Page 1 of Tops
Prologue
MyearsrangasI stumbled. The smell of gasoline filled my nose, making me cough and spit. I think there was blood in that. Blunt-force trauma, second-degree burns, and a gunshot wound. Things weren’t looking good for me if I were a report at a desk.
My head started to swim as I fell to the asphalt. A high-pitched squeal filled my mind until I thought my eyes would bleed from all the noise hammering to get out.
This must be what dogs hear when you blow one of those whistles.
Thousands of tiny stones penetrated my palms, knees, and cheek as I lay on the cold ground. Each raindrop felt like ice against my skin as it fell on my body in a never-ending torrent.
The squealing noise was an ever-constant annoyance to drown out all the other sounds. Soon, even that faded away as I was left with sightless eyes trained on a single piece of asphalt. It was as though I was staring into a cold, dark abyss as memories were played back to me. The pictures in my mind flashed through my head as a fucked-up highlights reel played backward.
It would take me a minute to sort through all this shit.
Maybe it would be better if I started at the beginning.
1
Friend or Foe
Hannahburstthroughourtiny New York apartment door, her arms coated in shopping bags. She waddled over to our two-person table and placed as many of her items as she could on the top, allowing the rest to fall on the chairs. I’m pretty sure she had a shopping addiction.
“Look at all this shit I got!” she squealed while rummaging through the bags, eager to show me her haul. One after another, after another. She pulled out skimpy, stringy, sometimes even lacy, garments. Holding them up against her body with accompanying booty shakes, of course.
Hannah was an exotic dancer, and she was popular amongst the crowd. That meant she was always looking for outfits, shoes, jewelry, and anything she could wear to make an impact. She had it all: a fit physique, big boobs, long dark brown hair, and sapphire blue eyes. Oh, and she was in her final year of graduate school for her master’s in accounting. Getting naked on stage was just her idea of fun, and it so happened that she was pretty good at it.
I met Hannah in my first year of college, back in my home state of Maryland. The first time I saw her, I knew we wouldn’t get along. She’d always been a bubbly DILLIGAF (Do I Look Like I Give a Fuck) person. I might be her complete opposite, other than our hair color.
I wasn’t overweight, but I felt like a disgusting troll whenever I stood beside Hannah and her slightly visible abs. Where her eyes looked like literal gems, mine were a muted, somewhat green that only looked good when I was crying. Who the fuck only looks good crying?
Several years of tension between Hannah and me finally culminated in one awkward drunken night at the sorority house. Taking aim at one of her many passive-aggressive shots, I snapped back. This resulted in an argument which led to the police detaining us both. Several frat guys and sorority members watched with their phones set to record.
I remembered sitting on the curb next to Hannah, hands in cuffs behind our backs as I laughed. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been in trouble. When I was a teenager, I received an occasional grounding, but nothing more serious. I’d never even gotten detention. Having to sit on the curb with handcuffs around my wrists next to my arch-nemesis wasn’t who I thought I was. The part that made me laugh was how good I felt.
Afterward, Hannah and I formed a close friendship that quickly became a sisterhood. After the first four years of college, we moved to New York City. We secured this tiny apartment while committing to helping each other get through our master’s. I’d like to think as much as she opened me up to the world, I’d helped bring her back to Earth a few times.
“I think if I wear this one, even Tanner will notice.” Hannah’s voice brought me back from my memories. She was smiling, holding up a red thong that may have been made of lace. Or maybe it was made from tissue paper. The whole thing looked like it would dissolve away. Knowing Hannah, that could be precisely what it was intended to do.
“Tanner? As in your boss, Tanner? That’s the same Tanner you tried to seduce countless times since you started working there. The one who never fucks any of his dancers?” I said, giving her the same look I gave every time she starts talking about Tanner again.
She had shown me a picture of him once. The image was crooked and from a low angle since Hannah snapped it discreetly to show me how fucking hot he was. I could tell he had dark hair, which hung in his face as he looked down. He wore a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled partway up while he leaned against something. Even in the crappy photo, I’d admit he looked like something I would drool over.
“I don’t know; he’s been smiling more lately. See, I think he had just gotten out of a bad relationship. So, he needed the past year to mourn that loss. Now he’s ready for a relationship, and I plan to be there wearing this.” She laughed, shaking the tiny piece of fabric hard enough that I legitimately worried it would break.
I shook my head, laughing lightly. At least it wasn’t breaking her heart every time he refused her advances, but I warned her the same every time. “Who knows, maybe you’re right this time. Don’t forget me on the guest list if things go well.”
“Oh, Nessa, you will be standing up there right by my side if that ever happens,” Hannah gushed as her mind went to work planning a wedding that would never happen.
“Well, I have an in-person class today. I’ll see you for dinner, though, right?” I asked as she nodded, still lost in her fantasy. I grabbed my belongings and headed out the door to walk toward campus. It wasn’t too long of a walk, but it sucked during the winter. I wasn’t looking forward to that.
I grabbed an iced coffee on my way to the lecture hall; Anthropology. This was my last year for my master’s in anthropology. Of course, this professor was one of the most boring individuals I’d ever met. Whenever I came to class, I needed an IV of caffeine or I would fall asleep, guaranteed.
I sat in the same seat each day; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from two to four PM. I was near the back of the room, at the end. That way, I could bolt as soon as we were dismissed. I got my tablet out, ready to take notes, but instead of the dull hum from Professor Campbell, a robust masculine voice silenced the students.
My head whipped up, looking down at the whiteboard where a blond-haired, blue-eyed god stood with a dry erase marker in hand. “Professor Cage” was written neatly in large letters.
“Now that I have your attention, I want to point out a few obvious details, and then we can move forward with the class,” the stranger said, his hands clapping together like he had just made a pact with us, whether or not we agreed.
A girl near the front raised her hand.
