigation—that Ry would make the movie I was just playing in my head look like a G-rated cartoon.

He will stop at nothing to protect me. I know that as fact.

So, see? Trey was completely wrong.

Nothing will ever tear the two of us apart. Me and Ry, we are forever.

Chapter 37

CRUTCH

$56.

Why do stupid khaki pants cost so much? They’re not even cargo pants.

Lulu thinks I look dead sexy in my jeans, and they only cost $20 a pop. And I sure as hell wear them way more than I ever plan on wearing these pants.

But we had a deal. Lulu stays the weekend with me, if I go with her to this dumb annual charity brunch her parents are having at their house.

Lulu crawled out of the tent this morning, wearing the sleep shirt I gave her and hot pink cotton panties, and it hit me—I would crawl over glass, dig through a mountain of dog shit, and attend a hundred different charity galas, if it meant she would be by my side. Talk about love. I’ve got it bad. And if there were a cure, I don’t think I would take it.

I’m the addict turning down help. The junkie running from the intervention.

We drove back into town this morning in her car, stopping at the mall to buy these pants. Of course, I refused to let Lulu pay, and then I had a panic attack the whole time I was in shower thinking about the cost versus utilization rate. Now, I’m sitting here, waiting on Lulu to get ready, flipping through the channels on her big screen TV. She refused to shower in Carrie’s shower, so she didn’t start getting ready until I was dressed.

Well, to be fair, I dressed, then Iundressed, and then I dressed again. Instantly, I’m drawn back to just an hour agowhen her hand was wrapped around me, while at the same time my fingers plunged into her milky core, dragging a screaming orgasm from her perfect little mouth.

There’s a jiggle on the front door, and I quickly grab a pillow, covering the lingering effects of my daydream.

Kristie.

Yay.

“Oh! I thought y’all would already be over in the Big House for the party.”

“I’m just waiting on her to finish getting ready. She’ll be done any minute.” Erection suddenly dead, I toss the pillow to the side and sit up, clasping my hands between my knees. “I thought she told you to knock and not use the key.”

Something about her really rubs me the wrong way. Well, let me rephrase that. Something—besides the fact that I’ve seen her drunk, seen her high, and seen her red panties as she offered me a blow job—really rubs me the wrong way. It’s something…else. Something more.

She twirls her auburn hair around her fingers, and I try to look at her objectively, without my biases clouding my vision. She’s cute. She definitely cakes on the makeup, but still, she’s cute. She should get her act together and maybe she would find someone to be with. It’s weird that she wants to spend all her free time hanging out at the house of her younger high school friend.

Not that I’m one to talk. I just had my fingers shoved inside of said high school friend.

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