TUESDAY JONES
TUESDAY JONES HADN'T hadn't heard a single thing the teen volunteer said about the TeenCenter since they'd started the tour. Her name was Amie Yung. She was so pretty. And her eyes...he'd never seen eyes like hers. So dark they were like black pearls. They were looking at him with a quizzical expression. "Do you like what you see?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Very much."
Marissa touched his shoulder. "She was talking about the equipment."
"I like her equipment, too."
Amie laughed.
Embarrassment burned up his neck and his cheeks heated. He wasn't some naive idiot. He'd just turned eighteen last week and he knew more about life than most people did if they lived to be a hundred.
He pried his gaze off Amie and managed to look around the room. Bats, basketballs, tennis rackets...they had stuff for any sport ever played. So what?
"Sports is a big part of the center?" asked Marissa.
"Sports is an integral part of our program, but our focus remains on education. We help drop-outs get their GEDs and, depending on what the client wants, we get them enrolled at the community college or get them a job."
"It sounds wonderful. Doesn't it, Tuesday?"
"Yeah. It's great." He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he didn't care. He was here because he needed the money and he wanted to earn it. Stealing Marissa's purse had been a last-minute decision born of desperation. He needed to pay off that asshole, Jeremy.
The thought of the drug dealer sent chills up Tuesday's spine. If his sister, Samantha, hadn't gotten hooked on the crack pipe... She was only sixteen. She'd given up her virginity and her dignity to Jeremy so she could have access to free drugs.
Nothing is free, he'd told her after she'd come to him with a black eye and a cut lip and begged him to help her.
"Tuesday?"
Marissa's soft voice broke through his thoughts and he looked down at her. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'm good. Are we done here?"
Was it his imagination or had Amie's gaze softened with sympathy? He wondered if his despair was evident. Lately, it felt like a palpable thing...crawling over him and threatening to choke him.
"I'll take you back to the counselor's offices. That's where you'll find Dane and Brent."
"Thanks, Amie," said Marissa.
"You're welcome, Miss M."
Marissa grinned. "I like that. What do you think, Tuesday?"
"Right on, Miss M." He couldn't help but match her grin. The woman's naiveté and enthusiasm shone like the sun breaking through the clouds. He liked being part of her adventure. He liked her. Surprise filtered through him. Sheesh. What was up with him? Had he turned into a marshmallow?
"Tell you what. You and Amie go back to Dane. I want to look around some more. I'll meet up with you in about ten minutes," said Marissa.
"Okay. See you in a few."
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HIM ... MICHAEL FEENEY
SHE'D ESCAPED THE hotel fire. He knew she would. If she died, his soul would shrivel and die, too. He felt so restless. So helpless. Why didn't she just come back to him? Didn't he love her? Didn't they have a good life together? Anger cut through him so sharp and so swift, he looked down to see if he was bleeding.
He leaned against the brick building and smoked another cigarette. Across the street was the ugly pink building that housed the Paradise Club. He was hoping she would return. It had been one of their favorite places. Hadn't she run here first? It proved that she still loved him.
Lillie! Anguish crashed through him, mixing with the anger that stabbed at him. He felt like a black flame, dark and hot and needy. The doors to the club opened; a blonde woman stepped out.
Long legs, high breasts, tiny waist, and black vinyl skirt hugging a perfect rear end. His vision blurred, refocused. Lillie? Yes. She'd come back. She wanted him. He flicked away the cigarette and straightened. The woman glanced at her watch then tapped her stiletto-heeled foot in impatience.
She's waiting for me.
He crossed the street, a smile on his face. She watched his approach with anticipation. Of course, she did. She loved him. She looked surprised when he touched her arm. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her around the shoulders and covered her mouth.
"Ssshhh, Lillie," he crooned. Why did she struggle? He dragged her around the corner and into one of the abandoned buildings. The need for her grew warm and heavy in his groin; he pressed his bulging hard-on against her buttocks.
He removed his gloved hand from her mouth and turned her around. "Lillie."
"Look, mister, I'm not Lillie."
"Don't lie to me." He lifted her skirt and felt the smooth silk of her panties. She wasn't wearing hose. She never did. "I know you."
"Please. Don't."
A game. She wanted to play a game. He ripped off the panties. She screamed and tried to claw her way out of his embrace. Her heels caught on debris and she fell backwards. Her beautiful blonde head smacked against the bare concrete floor.
"Sweet Lillie." He leaned over, kissed her smooth cheek, and felt the pulse at her neck. It beat strong against his fingertips. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a long red silk scarf. Gently, he wrapped the material around her slender neck and pulled it tighter and tighter.
"Good night, sweetheart."
***|***|***|***|***
MARISSA VANDERSON
MARISSA STOOD IN Dane's bathroom, looking into the mirror, applying the finishing touch to her make-up: coloring her lips with Kiss-Me red. Marissa smoothed the red dress, though the "slinky little number" as described by the sales clerk, didn't have any wrinkles. She pressed a hand against her stomach to still the nervous fluttering.
Tonight she would have sex.
When Dane had told her Brent would like to take her out, she knew his friend had agreed to accommodate her wishes.
She had to admit that arranging a liaison this way felt cold-blooded. If she were to evaluate her feelings honestly, she feared she wouldn't enjoy her first sexual experience with Brent as much as she would have with Dane.
"Tuesday, where do you think you're going?"