Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Veronica Larsen
finds me suspicious. Before I know what I'm doing, I've made my way over to sit down beside her.
I don't look at her and instead stare out at the road, at the cars and—through the gaps in between—at the trolley coming to a stop across the road.
Beside me, the woman clutches the worn backpack on her lap, like she thinks I'm going to yank it from her and run.
Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. "What are you doing?"
I'm guessing not very many people approach her, but sitting beside her feels like the most natural place for me today.
"I'm so fucked."
I hear myself say the words, but even then, I'm not sure if the sound is coming from inside or outside of my head.
She throws her head back and laughs, a deep throaty laugh. "What's the matter, little girl?"
Well, she did ask…
"I'm losing my apartment because I couldn't be bothered to check my stupid mail. Wouldn't be so bad except I got myself fired so I can't exactly take on rent until I—"
"Got any change?" the woman calls out to someone else walking past. It's a lady pushing a baby stroller and she shoots me a quick, sideways look.
"…until I can find another job," I finish.
My bench-mate looks down her nose at me, a clear sign that my problems don't impress her.
"Listen, little girl, you need to get the fuck off my bench. You're scaring away my money."
"Seriously?" I start laughing, so forcefully that I'm nearly choking on it.
This is how I lost my job. Saying the wrong things. Laughing at the wrong times.
The woman eyes me, half smiling, half grimacing, like she smells something nasty or perhaps senses I'm bat-shit crazy.
"I'm not kidding," she says. "You need to get the fuck off my bench."
"Fine." I get up and smooth out my pants, though obviously I've got nowhere important to go and it doesn't matter if my clothes are wrinkled. "You're fucking rude—" Another car horn blares and I bite back the urge to argue with her, realizing she's not the source of my frustration.
Here I am standing beside a woman who's clutching everything she owns on her lap and I'm complaining to her? This has to be the lowest I've sunk today.
Maybe ever.
And yet, standing in front of her makes me realize some key things. I'm not homeless. I'm not broke. I still have so much. I have my degree. My health. I've got a car. A really nice fucking car that can take me away to my safety net. My sister. I'm privileged to have fallen and not hit rock bottom.
"Thanks for the pep talk," I say. I mean it. She's pulled me out of my pity fest, flooded me with a sense of gratitude for everything I still have.
"Got any change?" the woman blurts out just as I turn to walk away.
I pull out a fifty-dollar bill, two twenties, and four ones from my wallet. It's all I have on me at the moment. "Do you have change for a fifty?"
A redheaded woman marching past shoots me a disapproving look, not realizing I'm kidding. I wave away her concern, saying, "It's okay, we're friends."
Red increases her pace without looking back. I don't blame her. Folding the bills in half, I hand them to the homeless woman, whose jaw drops.
"Damn, girl. Thanks," she says, counting the cash with a huge grin on her face. "Hope you get your shit together real soon."
Yeah, me too.
CHAPTER FIVE
The scent of new leather and polished wood paneling fills my lungs. This car smells like luxury and drives like it too. It's last year's BMW 4-Series, black with tan interior, and it drives the way cutting through butter feels. This baby melts under me, responds to the smallest of movements, and has enough buttons and blinking lights to set up a mission to space. And I have no idea how much longer I'll be able to afford it, the only luxury in my otherwise student-loan-fueled austerity.
Frowning in this car is something I never thought possible. But that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm frowning as I drive over the Oakland Bridge and leave San Francisco, altogether. I have a long ride ahead
I don't look at her and instead stare out at the road, at the cars and—through the gaps in between—at the trolley coming to a stop across the road.
Beside me, the woman clutches the worn backpack on her lap, like she thinks I'm going to yank it from her and run.
Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. "What are you doing?"
I'm guessing not very many people approach her, but sitting beside her feels like the most natural place for me today.
"I'm so fucked."
I hear myself say the words, but even then, I'm not sure if the sound is coming from inside or outside of my head.
She throws her head back and laughs, a deep throaty laugh. "What's the matter, little girl?"
Well, she did ask…
"I'm losing my apartment because I couldn't be bothered to check my stupid mail. Wouldn't be so bad except I got myself fired so I can't exactly take on rent until I—"
"Got any change?" the woman calls out to someone else walking past. It's a lady pushing a baby stroller and she shoots me a quick, sideways look.
"…until I can find another job," I finish.
My bench-mate looks down her nose at me, a clear sign that my problems don't impress her.
"Listen, little girl, you need to get the fuck off my bench. You're scaring away my money."
"Seriously?" I start laughing, so forcefully that I'm nearly choking on it.
This is how I lost my job. Saying the wrong things. Laughing at the wrong times.
The woman eyes me, half smiling, half grimacing, like she smells something nasty or perhaps senses I'm bat-shit crazy.
"I'm not kidding," she says. "You need to get the fuck off my bench."
"Fine." I get up and smooth out my pants, though obviously I've got nowhere important to go and it doesn't matter if my clothes are wrinkled. "You're fucking rude—" Another car horn blares and I bite back the urge to argue with her, realizing she's not the source of my frustration.
Here I am standing beside a woman who's clutching everything she owns on her lap and I'm complaining to her? This has to be the lowest I've sunk today.
Maybe ever.
And yet, standing in front of her makes me realize some key things. I'm not homeless. I'm not broke. I still have so much. I have my degree. My health. I've got a car. A really nice fucking car that can take me away to my safety net. My sister. I'm privileged to have fallen and not hit rock bottom.
"Thanks for the pep talk," I say. I mean it. She's pulled me out of my pity fest, flooded me with a sense of gratitude for everything I still have.
"Got any change?" the woman blurts out just as I turn to walk away.
I pull out a fifty-dollar bill, two twenties, and four ones from my wallet. It's all I have on me at the moment. "Do you have change for a fifty?"
A redheaded woman marching past shoots me a disapproving look, not realizing I'm kidding. I wave away her concern, saying, "It's okay, we're friends."
Red increases her pace without looking back. I don't blame her. Folding the bills in half, I hand them to the homeless woman, whose jaw drops.
"Damn, girl. Thanks," she says, counting the cash with a huge grin on her face. "Hope you get your shit together real soon."
Yeah, me too.
CHAPTER FIVE
The scent of new leather and polished wood paneling fills my lungs. This car smells like luxury and drives like it too. It's last year's BMW 4-Series, black with tan interior, and it drives the way cutting through butter feels. This baby melts under me, responds to the smallest of movements, and has enough buttons and blinking lights to set up a mission to space. And I have no idea how much longer I'll be able to afford it, the only luxury in my otherwise student-loan-fueled austerity.
Frowning in this car is something I never thought possible. But that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm frowning as I drive over the Oakland Bridge and leave San Francisco, altogether. I have a long ride ahead
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