Even making the low wage that Franklin pays me, I still earn more than I would at any other job and have plenty left in my savings after I pay all the monthly expenses. My cousin covers half the bills with his housing allowance, but he's rarely around. I basically live alone aside from a rare couple of weeks out of the year that he pops in between deployments.
It’s ideal though, considering I prefer solitude. Especially now that I’m wrapped up with what I am.
“So,” a voice breaks through my train of thought. “What’s your story?”
I turn to find that blonde from last night at my side. “I don’t have one.”
“Sure you do," she says plainly. "Everyone does." She attempts to get the bartender's attention, but the guy goes toward another patron.
I raise my hand to signal him.
He stops what he’s doing and comes right over. “Top you off?”
I nod. “Yeah. And whatever she’s having.”
The girl raises her eyebrow. “Whatever?”
“Yep, that’s what I said.”
“Four shots of tequila. Doubles, please.” She extends her hand to me. “I’m Cora.”
“Johnny.”
“Are you here with anyone?” Cora props her elbow on the bar and bats her long eyelashes. She’s decently attractive in conventional ways, but not in a manner that captivates me.
“Nope.” I scan the crowd until I spot the one person I can’t get off my mind. It’s like the whole place is a blur except for her.
My heart stutters when our eyes lock, and I have to force myself to look away.
“Shame.” Cora grabs all of her shots between her fingers. “Thanks for these,” she says over her shoulder while making her way through the people gathered near the bar.
Shit. One of those shots will be for Claire. And if Cora mentions I paid for them, Claire is going to be pissed. She literallyjustgot done demanding that I stop buying her stuff. Whoops. I mean, technically I didn’t know at the time. I was just trying to be nice to her friend. But wasn’t I only doing that to look better in Claire’s eyes?
I run my hand through my unruly hair to get it out of my face. I have to fucking stop caring what this girl thinks of me. I need to stick to being the bad guy, not the random dude who keeps doing good deeds for her.
“Focus,” I tell myself. I let out a breath and take a swig of my drink.
The familiar burn is a welcomed distraction that I accept gratefully.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask a server that walks by.
He snatches one out of his pocket and tosses it to me, continuing on his path to deliver the deep-fried food on his tray.
I swipe the napkin from under my drink and make a list of names that come to mind.
Josey mentioned new recruits. Young ones.
I jot down every person fitting into that category that I’ve come across these past few weeks.
Brandon
Jackson
Black haired guy
Emo kid
Steven…and the other Steve