Southern Secrets (Southern #7) - Natasha Madison Page 0,16
I start to tap my finger on the bar. "We had seventeen dollars between us. God, we were such idiots."
"You were fifteen, and you thought you could live off seventeen dollars?" she asks, laughing and shaking her head. Her blue eyes light up. I can see she’s tired, and I know I shouldn’t keep her any longer than I am. She walks around the bar. Her black jeans mold to her hips, the blank tank top sticks to her small frame. "What happened?" she asks, pulling out a stool and hopping on it.
"We decided to spend the night resting. Hit the pavement the next day and start looking for jobs," I say.
"Well, at least you had a plan." She puts her hand up and leans her forehead on her fist.
"Oh, we had big plans," I say, climbing onto the stool next to her. "We were going to rule the world." I laugh, folding my hands together. "The night was hard. The honking, the sirens, the smell of urine … it was so gross." I look down at my hands. "But we were together and safe."
"Why do I feel like something is coming?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
"Oh, it came alright. The next day, we couldn’t stop scratching." She gasps out and puts her hands in front of her mouth. "Turns out, the couch was full of bedbugs."
She claps her hands together. "Oh my God. What did you do?"
"Nothing." I shake my head, turning to her. "This scar right here"—I point at a small scar right under my eye—"is from that."
"That is horrible," she says, and I shrug.
"Like I said, I’ve slept in worse places than the truck. I’ll be fine," I say, getting up. "Let’s go. It’s getting late."
“Seriously, though," she says, not moving from her stool. "Why don’t you just stay with me?"
"Because your family has helped me more than anyone else in my whole life," I say.
"What if it was me?" she asks, making me stop in my tracks. "Or anyone in my family? What if we lost everything we had, and you had this house with three bedrooms? Would you not offer it to us?"
"Of course, I would," I say, not skipping a beat.
"Good, so we got that covered. You can stay with me under one condition," she says, getting off the stool. "You never wear those jeans again."
I stand, folding my hand over my chest, knowing that I shouldn’t take her up on her offer. I knew when I parked the truck in the parking lot tonight that I shouldn’t come here. I knew when I walked in and saw her running back and forth that I should stay out of it. I knew all that, instead of following the yelling that was in my head. But what did I do? I jumped behind the bar and helped her out without thinking twice. "What are people going to say?"
Her eyebrows pinch together when she looks at me. "Well, they are going to think that I’m helping a friend out since you lived in our family barn that burned to the ground." She walks to the back of the bar toward the office.
"This is a horrible idea," I say to myself. "Just leave and say no," I say, knowing full well I would never leave her to walk to her car by herself in the dark.
"Okay, I’m ready to go," she says, coming back with her purse in her hand.
I wait for her to walk toward the door before I walk behind her. She sets the alarm and turns off the light, taking one look back at the bar and smiling. We walk out, and the dark air is still. "Is it always this dark?" I ask, and she looks around.
"No," she says and looks up to see two of the spotlights are off. "Fuck, I need to change the lights."
"I’ll do it tomorrow," I say, and she grabs her phone out of her pocket. "What are you doing?"
"Making a note so I don’t forget," she says.
"I just told you I’m going to do it," I say, and she ignores me and starts to walk toward her car. "Why are you like that?" I ask her when she stops right beside her car, folding my arms over my chest.
"I don’t know,” she huffs out. "Why are you like you are?" she throws back at me, going to her purse to fish out her keys. "Why don’t you accept help when you are given it?"