Chapter 3
Tegan
My stomach aches. I’ve overstuffed myself to the maximum this time, and I worry my stomach might explode. I feel the urge to vomit, but I fight it back. My reasons for overeating make vomiting counterproductive. I don’t want to lose a single calorie or a single centimeter off my growing waistline.
I need air, and I need to get the hell out of this restaurant. I’ve been sneaking food like it’s my job. It’s not as if I can get one of those.
I throw back one more forkful of food from an abandoned plate and head toward the door.
“Hey!” calls a woman behind a big oak stand. “You have to pay!”
“I’m just running to my car!” I say.
“You can’t leave until you pay.”
I turn on my heel and face her. “I’m pregnant, and I need my medication. You wouldn’t want a pregnant woman to keel over on your floor, now, would you?”
The woman’s lips tighten, and she looks down at my belly, where I’ve wrapped my arms around my food baby. “No, I guess not,” she finally says, and I book it out the door before I vomit all over the scuffed tile.
Manipulation is easy for me. It’s a generational gift, passed down from my grandma to my mom to me. My grandmother tricked a man into marrying her. My mom tricks herself—and her daughter—to make ends meet. And me? I manipulate my way around town.
We are not the same people, my mother and I, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t need to trick or manipulate a man, nor do I have any urge to. I don’t flash my eyes to get my way. I keep my gaze downcast to wrench every ounce of sympathy from the schmucks.
And that’s why I need a fucking job. I can scratch this restaurant off my list, though. Thoughts of applying here vanish as I head to my pretend car to retrieve my fake medicine without paying for any of the food I ate.
Cool air rushes over my skin as I break into a run and take an alleyway toward Main Street.
I don’t bend over and gasp for air until I reach the mall parking lot.
Once I catch my breath, I head toward the building, even though I know I can’t go inside.
I got kicked out earlier for my scavenging, but I can usually slip back in after a shift change.
Memories here aren’t very lasting, which is a good thing.
Instead of going inside, I turn toward the green benches surrounding the old fountain.
It doesn’t work anymore, but it used to send a blast of water ten feet into the air.
People used it as a wishing well when it was in its prime, but now you’d probably get twelve individual diseases if you reached your hand into the grimy rainwater to snatch up the leftover coins.
An old van backfires, making me jump. My eyes land on the rust-colored vehicle as it pulls into a nearby parking space and comes to a stop. The amount of people that climb out of it doesn’t even seem possible. It’s like some kind of real-life clown car.
As the clown family walks away from the van, I spot a nearly full sleeve of discarded fries sitting on the dashboard. The party of people heads into the mall, and I head toward their vehicle. More specifically, toward those tasty, salt-covered strips of fried potato.
I slip around to the driver’s side and say a little prayer as I touch the handle and hope it’s unlocked.
When it gives and opens with a metallic click, I can’t help but smile.
I’m full, but I could save the food for later.
They won’t miss it. Not judging by the way the fries are scattered over the warm dashboard.
Grease coats my fingers as I grab one and eat it to see how old they are. Even old and slightly chewy, they’re still so good. They might even be from today. I pluck each one from the dashboard and drop it back into the red sleeve.
“I’d have bought you a meal if you asked, girl. You don’t have to scavenge like a street dog.”
I hit my head on the roof of the van at the sound of a deep, smooth voice. A squeal leaves my lips.
“Goddamn it,” I groan. I make sure I’m not fucking bleeding before exiting the van with their fries tucked beneath my arm.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
I walk around the back of the van and come face to face with the man who startled me. Normally, I would run from the scene of the crime like I do most everything else, but I feel the need to see what the person looks like. His voice sounds like it came from a movie star or something.
What I find is a face that matches his voice. Dark hair coiffed on top of his head. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. But the two silver balls forming an anti-eyebrow piercing below the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen are what really snag my attention.
He opens the passenger door, digs through the glove box, and pops a silver ring into the hole in his right nostril.
When he tilts his head and gives me a sinful smirk, I nearly drop the precious fries from beneath my arm.
No one has ever looked at me like that, and I suddenly feel ashamed of my greasy hair and lack of makeup.
With these day-old fries hidden under my arm like Gollum with his precious ring, I must look awful. I tuck my hair behind my ear like it changes anything.
“Can I buy you a meal?” he asks.
I feel more shame than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and I once stole food from a literal baby’s mouth.
“I’m not hungry right now.”
His eyebrow rises, tilting that piercing on his cheek. “You just stole my lunch, pup.”
Ah, I’ve been downgraded from street dog to pup. Oh, how the last bit of confidence I have wanes.
“It’s for later,” I say.
“Then at least let me buy something for you that’s a little better than old fries. They weren’t even good fresh, which is why I didn’t eat them.”
He reaches toward me, expecting me to hand over my treasure, but I clutch it against my chest.
“We’re going inside and getting you something better,” he says, and now he isn’t asking me. He reaches out and grabs the sleeve of fries. The back of his hand grazes my breast and elicits a full body shiver I hope he doesn’t notice.
He grabs my hand, encasing it in warmth, then tosses the basket of fries toward a flock of seagulls. They scurry and scream as they swarm what was once so precious to me. Hand in hand, we head toward the mall entrance.
I lift my hood and lower my head as we slip inside. No one seems to notice me, thanks to the tall figure beside me. All eyes go to him. The warmth of the breezeway blows back my hood, exposing my rat’s nest of dark hair.
When I look up at him, he’s smiling at me. Is this what it’s like to be adultnapped? If so, I would have encouraged this outcome sooner.
The food court comes into view, and my worries lessen as the smell of food reaches my nose. For once, I’ll enjoy a meal that wasn’t someone else’s first.
Then I spot the security guard. The one who tossed me out and told me not to come back. And he’s standing right in our path, only twenty feet away. He hasn’t spotted me yet, but he’s bound to if we keep going in this direction.
I have to think of something before I’m embarrassed in front of this guy. But what can I do?