Chapter Two
Brady
Well, shit , I think as I watch her go. Angela Pines is something else.
I hadn’t really known what to expect, but let’s just say a talent for lying and a hot ass weren’t on my radar.
In the pictures I’d seen, she was skinny in a stressed-out kind of way, with her clothes hanging off her emaciated frame.
Her hair was always down, long and dark with thick waves of gold in it that brought out her honey-colored eyes.
She usually looked all bored and perfectly done up, a cold princess who never smiled.
The Angela I ended up in class with in California is a whole different side of a very shady coin, and it’s taken me a few days to figure out who she is.
The dark hair is gone; she dyed it pale silver streaked with lavender.
The tawny eyes are now the color of tropical tide pools.
Her body is more filled out, like she’s overcome whatever stress she was under.
Her height took me by surprise, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if the girl could rock a serious spike in volleyball.
And holy shit. Drug overdoses and foster care?
Is that what she’s telling people? I chuckle to myself.
Maybe someone should tell her to ditch the Louis Vuitton wallet.
And seriously, where does a girl like her get off pretending she’d grown up in foster care?
I’m actually friends with kids who’ve been in the system.
It’s no joke. And here she is, every privilege at her fingertips, pretending she was doing it all on her own? Pisses me off, if I’m honest.
Kelsey comes by to pick up her twenty bucks and clear away our glasses. “So,” she says. “You hitting on my girl Angela?”
“What’s it to you?” I ask with a friendly smile. Kelsey’s a cool chick and, as it now turns out, a potentially rich source of information.
“You’ve been checking her out ever since you showed up here two weeks ago.” There’s a warning in Kelsey’s voice that I hadn’t expected. She stares down at me, her dark brown eyes regarding me suspiciously. I feel a sudden wave of tension roll through me.
“How long have you known her?”
“About three months.”
“That when she started working here?” I ask.
“Yeah, around the end of May. What’s with all the questions?”
Easy, Brady. This is gonna get back to Angela, so turn this conversation back to what Kelsey thinks it is. “Is she with anyone?”
Kelsey shakes her head slowly, her long braid extensions swinging. “Not interested. Squashes ’em like bugs. She looked like she was hanging on your every word, though,” she says suspiciously.
“We have a lot in common.”
“Yeah?” She lifts a dubious eyebrow. “Like what?”
I put my ball cap back on. “She’s a Yankees fan,” I say, grinning.
Kelsey grins back and shakes her head, and just like that, the tension dissolves. “Whatever you say, Brady. Just don’t mess with her. We don’t need any mopey waitresses around here. The beer selection’s bad enough. I guess I’ll see you this weekend, since she’s working.”
“Yes, you will.”
I throw down another twenty to keep myself in Kelsey’s good graces and head out.
The heat hits me as soon as I open the door to leave the bar.
God, I hate this place. My mouth and skin constantly feel dry and gritty out here.
The smell of wildfires is always in the air, this dusty little town just a spark away from being engulfed by one.
Having lived my entire life in the Bronx, I’ve never experienced anything like this.
I can’t wait to get the hell back to where I belong.
I start returning texts from back home as soon as I’m in my Grand Cherokee with the air conditioning on. My sister and my mom texted, asking how my first week of law school went and when I’m coming home. My brother Mikey wants to know if I’ve met any hot girls. My dad texted, too.
You ok?
All good , I text back.
Be careful . His text comes immediately after I send mine.
I’m here on a mission to keep him out of jail, and Angela is the key to my success.
But she moved in a dangerous circle, otherwise known as the Pini crime family, before dyeing her hair, changing her name, and moving out here.
Needless to say, my dad’s not thrilled that I’m involved in this.
I will , I reply.
That taken care of, I pull up a number with no name attached to it. Got her , I text.
Took you long enough . I’m surprised that I got a text back so quickly.
Give me a break , I text back. She doesn’t look anything like her pics. Didn’t want to screw it up. Some of us aren’t pros at this.
Nice going. Keep tabs. Keep me posted.
Yep.
Unwittingly, my thoughts return to Angela Pines.
The girl with a delicate oval face, silvery purple hair, and turquoise eyes.
She looks like a unicorn who turned into a human.
Her hair has been up every day since school started, due to the heat, I suppose.
I wonder if it’s still as long as it was in the pictures. I wonder what it feels like.
Knock it off, Brady McIdiot , I tell myself.
Angela is fascinating and gorgeous but 1,000 percent off-limits.
I don’t want to touch her or her world with a ten-foot pole.
Her kind have already sucked me into something I want nothing to do with and irrevocably screwed up my life.
No matter that even all hot and sweaty she still smells like that Sephora place that guys pretend to hate to be dragged into—Angela Pines is a hard no.
I shake her off and drive home. As much as I dislike California, I have to admit that my apartment here is a lot nicer than the shoebox I had in the Bronx.
Best of all, it’s roommate free. It’s in a four-story building with a pool, exercise room, and groundskeepers.
My one-bedroom apartment is on the top floor and has central air and a view of the Sierra Nevada foothills, the two highest of which give Dos Torres its name.
I stow my backpack in my bedroom and do some work before getting ready for the weekly law student Friday night bar crawl. It won’t involve Finnegan’s, which is fine. I don’t want to seem like a stalker. Even though technically I kind of am.
Finnegan’s will wait until Saturday, at which time I’ll surreptitiously observe Angela and see if I can pick up any useful details. Nothing obvious.
Good plan.
And like all good plans, this one is destined to bite me in the ass.