Cherry Pie by Samantha Kane Read Free Book Online

a chair and sat down at the big kitchen table. It was bright red. Conn loved that damn table. It was so John. Trying so hard to be country and traditional but just not quite making it.
    “How old are you?” Conn asked. He sat down at the table opposite John. He was curious. He’d guessed around late thirties, early forties. But the hair had fooled him. He’d been looking at John more and more the last couple of weeks, and his face didn’t seem so old. And he had a killer body, lean and toned, not an ounce of fat on him. He liked to eat—Conn knew that—but he worked pretty hard around the house. He looked like he was a runner, but he hadn’t run since Conn had gotten here.
    John squinted at him and pursed his lips. “I’m thirty-five, and stop trying to change the subject.”
    “How’d you get so rich?” Conn asked, ignoring the last part of John’s answer.
    John looked as if he weren’t going to answer, but changed his mind. “You ever hear of Town Square? The Internet game?”
    Conn nodded as he took a drink. He set the can down on a placemat. He’d noticed that John would come and move the can if he set it on the wood. He learned quickly. “I never played it. Never had a computer or anything to play it on, but I’ve seen people play it. Damn near everyone on the planet plays it, I hear. You play?”
    John shook his head. “Nope. I created it.”
    Conn’s eyes went wide. “No shit.”
    John nodded. “No shit.” He put his beer down on the table. “How’d you know I was rich?”
    “You don’t work.” Conn shrugged. “You don’t seem to care about money one way or the other. Only really rich people can live like that.”
    “Well, I’m really rich. Which is why you should have let me buy you more clothes today.”
    Conn frowned at him. “I don’t need any more. A couple pair of shorts, my jeans, a few T-shirts. I’m good.”
    “Exactly two pair of the cheapest shorts you could find at the freaking dollar store. Hello? Dollar store?” John shook his head. “And a five-pack of white undershirts. Oh, and you generously allowed me to buy you a matching pack of boxers.”
    Conn couldn’t stop the grin that escaped. “You insisted on socks too. Don’t forget the socks.”
    “How could I forget the socks?” John answered with a thump to his forehead. He smiled softly at Connor. “Okay, enough procrastinating. Your turn.”
    Conn leaned his elbows on the table and turned the Coke can in circles between his hands. “I was an addict. You name it, I probably tried it. Although I couldn’t tell you for sure because most of the time I didn’t bother to ask what they were giving me, as long it made me forget my name.”
    “That doesn’t sound like the guy sitting in front of me.” There was no censure in John’s words, just a statement.
    Conn sat back and drummed his thumbs on his thighs. “It wasn’t. That guy is gone. For good.”
    “Okay, good to know.” John took a sip of beer, leaning toward Conn, his elbows on the table. “But you don’t go to jail for being an addict.”
    Conn laughed humorlessly. “Oh, yes, you do. Maybe not for being one, but for possession. Georgia does not like drug addicts.”
    “Where in Georgia? Atlanta?” John sat back, mirroring Conn’s position. “Start from the beginning.”
    “Yeah, Atlanta. I got a football scholarship to Georgia Tech. Blew my knee out in the second game my freshman year. Lost football scholarship.” He waved good-bye. “Bye-bye, Georgia Tech. Hello, pain pills. And lots of them.”
    “Ah,” John said as he nodded. “How long?”
    “Before I moved from pain pills to the heavier stuff? A couple of years. I got some shit jobs and still had a few contacts on the team to get pills for a couple of years. But the more pills I took, the fewer jobs. Funny how that works.” Conn took a deep breath and blew it out roughly. “So I started paying with other things.”
    John just sat there watching him, the look on his face