Bouncer by Kim Jones Page 0,29

is Cassie?

Apple does not need to be behind the bar. She needs to take it easy. She’s done with the antibiotics, but she’s still not at one hundred percent.

I make my way over, looking around to make sure no eyes are on us.

I don’t give a shit if they see us together or not. I tell them what they need to know. Nothing more. But I know she wants us to keep our distance outside our room.

I get that. She is here permanently, I’m not.

That thought makes my nomad life feel lonelier than it ever has. And it makes me consider what or who Apple would do after I’m gone. I grit my teeth.

What would happen if I stayed?

Would we keep doing what we’re doing?

Would it be the same? Different? More?

All I know right now is this woman stirs in me questions I’ve never asked myself.

“Apple.”

When she turns to look at me, I notice for the first time today how pretty her hair is. She’s brushed it out and taken it down from the braid she wore last night. It falls in waves.

And she’s not wearing the sack she normally wears. Today she wears a T-shirt. It’s still ratty as shit and way too big. But she looks different like this. In the light of day. Where others can see a small glimpse of what only I get to look at.

I don’t fucking like it.

“Bouncer?” I look up at her and realize by the way her brows draw in that I’ve been staring. Looking around again, I pull her to the storage room behind the bar.

She’s mere inches from me as I push the door. I lean in and kiss her. Not just because I want her mouth on mine. Because I wanted to see if she’s been drinking.

She has.

I growl.

“You’re drinking? What the fuck, Apple? You agreed to lay off until you went back for your check-up. Do you even care about your health?”

She holds up a hand to stop me. “Chill, homie. It is vodka. But it’s not what you think.”

Apple says a lot of weird shit. But either she’s drunker than she looks, or she thinks because I’ve been buried in that pussy that suddenly I’m stupid.

“Let me guess, a bottle spilled and you had to clean it up with your mouth?” I’m going for serious, but she laughs anyway. I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before. If I did, I didn’t appreciate it. I do now.

Her laugh fades to a smile. “You used the rest of the mouthwash. I improvised. You won’t let me leave this place and there wasn’t any more in the stock room.”

She’s right.

I lean in closer. “Next time you need something, tell me.” In the back of my mind, I’m still going over the fact that she hasn’t drank anything today.

“Next time?” She looks at her feet. “You won’t always be here, Bouncer. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time.”

That stings. Again, she’s right.

I brush my lips against hers. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to talk about what’s to come. Because then I might have to admit to myself that I don’t want this to end.

I kiss her with all those unasked questions on the tip of my tongue.

And when she looks at me, I can tell she tasted every one of them.

Seventeen

APPLE

I lied.

Again.

Vodka for mouthwash?

Please.

I haven’t drank in so long, it only took a couple of shots to buzz me.

I’m tempted to tell Bouncer just so he will spank me. Not with his belt, though. That shit hurt. But maybe one of those erotic hand spankings he swears is a real thing.

I smooth my hair back in place and step from the storage room. To protect our secret, I waited a minute until he left so no one would see us. Not that I care who knows about us. But he seems all sneaky and shit here lately.

The first few days—since I’ve been allowed out of my room—were fine. He wasn’t here. But these last two, I see him multiple times throughout the day. And though I know he’s always watching, I get the sense he’s keeping his distance on purpose.

What did you think this was?

A relationship?

I shake away thoughts of us together, with kids and a house and shit, and get back to work. The crowd is slowly pouring in and by kickoff, the place is packed.

It’s loud. A little crazy. By the time the game ends, everyone is drunk. Or in