Page 3 of Invisible String
I roll my eyes at her, and she giggles. She’s beautiful. We gaze at one another, and her lips look soft, pink, and glossy.
“You have gorgeous green eyes,” she breathes.
No one has ever complimented me.
I swallow as she gets closer. I mean, she’s already close. I stiffen. Her cheeks burn red. She wants to kiss me. Part of me wants it, and the other part wants to run. I know better than to let anyone in. She makes me want things I shouldn’t, like tasting her.
“Kiss me.” Her hot breath seeps into my lips. She wants me to kiss her first. So, I do. My body has a mind of its own. Our lips press together, and I part my mouth. Her tongue slides in. We move in sync, thrusting our tongues, both of us desperate. She tastes pure and innocent, and her warmth vibrates with desire. My body relaxes, and my hand moves to the back of her neck. When she pulls back, panting, and her mouth opens in shock, I freak out. Frantically, I hurry to stand, but she grabs my arm.
“It’s okay. I liked it. Did you?” Rainey grins. Her smile is one that never fades. “You’re my first kiss. Am I yours, Max?”
Did I like it? More than that, I loved the feel of her lips.Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Without a doubt, I liked it, and yeah, you are my first.”
She blushes. The bell rings, breaking us from the spell we’re under. “Tomorrow, I’ll read you another chapter. I’m scared this book will break my heart.” She takes my clammy hand in hers and guides us toward the double door.
That was the last time I kissed Rainey, and the last time I saw her. There was no goodbye. When I went home after school, my bags were packed. I knew I’d never see Rainey again, and I also knew I’d engrave her memory in my mind. She was the only person who made me feel warmth.
CHAPTER ONE
MAX
Seven years later
The room echoes with each repetitive, powerful thud. My fists hit the punching bag, and my feet dance lightly on the ground. My muscles are tense and flexing with each striking blow. Sweat rolls down my face, my eyes fixed on the bag, and my mask of determination delivers a punch of pent-up frustration.
Stepping back, I grab a hand towel, wipe the layers of sweat trickling down, and head to the boxing club showers. Then head to my shitty job that starts in an hour at Garden Nursery.
I park my rusty silver Nova in the parking space I took from my deadbeat father. Giving him a couple of bills in exchange for liquor will do the trick. It runs like a dream but desperately needs to be pimped. It’s the end of May, and the Vegas heat has begun. The nursery is crawling with patrons picking up plants, vegetables, and trees as if they’re going to survive in this heat, anyway.
“You’re late,” Dillon snaps.
Glancing at the digital clock by the entrance, I see I’m only two minutes behind schedule. Big deal. I walk past him, making sure to steer clear.
“Don’t act like you can’t hear me.”
“I’m going to clock in.” It’s the same every day when I come in. There’s always something he barks about. Just because his father is the owner, he thinks he can treat people like shit. We’re the same age. Going into the lunchroom, I punch in. He trails behind me. I’m positive he wants to get me fired, always trying to pick a fight. Every day, I have to control the urge not to knock his teeth out.
“A load of gravel is coming in. We need it dumped.” Dillon shoves his hands in his skinny jeans. I should say tries because they don’t fit. His dark, ragged hair falls to the side.
“All right.” That’s all I say as I walk out the back doors of the nursery.
I stand next to Martín, an older man. “Did he give you shit when you came in?” He lifts his head at me, pointing toward Dillon, who watches us.
“Yeah.”
“I think you intimidate him. Then again, he should be scared shitless. Your biceps are huge, and you’re, what, six feet?” He unwraps a stick of gum. “You have patience. I would have thought you’d have knocked him out by now.” He chuckles.
Me patience? Not a bone in me has it.
“I need the job. Finding one is tough.”
He nods.
I currently live in an apartment with a guy I stayed in contact with from one of my foster homes. Mike is a year older than I am. He’s an okay guy. He stays out of my business and knows I keep my circle tight and my walls up. We split the rent. He comes from money. He could live at home if he wanted to, but he wants a place to party. There’s no way I could afford a place on my own.
A dump truck pulls up, filled with gravel. I direct them to unload it onto the existing pile. Once I’m done, I help Martín replant lime trees. “Here comes thependejo.” Martín peers at Dillon, marching toward us.
“His daddy probably sent him.” A snarl escapes my lips.
