Page 11 of Filthy Little Secret

The door to Brody Winters’s house opens. A girl beams at me with vibrant blue eyes.

“Well, hello there.”

“Hi.”

I couldn’t sound more disinterested if I tried, but I can tell by the look in her eyes she’s not discouraged.

With long dark hair, her caramel-tanned flesh exposed in the tank top she wears, she looks like the usual sort Brody invites over to surround himself by—girls he can potentially fuck.

“Brody here?” I ask.

She tilts her head back. An invitation.

I follow her into the house.

“Oh, Brody,” she sings. “You have a guest.”

She leads me into the kitchen.

Brody’s thick biceps flex in the green thermal he wears, and he’s gotten a buzzed haircut since I saw him last week.

He retrieves a pan of brownies from the oven and sets it on top of the stove. He turns, his smile matching the girls’. It’s the look I get from most of my regulars. Even in their most doped-out state, they typically seem enthusiastic to see the person who can hook them up with new realms of excitement.

“Hey, Tim. How’s it going?” he asks.

He removes the oven mittens he wears and sets them on the counter as the girl grabs a red Solo cup off the counter next to him.

Since there are a few other people in the kitchen, he pulls me into the bedroom for our usual transaction.

“You wanna stick around for a drink?” he asks.

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on. Just stick around for a bit.”

I’ve heard this most of the night. Everyone wants to be chummy with me since they know I’m their hookup. And I don’t discourage it. I’ll hang out. Chill. Even offer some samples if I’m having a good time. It’s good customer relations, which I need right now considering I’m losing clients, or at least the usual big orders, left and right.

“For a minute,” I say.

He guides me into the backyard.

A bunch of kids sit around, their faces glowing orange from a bonfire, as they enjoy the fire and a couple of six-packs.

On a couch on the other side of the fire, I notice Mark sitting beside Jeffery Wells, who has his arm around him. A tall guy with a conceited grin he’s always displaying everywhere he goes, he’s the sort of frat kid I expect Mark to be attracted to. A lot like Greg. That same beefy body—stacked with muscles. He plays for the school’s volleyball team. I’m not sure about his family, but likely they’re within the vicinity of Mark’s family’s income bracket. He wears a hoodie, his arm slung around Mark so if my little fuck of the week turns, his face will be right in the guy’s armpit.

The aloof expression on Jeffery’s face suggests he’s too drunk to care about whether or not Mark is interested, and it’s obvious Mark isn’t, considering he looks everywhere but at this asshole.

Now I’m definitely going to stick around for a bit.

5

MARK

Jeffery’s wasted.

He’s been slurring for the past half hour and trying to get way too close. I don’t mind him normally, and maybe any other time I’d want to hook up with him, but not tonight.

I can tell he’s thinking he’s going to move in and nab me while I’m grieving over Greg, and something about that pisses me off. Don’t know why that bothers me about him when it didn’t bother me about Tim. Maybe because he’s a friend of Greg’s.

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