Other Broken Things by C. Desir Read Free Book Online Page A

wrinkles around the eyes, less stubble, whiter teeth. But he is still hot and the idea of kissing him isn’t one of my worst.
    â€œWhen you were in rehab, how far did you get in the Twelve Steps?” he asks, flipping the box of Parliaments over and over.
    â€œWell, they fast-track you in there, you know? So I’m at like Eleven.”
    His gaze bores into me. “Step Eleven? Really?”
    I pick up the second biscuit and take a small bite, licking my fingers afterward and watching him for a reaction. Nada. “Are you gay?”
    He grabs my wrist and I drop the biscuit. Whoa. Kind of strong. “I’m not gay. I’m not getting involved with a teenager. Stop licking your hands. Stop trying to mess with me. It will not work.”
    â€œSheesh. Okay then.”
    We sit in silence for a few minutes, until it is painfully awkward, so I pop up and grab my purse. “This has been . . . whatever. So, I guess I’ll see you, Joe.”
    And because I can and because I’m sort of pissed, I snatch his box of Parliaments and shove them in my purse before heading out.
    â€œStep Four, Natalie. Go back to Step Four,” he calls after me.
    I lift my hand over my head without looking back and flip him off. Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. Step Four, my ass.
    *  *  *
    Brent is waiting outside my house when I get home. Fucking great.
    â€œWhat’s your problem, Nat?” he says as I lock my car door and take a step toward the house. He steps in front of me, steering me halfway down the block and into his car.
    When he gets in the driver’s side, I turn to him with a bland expression. “I thought I made myself clear the other day.”
    â€œWell, I thought we had a thing. An arrangement or whatever.” He’s pouting. I can’t believe I ever thought this guy was hot. He’s like a little boy.
    â€œYou mean when I get hammered, then suck you off? That stellar arrangement?”
    He actually has the balls to blush. “It wasn’t only about that.”
    â€œYeah. It kind of was. And frankly, the novelty of it wore off when I got sober.”
    He shakes his head. “Don’t pull that shit on me. You’re sober now . I guarantee next year, next month probably, you’ll be back to partying. It’s who you are. And I, for one, don’t mind that girl. I don’t want you to be anyone else. I take you one hundred percent at face value.”
    â€œWell, that is a thing, I guess. But you know, B, I’m not sure I liked that girl.”
    This is actually the truth. It wasn’t just feeling like shit hungover or needing a water bottle full of orange juice and vodka to make it through my classes. It was everything. It was sort of a project, partying all the time. An exhausting project. I miss the numbness of drinking pretty fierce, but I don’t miss the BS drama around it. The constant figuring out how to drink more, how to slip past my parents unnoticed, how to get home from a kegger when everyone was too loaded to drive. Or the endless texts from Amy and Amanda about whose parents were gone and who has a fake ID. It was all more a pain in the ass than anything.
    And surprise, surprise, I got out of rehab and no one really gives a shit about me anyway. Except my Christmas Nazi mom. And Brent, who wants to rehash a bunch of shit. My friends are people who got loaded with me, and when I came back with a court card and a piss test requirement, I’ve become less fun to them. They’re around still, and they wouldn’t care if I hung out with them, as long as I didn’t kill their buzz.
    But Brent’s trying and I feel kind of bad about him now. I touch his cheek and he leans forward to kiss me but I stop him. “You’re not a complete prick. I just can’t get back into it with you, you know?”
    He slides his hand around the nape of my neck and pulls me