Darkest Perception_A Dark and Mind-Blowing Steamy Romance by Shari J. Ryan

Author:Shari J. Ryan [Ryan, Shari J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shari J. Ryan
Published: 2018-05-15T03:00:00+00:00

Ten Months Earlier

Everett pulls up in front of the unemployment building in his beat up Civic, blasting some techno crap I’ve always hated. I whip open the passenger-side door and slide inside. "Thanks for coming to get me, man."

Everett places his hand on my shoulder and looks at me with sincerity. "We have no family, so we stick together, bro." I appreciate what he's saying. We've both had a shitty road, found each other in our last foster house when we were seventeen, lived there for about a year, then moved out within a month of each other since we both turned eighteen around the same time. That’s when we tried to figure out life on our own. It was a bumpy road for both of us, but seven years later, we're still standing somehow. "You're wasting no time, huh?" he asks, looking past me toward the unemployment building.

"I have no time to waste. I already have an interview set up for six tonight."

"No shit," he says, pulling out into the slowly moving traffic.

"Yeah, I don't know about it, but we'll see. Finding a job should be interesting since I’m twenty-seven, spent the last two years in a prison setting, and stupidly job hopped for seven years before that."

"Well, I hope you get it." Everett is a compulsive driver, checking every mirror over and over so many times, I wonder if he ever looks at the road in front of him.

"Is someone following you?" I ask. Regardless of the OCD nature in which he’s always driven, he seems paranoid, and that part is unlike him. "You didn't get into some kind of trouble while I was gone, did you?"

"Nah, nah, it’s all good." He's a lying fool.

We get to his pad and hike up the three flights of stairs before he shoves a key into his lock, then punches the heels of his palms into the door so it will open. The sound of metal scratching metal screams loudly within the hall as the door flies inward. "Some WD-40 will take care of that," I tell him.

"Yeah," he grunts. "I’ll get to it." We walk inside, and I was completely unaware that he’s living in a studio apartment now. "This is my place."

"It's nice, bro, real nice." I'll claim that one bare spot on the floor over there and hope it isn't reserved for someone else.

"There's a couch you can take," he says, pointing across the room. I look in the direction he's pointing at, but I don't see a couch, so I glance back at him with a question. "It's just under those boxes and shit."

Everett. Some things will never change. As I'm walking toward the heap of trash sitting on an apparent couch, the time on the microwave catches my eye. I had no clue how late in the day it already is. I only have a little over an hour before I need to get my ass back downtown for the interview.

I look down at what I'm wearing, while tossing some of his boxes to the side.

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