Page 8 of Bedding Rose
I roll my eyes and turn, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t do that.” It’s a lie. I do.
“Fuck off, you totally do! So what’s going on, Dumbo?” She thinks she’s clever calling out what she thinks are my big ears, but I’m over her nicknames at this point. Immune.
I hear her open the fridge and I can mentally picture everything she’s doing. Tatiana and I are a decade apart—she was a surprise—but we’re still tight. That annoying little pipsqueak has all of us—Mom, me, even Dad—wrapped around her little finger.
“I’m waiting.”
I sigh. “I haven’t been sleeping, okay?”
“Why?” The sound of juice pouring into a glass travels over the line. “Is it something to do with Dad?” She doesn’t truly know the ins and outs of our business, but Tati isn’t stupid. She’s got an idea of what goes on.
“No. No. Not him.”
“Who then?”
“Just someone.”
“I need a name. I feel like I should send this person a fruit basket for incapacitating your growly papa bear tendencies.”
If we were in the same room, I’d flip her annoying little freckled face off. But I have to settle for saying, “Just go drink your juice and watch your cartoons.”
“It’s anime, not cartoons thank you.”
“Don’t forget to take your blankie with you.”
“Since we’re bossing each other around, maybe you should fucking call this person you have beef with so you can yell it out and get your stubborn ass back to normal.”
“Bye, Tati.”
“Bye.”
I toss my phone on the counter and spin around to my cereal, but it’s gotten soggy and disgusting. Ugh. I go to dump the mess into the sink when I realize that Tati’s right. The little shit is actually right about something. If I had Rose’s number, I could just call her and check on her and get her to tell me who did this.
It would be over.
I’d be able to sleep.
I just need to get her number.
* * *
That Night
I pullup to the pool hall in a mood my grandmother would call a lemon. Her scraggly old voice drifts through my memories. "Get your lemon face out of here, mijo. I don't want to see it until it's lemonade." Sassy old lady. Rest in peace.
I blow out a deep breath and brace myself for what I'm about to do. I've done tons of fucked-up shit without blinking an eye. But deceiving my best friend isn't one of them.
I stride into the single-story, smoky pool hall with a purpose. Ignoring the looks my tattoos earn from a set of college hipsters to the left, I head straight to the bartender, who's polishing a glass that doesn't look the least bit clean. Quique's already found him, perched on a booth near the corner, and the two are joking like they're best friends. That guy can make friends with anyone. Me? I'm more of a loner, more likely to make someone piss themselves than befriend them. Normally, that's just fine by me.
Right now, I wish I wasn't, though. Maybe if I was ... I don't know, softer or something, maybe Rose wouldn't keep running from me. If I had a charm dial like Quique and could turn it up at will, wouldn't that be nice?
As it is, my best method for getting information out of someone is beating the fuck out of them or getting them drunk. In Quique's case, we're getting plastered.
Five rounds of pool and six shots are all it takes before Quique is sitting across from me in a booth and swiping through his phone, laughing and joking about old memories. "Damn. Remember the ass on Sarah Jayne? Girl had legs for days," he reminds me, holding up a senior year photograph of one of his old high school flames, the one he always lamentsgot away.
"Hold on, lemme see tha-shit," I pretend to slur, grabbing his phone. I squint my eyes, as if I'm looking at her, but I really minimize the photo app and swipe over to his contacts. I find Rose easily and text her details to myself with a few quick taps before I delete the evidence.. Hopefully, he won't look at his phone history and see it.
"Hey! Hey! There are private pics in there!" Quique sets down his beer and clumsily reaches for the phone as I quickly maximize the photo app and swipe to one side as quick as I can. Sure enough, there's a girl getting a facial along with a close-up of my friend's dick I never needed to see.
