Page 2 of Of Pranks and Passion
My car was still out front, an Audi R8. It looked out of place amongst my friends’ beaters whenever we were all together. It was a little flashy, which wasn’t usually my style, but who says no to a car like this? I wasn’t lying before. I made good money doing what I did. It just wasn’t exactly legal.
Dropping into my seat, I barely had the engine running before I was peeling out of the driveway. The drive didn’t help any in clearing my head, and by the time I showed up at The Hideout, I was more frustrated than when I left my old man’s place. I punched in the code on the keypad, watching with bland disinterest as the fence pulled out of the way to allow me through. When I parked, I made sure to leave enough room between mine and Angel’s car. He drove like a bat out of hell, and I didn’t want him hurting my baby. He couldn’t afford to pay me back to fix it.
The gate slid shut, keeping my car from prying eyes. The Hideout was my one and only big purchase using my old man’s money. I needed a place for myself, away from well-meaning family members. My old man understood that and when I turned sixteen, he handed me the keys to this place. It wasn’t anything fancy. It used to be a small warehouse that was abandoned. Me and my friends made it our own over the years. And when I heard my old man refer to it as my hideout, the name for the place was born. It was written across one wall in graffiti style art, thanks to Angel. Smiley was the one with the best hookup for weed. Coach kept us fed. And Chuckles was the life of the party.
And then there was me. Emotionally stunted, a little rough around the edges, heavily suspicious of anyone and everyone. I thrived on chaos and was the first to jump into a fight to protect us. The situation with my family may have turned out alright, but I had one too many people stab me in the back when I lived with my mom. And most people outside it weren’t any different. I had my circle of people I trusted, and everyone else could fuck off. The attitude didn’t bode well in a school environment.
“Ha! Take that, motherfucker!” Chuckles crowed.
“A damn banana peel isn’t going to help you,” Smiley grouched. “You’re still gonna lose.”
They were on the couch in front of the massive TV that Smiley said was a gift from his dealer for always recommending him to people. My friends knew my family had money, and if I truly wanted it, my old man would hand me cash without question, but they never used me like that. We all provided to The Hideout. The couch was a hand-me-down from Angel’s older sister. It was stained in a few places from her kids spilling on it, and she wanted something nicer, so she gave it to him. The weird overlay of different carpets came from Coach’s paycheck.He worked across the street from a thrift store and snagged the good stuff on his breaks.
Smiley, of course, shared his stash without blinking. He also won a kitchen remodel and had them install it in the corner of the room. He’d been high off his ass when someone asked him if he wanted to sign up, and he didn’t entirely know what they were talking about when they called to tell him he’d won, but Coach stepped in to help and managed to convince them to do the set up here. It wasn’t anything fancy, but hey, it was free.
“Yo, Phantom! Where you been?” Chuckles called when he noticed my arrival. He barely flicked his gaze over to me, but it was long enough for Smiley to get the advantage and pull ahead in the game. “Dammit! Get back here!”
I smirked, shaking my head as I walked past them. The warehouse was a big open space except for the bathroom, so I could see Coach in the kitchen cooking something up. Angel had his head on the table, staring at a blank sheet of paper, a deep frown on his face.
“Art block again?” I queried, opening the fridge to grab myself a beer.
Angel let out a whine in response, burying his face in his arms. I raised an eyebrow at Coach, who shrugged.
“Been a few days. He’ll get past it eventually. What’s up? You look like shit.”
Making a tick sound behind my teeth, I swiped at him. He ducked, but I was always careful not to put any weight behind it. I fought on the side to earn my own money, and I didn’t want to accidentally hurt my friends reacting without thinking it through.
“I’m good, asshole. Just irritated. My old man suckered me into going to college.”
That made Angel sit up, his nose wrinkled. “You? Really? Why?”
I thrust a hand at him. “Thank you. I reacted the same way. I’m not the schooling type. But apparently he cares enough about me having a future trade that he was willing to threaten disowning me. I figured I’d get it over with just to keep the old man happy.”
My friends were the only ones who truly knew what I’d been through before I moved in with my dad. They knew how important my family was for taking me in. I didn’t actually believe my old man would disown me, but with something as stupid as getting a degree, it wasn’t worth the fight. I could handle it. I’d just hate it every damn minute.
“My brother said he slept through most of his classes,” Coach suggested, his eyes on the food. Looked like taco night. Sweet.
“Man, I did the same thing,” Chuckles called over his shoulder. “I don’t even remember most of it. Just show up, cram for the tests, and chill. And maybe scope some potentials for me. College girls are hot.”
That got him a bland look, though he didn’t see it. Too busy losing the damn game. My hookups were strictly of the male variety. I wasn’t scoping out females.
Coach handed me a plate of tacos, nudging me towards the table. “When do you start?”
“Monday. I’ve got a fight the night before, so that’ll be a pain in the ass to explain.”
“Protect your face for once,” Angel suggested with a smirk. He got his name honestly, with his long blonde hair always pulled back into a bun, and his big blue eyes. He was a sassy little thing, though, and I always called him a devil in disguise because he didn’t pull punches when he had something to say.
Coach shot him a look as he handed him his plate. “Be nice. You’re in no place to judge anyone right now.”
Angel’s face fell, and he scowled at his best friend. Coach was the adult. I mean, we were all in our twenties, but Coach actuallyhad a regular job and did things like grocery shopping. He was basically our house mom, keeping us fed and healthy. He was the one to call if you got sick, too. Not many people expected that kind of caretaking out of the huge guy with the mean resting bitch face, but he surprised us all by taking us under his care.
“Food,” he called out. The other two immediately paused their games, throwing themselves over the back of the couch to hurry to the table.
Chuckles was thin and lanky, with laugh lines even though he was only twenty-four. He was the red-headed step child with a face full of freckles, but even in the shittiest situations, he could lighten the mood. He dropped into the seat beside me, throwing his arm over my shoulder.
“If you need a wingman to meet some people–”
I shoved his face away, rolling my eyes. “I don’t need help finding a hookup. I’m not interested in meeting new people. You know the minute they try to figure me out, they’ll turn on me. I just want to get this shit over with.”
