Page 24 of Up in Smoke
Chapter Ten
The first time Erin was in Dade Correctional, one of the guards had taken a shine to her. If groping her every time he did a bed check counted as “a shine.” Greasy Gunther, the other inmates used to call him. It would have eventually gone further if she hadn’t blown that Popsicle stand when she did. Gunther had even warned her he would find a way to get her alone. That warning had been an impetus for her to plot escape. She hadn’t known how she would react if a man forced himself on her. Would she freeze up at the sensation of hands on her body? Would her fight-or-flight instinct kick in? The unknown wasn’t good enough, so she’d gotten out of Gunther’s reach before he could extend it.
Even the other guards had been aware of his fascination with her. They would rib him every time she passed by in the yard, elbowing him and reminding him he was married while he ogled her, adjusted himself in his trousers. One afternoon in the cafeteria, Gunther had gotten bold and pinched her ass while she stood in line for food. His guard buddy had come up behind them and muttered, “Man, you’ve always had a thing for crazy pussy, haven’t you? It’s going to get you into trouble someday.”
She hadn’t been offended, mainly because she’d erected a shield that caused everything the guards said to bounce off. But she’d never forgotten that statement. She’d let it settle in her mind and she’d played with it, wondering if it were true. If her personality, which seemed to send most men packing with a quickness, could attract a different type at the same time. If a certain amount of them sensed something inside her and were attracted by it, rather than repelled. When she’d experimented with sexbefore…before she’d been cast into the darkness…she’d learned the answer quickly enough. Three men had approached her at a bar, one asking if he could buy her a drink. Her reply had been, “Sure. Petrol, please. Unleaded.”
Two had walked away laughing and shaking their heads. The third had stepped closer.
She was still waiting for her Nobel Peace Prize to show up in the mail.
The handful of men she’d tested herself with hadn’t been turned off by her strict instructions not to touch her during sex; they’d been turned on. There wasn’t anything too odd for these guys. They soaked up crazy like a sponge.
There had been a brief moment when she met Connor where she wondered if he was one of those men. The kind who seemed to get off on the experience of a girl who could either blow your mind or blow you away, depending on her mood. She hadn’t wondered for a second since. Connor didn’t look at her as if she were an exhibit at the zoo. A strange and exotic bird. No, he looked as if he wanted to climb into the exhibit with her, find out how to adapt.
Erin felt a sudden dose of yearning as she approached the entrance to Hanover’s Tavern. She wished she’d been strong enough to walk into the prison with Connor. Wished he stood beside her now, warm and steadfast. Instead she was getting ready to go another round of testing on her Crazy Pussy theory by walking into a bar and seeing what information she could glean through the prison workers she’d been told frequented the place. Being that Hanover’s was only four blocks from Cook County DOC and screameddivewith its neon beer signs and rickety awning, she knew the type who would be on the other side of the door. Greasy Gunthers aplenty.
She took a deep breath before opening the door, focusing on the smooth feel of the switchblade in her high-top. The matches in her pocket. If she concentrated on those comforting objects, maybe she could block the foreign guilt over walking into a room very likely full of other men. Men she would flirt with to get information. Connor’s head would explode. But she couldn’t sit around and be useless to the squad. If she didn’t have the steady job and Derek to vouch for her sanity, her stepfather would pounce. What Connor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Erin ignored the certainty that he would somehow know what she’d been up to and pushed open the door. Every head in the place turned in her direction before she’d taken two steps inside. Oh yeah, she’d come to the right place. Half of them were still in their uniforms, nightsticks and all. The other half had the tired, jaded look sported by most corrections officers. If anyone knew how Tucker May had escaped Cook County, these guys would. Secrets didn’t stay secrets over too many beers and a desire to stay away from their wives, lives, and responsibilities.
Lights, camera, crazy.She giggled and ducked her head, beelining for the bar. The bartender froze in the act of changing the channel on the ancient television over his head and looked her over with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She hooked her foot in the rung of a stool and leaned over the bar, knowing every set of male eyes was trained on her ass. “Hey, mister.” A Southern twang, huh? Why not? “I got separated from my tour group. Would you let me use your phone? I left my purse on the bus. As far as tourists go, I’m hopeless.”
His mustache twitched. “You got ID?”
“No, sir, I don’t.” She bit her bottom lip and tilted her head. “Wouldn’t help much if I did. I’m not old enough to drink just yet. Two more years.”
Two low curses behind her. A few chairs scraped back, probably to get a better look. God, how predictable. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and give them the double middle finger, but she had a job to do. Phase one of which was to convince the bartender to let her stay. Obviously he was the type who ran when he saw her kind approaching.
Smart man.
He sighed and reached behind the cash register, closing his hands around a black cordless phone. “Make your call. You want a soda or something?”
She scrunched up her shoulders like she couldn’t believe she was getting a drink in such a fine establishment. “A Shirley Temple, maybe?” She tossed her hair and sent the four men behind her a conspiratorial look. “Something with a cherry.”
With that blatant innuendo, she thinned the herd by half, several men suddenly enthralled by their pints of beer. Weird. Usually more men folded under the pressure of a virgin, worried about the cling factor. Must be the tight jeans.
Time to up the ante. She dialed seven numbers on the phone, making sure the last button she hit was “clear.” No reason to traumatize some stranger who had the misfortune of answering this call. She reached into her pocket to pay the bartender for the Shirley Temple he’d just set down in front of her, but he waved her off, indicating a burly man who’d just sidled up to the bar a few seats down. Burly Dude winked to let her know he’d bought the drink.What a high roller. Erin smiled back at him, drumming her fingernails on the bar as she waited for her imaginary call to connect.
“Henry, is that you?” She said into the phone. “I can’t believe you ditched me again. Don’t tell me it’s an accident. It’s the third time this week you’ve gone off without me. Withher.”
Burlykins moved a little closer, inching his rocks glass full of amber liquid across the bar. He feigned interest in the baseball game playing on the television, but she could tell he was listening to her conversation. Hanging on to what probably used to be a decently handsome face, she put him in his late forties. A white tan line on his ring finger indicated he was recently divorced or removed it with the sole intent of approaching her. Fucking with him ought to be fun.
“This is because I won’t put out, isn’t it?” Erin whispered furiously into the phone. “She’s easy, isn’t she? Are you back at the hotel right now getting ready to—” She wiped at her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I’ll give it up to someoneelse… Yeah, today is a good a day as any. Maybe even the next man I see. Think about that while you’re with her. I hope it was worth it.”
She ended the phony call with a flourish and sipped at her Shirley Temple. Under her breath, she recited back both ends of the conversation to herself, complete with hand gestures.
“Boyfriend trouble?”
Ahhh, right on cue, douche bag.“Yeah,” she answered sullenly. “Actually, I doubt he’s my boyfriend anymore. Think maybe he’s found someone else.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “He must be blind.”
She pressed a hand to her cheek as if to hide a blush. “Or just stupid.”
They shared a laugh and he moved closer, right to the point she could handle. Any farther and she’d have to make an excuse to distance herself. The switchblade felt heavy against her ankle. His gaze lingered on her exposed belly as he sipped his drink. “You want to talk about it?”
“Oh, you know.” She fished the cherry out of her drink. “He thinks because he’s loaded and lives off campus that every girl should fall at his feet. Give it up on the first date. I told him he had to work a little harder for it.” Slowly and deliberately, she bit into the cherry. “I guess I’m kind of a tease.”
