Twelve of Roses

The rumor mill made up of childish, cunty bitches had recently discovered my past, and they antagonized me whenever they got the chance.

Their cruel words tore at old scabs until puss spilled out and reminded me of everything I was struggling to forget. The only reason I decided to finally venture out into reality was because it was eleven-thirty at night, and I was craving a cold root beer something fierce.

Since Grandpa was out playing cards, I was left with no other choice than to take Big Rusty. The truck had earned that name through and through. It was a 1984 Ford pickup the color of mineral dirt, with a broken gas gauge and over three hundred something thousand miles. It’d stopped keeping track four years ago, according to Grandpa.

Armed with two couch pillows to help me see over the dash, I walked towards the massive truck, prepared to conquer the beast. I climbed in and adjusted everything so I wouldn’t kill myself out on the road.

With a few quick pumps on the gas pedal he started right up, and I was well on my way to obtaining my refreshment. Twelve minutes later, I immediately regretted my sudden lapse in judgment.

The entire parking lot of the tiny twenty-four hour convenience store was full, people hanging out like it was the hottest night club.

“Seriously?” I sighed and parked as far from the entrance as possible, eyeing the glass doors like I was on a covert ops mission. This was what they all did for fun?

After mentally preparing myself to be leered at by the girls whose denim miniskirts barely covered their asses, and to navigate the murky crowd of fuckboys, I hopped out and quickly made my way across the parking lot.

Eyes trained on the ground.

Chin tucked to my chest.

I made it without incident, and, fortunately for me, the inside of the store was a lot less crowded than the out. I paid zero attention to my surroundings and went straight to the drinks machine, going for the mighty cup that would hold the most soda.

I was firmly in my own zone, happily minding my business, when someone stepped up beside me. From my periphery, I saw a short-sleeve black t-shirt and a large forearm that had been kissed by the sun. He smelled freaking amazing.

The watch on his wrist told me exactly who he was without me having to look at his face. He lived directly across the street from my grandfather, in a ridiculously huge log cabin style house.

I was a little creeper who stared at the man—because Constantine was most definitely not a boy—whenever I got the chance.

Con had a classic lime green muscle car he worked on in his garage. I may or may not have stayed up well past midnight on multiple occasions to get a glimpse of him shirtless and underneath its hood. That’s what made this encounter ten times more awkward. I was positive he’d caught me doing just that the night before.

I almost sighed in relief when the sweet sugary liquid reached the cup’s limit and I was able to move on.

“Excuse me,” I hummed, reaching over to grab a plastic top, staring at the lid holder like it had stolen something from me. Just as I finished clamping the top down and went to turn away, he spoke up.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say you were purposely not looking at me, Rosie.” Amusement colored his tone, and I realized two things at once.

1: His voice was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my life.

2: He had definitely seen me the night before.

Fuck. My. Life.

“Are you saying you want me to look at you?” Smooth, Roselynn, you fucking loser.

“You’re the best looking girl in this town. I feel honored that you noticed me.”

My God, that was the cheesiest, most cliché thing a guy could say, but because Constantine Burrows said it, it was golden. I had to play it cool, though.

“That’s kind of shallow. There’s more to me than my looks.” And with that, I popped the end of a bendy straw in my mouth and walked away from him, mentally high fiving myself. I had never spoken to him other than a simple hello in passing; I felt a small sense of victory for not falling at his booted feet.

“Juicy, huh?” he said with a chuckle.

The sound sent a ripple right down my spine. Without acknowledging his strange reply, I went and got in line.

It wasn’t until he stepped up behind me that I realized what he meant. My entire body heated to a record-breaking degree, sending a bright flush across my cheeks. Juicy was the faded word scrawled on the ass part of my pink shorts. I’d had them since middle school, and they still fit. Why get rid of a perfect pair of sleepers?