Page 3 of Pocketful of Shame

"Be normal?" he cut in, sounding amused. "Sounds painstakingly unimpressive, don’t you think?"

"No," I countered, gritting my teeth. "Normal sounds like heaven right about now."

"Liar." Reaching into his faithful bookbag, he retrieved a packet of peanut M&Ms. "Besides," he continued, popping a brown one into his mouth. "I wouldn’t be on this trip, effectively saving yourbeloved Ramonafrom the clutches of her evil daddy's dirty money, if I was, as you so-aptly put it,normal." He choked out a soft laugh and shook his head. "Hell to theno. If my level of common sense mirrored my intelligence quotient, I would be safely tucked far,faraway from your crazy fucking families." He sighed dramatically. "Alas, I am loyal to a fault." He glanced sideways at me. "No doubt it will be my downfall."

I frowned. "Dirty money?"

Presley snorted. "Well, yes, Simba, his dirty money. Don't tell me you think men as powerful as Cal and your father got to where they are in life without dipping their toes in murky waters?"

"No, I don’t think that, and stop calling me Simba," I snapped, tightening my hand around the wheel until my knuckles turned white. "Don’t ever fucking call me that again."

"Sure thing," he replied, munching happily on his M&Ms like he didn’t have a care in the world. He did. We all did. "Whatever you say, buddy."

"I'm not your buddy, Quinton," I growled. "We're not friends, so don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Try to substitute Chris with me," I bit out. "You've been doing it since we got on the road Monday night. I'm nothing like him, the whole town knows that, and if you try, you'll only end up disappointed."

"Good grief." He let out a whistle. "That damn chip on your shoulder must be weighing you down something fierce." Turning in his seat, he gave me his full attention. "We were friends once, too, or have you forgotten that?"

"No," I corrected with a growl. "You were Chris's friend. I have my own damn friends."

"Teammates and people who don’t know a thing about you?" he shot back. "Ah, yes, I can see the attraction of surrounding yourself with strangers. They don’t know the real you so they can't hurt you when they leave, or worse, are taken from you." He smiled sadly. "Gotta say, you've built some mighty fine walls around that broken heart of yours, Sketch. Hell, I don’t blame you. Given your tumultuous start in life, I'd be wary of affection, too. It's human survival in its most primal form."

"Fuck you, Pres," I spat defensively. "You don’t know shit about me."

"I know you're getting angry because I've hit a nerve," he offered. "And don’t worry, I'll drop it, but just know that Iwasyour friend, too."

"What, you were my friend like she was my girlfriend? Yeah, I think we all know how that turned out," I sneered and then quickly shook my head, furious with myself for thinking about it. "Forget it," I muttered, bristling. "It's done with."

"Damn, you got burned so badly that you'restillon fire," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Does Romi know the truth yet?" he asked. "About how her dad forced you to break up with her?"

I stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, Sketch," he said in an exasperated tone. "Give it up, dude. It's so fricking obvious. Romi's old man hates your guts. Always has. There's no other explanation for your breakup. You wouldn’t have left her if your hands weren't tied. Besides, your two-week stint in the hospital on the run up to your breakup was pretty self-explanatory. Cal messed you up good, huh?"

"No," I replied after a long pause, deciding against denying it. There was no point. It was quite apparent that Presley knew more about my life than I did. "Romi doesn’t know anything about it."

"Don’t you think it's about time she learns the truth?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"No?" He cocked a brow. "Care to explain your thought process?"

"Because I don’twantto tell her, Presley," I snapped. "Because it won't change a thing. It won't make a difference. It won't change the past."Or the fact that she got with my brother."It's done with. End of conversation."

"Just to be clear," he started, holding up a finger. "When you sayend of conversation, do you mean the end of our Romi conversation, or the end of all topics of conversation, period?"

"Shut up."

"Sketch?"

"Shut up, Presley."

"Are you mad now or something?"

"Goddammit, Pres, shut the hell up!"

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