Millie @millie-multifics - Tumblr Blog

Karma - Part 8

Masterlist

paring: andrew pope cody/stripper!reader tags: 18+, starts in s1, slow burn, implied age gap, no use of y/n, implied stalking. customer service. reader has fake names, a large family (but reference to deceased parents), and a past (that is catching up). medical inaccuracies. canon-typical violence. mental health issues. no smut for this part. awkwardness? should probably be its own warning. wc: 11k (shh i cut a scene, you'll get it later) an: another talking chapter... written and re-written and I think I'm happy with it now. thank you so much for all the kind words and support for this fic. it really means a lot to me :)

summary: Who says you can’t meet the love of your life in a strip club dressing room after his brother paid another girl a thousand bucks to wish him a happy birthday? Okay, so he’s a bit strange and he might be stalking you and his mother is terrifying and you’re really just trying to make enough money for rent and tuition without getting into any kind of trouble, but on the bright side, at least he’s not a cop.

Karma - Part 8 - [AO3 LINK]

“…and I was like, okay, you can snort of my tits, but I don’t want that stuff in my hair, and he’s got long hair too, so…”

Jenna’s voice drifted in and out of earshot, even if she sat in the driver’s seat right next to you. Already over seventy degrees early in the morning, it looked to be an unusually warm day for Oceanside and you had rolled the windows down to alleviate some of the stifling heat that the AC of Jenna’s compact car could not manage. The wind whipped into the cabin and occasionally drowned out Jenna’s words completely like weather-appointed censoring; the universe cherry-picking which one of her sordid details you unwillingly committed to memory.

The world felt different in the light of a new day, and the warm beams of sunshine stretching across the coastal desert landscape helped eradicate the lingering remnants of paranoia. An impressive feat, considering it had almost run you out of town yesterday. Now, the combined forces of a beautiful Californian day, a cute weather-appropriate outfit, and Jenna’s unbridled optimism made it hard to remember why you had been on edge in the first place.

Tuning out Jenna’s play-by-play commentary of her date last night, you tried to surreptitiously count through the money in your purse again. The downside of working as a stripper meant that all the small denominations produced an uncomfortably thick stack of bills. So thick it now made your old-school coin purse almost burst at the seams and you struggled to keep it all in hand while counting. You had discreetly excavated your stash from its hiding place yesterday while Pope busied himself with the window, as you would need most of it to pay for all the books and equipment today. There had not been time to count it last night, but now you did and… well, you didn’t exactly come up short.

You counted through the money again — the crinkled bills shuffling between your fingers and some worn corners flapping in the wind. It had not been an exaggeration yesterday that you were good with numbers and right now they were not adding up.

“…stuff turns to, like, rubber cement in the shower, you know? Right? Hey. Babe?” Jenna’s voice came stronger and more exasperated, as she took her eyes off the road to look your way. “Are you listening to a single word I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied distractedly and flipped your fingers through the bills again. “It’s because of the protein. Use cold water and scrape it off.”

“Duh, I know, I’m not an amateur. And you shouldn’t frown like that, it’ll give you that ugly wrinkle that’s a hard fix even with Botox. What’s the deal? You got a bad bill in there or something? Suspicious stains, now that we’re on the topic?”

“Eyes on the road, please,” you admonished and automatically pulled your purse away when Jenna tried to lean over the console to see, sending an avalanche of lip balms tumbling to the floor.

The interior of her car was a stark contrast to Pope’s truck, and you had shifted an armful of empty water bottles, sandy flip-flops and bright candy bar wrappers to the back before catching a glimpse of the passenger seat. An assortment of eyeliners and mascaras laid scattered in the console, along with bobby pins and various coins while a column of multi-colored hair ties swaddled the gear stick. The whole car smelled vaguely like the strip club dressing room, only with the added undertones of sunscreen, even with the windows open.

“I read somewhere that three out of four banknotes test positive for traces of cocaine,” Jenna continued conversationally, but with her main focus back on the road. “And that one in ten carried fecal contamination.”

You paused where you counted through the stack and grimaced. “How can you know this,” dropping the cash you grabbed some wet wipes to clean your hands, “and still put twenties up your nose to snort coke?”

“Oh, excuse me, which one of us are getting bills shoved into who-knows-where by god-knows-who?” Jenna’s manicured finger nails waved around where she emphasized her words with her hands. “Besides, I put a lot of things up a lot of places trying not to think of where it’s been before. Seriously, though, what’s the deal? Someone got into your stash again?”

“Uh, I’m not sure,” you admitted honestly and resisted the urge to do another quick tally. “I probably just miscounted it earlier this week or I’m remembering it wrong or something. No big deal.”

“But you’re like Rain Man—”

“I’m not like Rain Man.”

“Hello, your favorite party trick used to be memorizing phone numbers!” Jenna pointed out, and you rolled your eyes again, glaring out the window because you knew she had a point. “Your math is always solid.”

“Yeah, but I’ve had a busy week and been stressed out a lot. There’s probably something I’ve forgotten about.”

“Okay, but are we talking, like, a little treat or a full-blown late-night munchies takeout sesh? How much is missing?”

“Nothing,” you said and shrugged at Jenna’s perplexed expression. “There’s more money in here than I thought.”

“Oh, woe is you,” Jenna exclaimed with an extensive eye roll that pushed her fake lashes to her eyebrows. “Anyway, as I was saying, he’s sharing a bathroom with his brother, so while we were going at it in the shower, we…”

Despite doing your best to listen to her, you could not help but glance at your overstuffed coin purse again. The numbers flittered across your retina like the increasingly larger houses you drove past now. Adding all the cash tips from your jobs, subtracting all expenditures you could remember, you still came up with almost four hundred dollars less than what you had found in your stash.

The plausible explanation was what you had told Jenna. It had been a busy week; you had been under a lot of stress, and you had forgotten about a shift at the club or something. It sounded more reasonable than someone taking the effort to locate your very well hidden stash to add money, anyway.

You gnawed at your lip and watched the large houses give way to tall fences as Jenna drove into a richer neighborhood. Over-trusting as you might be, the math did not lie and Pope rarely cared about being reasonable.

Except he had not had the opportunity to find your stash or add anything to it. Last night, he had been with you the whole time. Or busy fixing the window while you zipped around the apartment to pack down everything you needed. No, it had to be your paranoia again, making you misremember how much was in here when you last counted it a few days ago.

The same paranoia that had made you pack enough to be able to stay with Jenna for a few days. The shooting at the club had turned out to be a coincidence, and the same probably went for that guy asking around for a stripper called Destiny. And whoever the landlord claimed he had seen hanging around the apartment complex. All coincidences that still made your hands clench into fists at just the thought of being alone right now.

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, which admittedly also made your hands clench into fists, you wanted to be with Pope.

The number saved on your phone rested in your heart like a promise. You didn’t know how long you had laid in Jenna’s spare bedroom last night while trying to get comfortable on the unfamiliar floral-scented sheets. Just staring and staring and staring at your phone and the name ‘Andrew’. Not Pope. Andrew.

Your finger had hovered over the call-button, imagining what it would be like if you pushed it. Daydreaming like a lovesick school-girl about what he would sound like picking up and about calling him at some point long before Monday. Maybe confessing about the guy your landlord claimed was hanging around your apartment, or finding something else that required his help somehow. Something that constituted an emergency beyond that you simply wanted to be with him.

Except he had made his predicament clear. Whatever was going on with his family or with him, he didn’t want you near it. A clear divide between his real life and the fantasy he entertained at the club. Which was fine. Really. He sought you out when he needed something, be it medical advice or whatever he got out of watching you dance or … what had he said that first time you met him? A nice conversation?

And in return, he paid you. A lot. A lot more than he needed, to be honest. And he treated you with nothing but kindness and respect. And he used his own body to shield you from literal gunshots without a second of hesitation. And said he would never let anything happen to you. None of which was typical in platonic relationships between service providers and customers.

Then why hadn’t he kissed you last night? Why had he asked about signs?

Jenna’s exasperated voice brought you back to reality. “Come on, babe, stop frowning! I told you, the glabella muscle takes, like, at least twenty-five units of Botox to really fix. And with fifteen bucks per unit, that’s—”

“Three hundred seventy-five bucks.”

“—not in your budget, but okay, Rain Man,” Jenna finished and rolled on the steering wheel to take a left turn up a side road. “Although I do know this girl who works at a clinic who can probably get you a really good discount if you drop my name at her. What’s up? Are you, like, solving equations in your head and stuff?”

“No, just trying to figure something out,” you mumbled, secretly wishing it was equations as those produced indisputable answers. This thing with Pope? Less so.

Luckily, you were spared further speculation as Jenna pulled up a driveway. She stopped in front of a tall, heavy-duty, wrought iron driveway gate, complete with a privacy screen, spiked railheads and a sign that said ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING’ in large, easy-to-read, impossible-to-miss letters. The gate itself was almost light green in color, harmonizing with the vast expanse of trees and bushes on all sides. It gave you a distinct feeling of a fortress that did not match the typical Oceanside estates that was all about flaunting what you had.

“Jeez, Jen. You didn’t mention this Craig was your new sugar daddy,” you said while Jenna smiled brightly at a covert camera half-hidden by the foliage. The gate sidled open seconds later. “This place is huge.”

“Oh, this isn’t Craig’s. It’s his mom’s house.”

Jenna maneuvered the car inside the gate onto what you could only describe as a small parking lot in front of a huge double garage. Plenty of space to park Jenna’s car, even with the jet skis, trail bikes and four-wheelers lined up against the hedge that seemed to encapsulate the compound like a cradling hand. You even spotted a speed boat peeking out from behind the garage.

“He lives with his mom?”

“No, he’s got his own place,” Jenna explained brightly and touched up her lip gloss in the sun visor mirror. “I think, anyway, I’ve never seen it.”

“So, he’s got his own place and still stays with his mom?”

“Yeah, they all do, I think. ”

“Okay, that’s not weird at all. Wait, what do you mean you’ve never seen it? This is where you were last night? And did all that stuff you have told me about in great detail? In his mother’s house?”

“Yeah, but she’s, like, really cool. Super down to earth and open-minded.”

“She was home last night?”

“Don’t give me that look! It’s not like we did in front of her on top of the pool table or anything.” Jenna unbuckled and was halfway out the door, giving you an expectant look. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, I’ll just wait here.”

“Now, I know you have better manners than that.”

“I don’t really feel super sociable right now, Jen.”

“Well, you can’t sit out here like some kinda stalker either. They’re gonna see you on camera. Come on, don’t be weird, please. I really like this guy. He’s so hot, you have no idea.”

With a sigh and an eye-roll, you nevertheless followed Jenna out of the car. The flat soles of your sandals padded over the smooth concrete slabs as you literally dragged your feet. “What’s wrong with being a stalker?”

“Nothing, but you gotta be a little sneaky about it, at least.”

With that, Jenna sashayed through a second metal gate that stood wide open, but would have separated the house from the driveway if closed. It lead the two of you into a breezeway that connected the garage to the house, and you twisted your head to stare at the immaculately painted beams above. A sprinkle of beach-themed decorations lined the walls, including a wind chime that hung limply in the shade of the roof, and several pots of thriving green plants emphasized the feeling that you were entering some kind of oasis.

Birds chirped and thrilled in the impressive line of trees that circled the entire property. It made you aware of a faintly rhythmic thudding noise that grew stronger as you came onto a pool deck where you faltered a bit, not sure where to go. Any direction seemed as logical as the next, as in no matter where you went you’d end up at the same spot, only deeper. Like a spiral, with the glittering cerulean pool representing the bottomless pit in the center.

The weird L-shape of the house that seemed to blend seamlessly into a tree-covered hill only amplified the sequestered motif and the sign on the driveway gate flashed into your mind. No trespassers, and you got struck with the overwhelming sensation that it meant you.

“Hiiii!”

Jenna, unaware of your brief existential crisis, positively skipped ahead and threw herself around the neck of a tall man you could only assume was Craig.

Wet kissing sounds joined the birds and rhythmic thuds and you made a great show of looking everywhere else than Jenna and presumably Craig who had lapsed into some good old-fashioned PDA. Your eyes trailed the pool area, trying to focus on the mundanity to shake the trapped feeling from your limbs. Jenna really hadn’t been kidding when she said this place was huge and you counted five separate seating areas alongside the pool’s perimeter, not including the tiki bar, lounge groups and sporadic scattering of bright-colored deck chairs.

Apart from presumably Craig, you spotted two other guys outside, presumably his brothers. One lurked behind a large, red punching bag on the opposite side of the pool, the source of the thudding noise as he steadily pounded it with sharp jabs. Another guy in a hoodie sat at a wooden dining table outside of some sliding doors that seemed to lead into the kitchen. Judging by the glass of orange juice by his side and the way his half-long hair hung down as he focused on his plate, you had come right in the middle of breakfast. Neither of them seemed remotely interested in you or Jenna, so you assumed they were used to guests.

“Hey,” presumably Craig said after lowering Jenna down so her block-heel sandals touched the deck again, while you suspected her mind still floated somewhere up above on a pink cloud. He gave you an easygoing, lopsided grin and an unabashed once-over. “I’m Craig. We talked on the phone yesterday, right?”

“Hi, yeah,” you said tightly and realized you clutched the purse in front of your crotch like a shield. You forced yourself to push it to the side of your hip and settled your hands on the strap instead, twisting it with a death grip. “Nice to meet you.”

In the background, you noted how the rhythmic thudding stopped abruptly with a swishing sound. Like a boxing glove skidding over the leather as someone almost missed the punching bag.

“Yeah, you too,” Craig said, while the pull on his good-natured grin never ceased. Jenna really hadn’t been kidding when she said he was hot, and he looked like he knew it too. He had that deep surfer tan, a dark-brown beard that looked intentional, and equally dark-brown hair that tousled down almost too casually onto his shoulders. Like he had woken up, ran a hand through his hair and decided that would do when it came to styling for the day, or at least wanted to give that impression.

A loose tank top with a faded tribal pattern somehow enhanced the defined muscles of his chest and served as a framework for the large tattoos taking up space on both of his upper arms. The tribal theme continued in the ink, where he had at some point decided to tattoo a skull with a Native American headdress on one of his shoulders. Classy.

Jenna had claimed he was easily 6’4”, and while you could not determine that for certain, he easily towered over her even if she wore heels. In fact, he had a straight-backed posture that did not match his otherwise amiable, laid-back vibe. No sign of that perpetual surfer slouch that you had seen on so many guys down here in SoCal, and for some reason it reminded you of Pope. That subconscious effort to stand up straight, like someone had repeatedly reminded him throughout the years. Carrying himself in a way that made him appear bigger, which made less sense considering Craig’s above-average height.

“Come on, I got your phone in my room,” Craig said to Jenna and wrapped an arm around her to steer her toward the house. Two steps in, he stopped and stretched around to look at you again and gestured toward the dining table. “Hey, you want some breakfast? There’s a lot more in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“Oh, no, thank you, I’m fine,” you called out politely, completely on autopilot, still rooted to the spot like you worried the pool would reach up to swallow you if you moved further into the spiral. Also completely disregarding how Jenna’s apartment had nothing edible apart from literal edibles and you had not actually had any breakfast yet. “I’ll just wait right here.”

Craig gave you a nod and another trailing once-over, obviously appreciating your weather-appropriate bare legs. “All right, suit yourself.”

Jenna half-heartedly smacked his chest and her giggle trailed your way. “Stop checking out my friend.”

“What?”

“Oh my God, you’re so bad! Stop!”

“What? I’m just being friendly.”

It was hard to tell who pulled who along, but they made it a few more steps before something seemed to have caught Craig’s eye and he stopped again. He did a full body shrug, as if announcing his exasperation to the world, and shouted across the pool, “Bro! Come on!”

You automatically turned to see what he was shouting at and for a second you only registered that the boxer had stopped punching the bag. That he leaned onto it instead with his underarm over his head resting against the leather, his naked glistening chest rising and falling with hard breaths after what seemed to have been a vigorous workout. That he lifted his other hand to his mouth, undoing the velcro strap with his teeth, while unequivocally staring right at you.

It took you a full second before you registered that it was Pope.

Pope.

It was Pope.

Your mind blanked, only singular words popping in like bursting bubbles. Pope, here, now, shirtless, sweaty, staring.

You had no idea what your body tried to do. On a textbook level, you knew it involved your amygdala and adrenaline and tensed muscles and quickened breaths and stuff like that. In reality, it felt like you simultaneously tried to move in two opposite directions at once, only ending up flinching where you stood frozen to the spot. Staring at Pope who stared at you in turn, his face flushed red and lined with sweat.

“Pope!” Craig’s second annoyed shout cracked through your stupefaction, and you tore back to see Craig wave his hand in Pope’s direction. “Dude.”

Pope swung his head to glare at Craig — brows hanging heavy over his eyes and his nostrils flaring from hard breaths. Some form of silent communication happened between them, and with a final glance at you where you swore you could see his eyes narrow in bitter amusement, Pope made a show of looking away. He bent his head as he shoved himself off of the punching bag and tore at his other glove.

And you snapped your gaze down so fast your cervical vertebrae flinched in protest. A million thoughts raced at a blistering speed about Jenna mentioning how Craig had three brothers and Pope also had three brothers and how had you not made this connection but in your defence Pope had only mentioned one brother by name but it did not matter because this meant that Pope was Craig’s brother and Craig was Pope’s brother and that other guy was probably also their brother and this was not just Craig’s mother’s house it was Pope’s mother’s house. Where you, the stripper he had explicitly said he did not want his family to meet, had waltzed right in first thing in the morning.

I can keep a secret, he had told you that first time he came for a dance. Can you?

Not fully up to speed with anything, but fully occupied with keeping your breaths at an appropriate level, you didn’t catch whatever Craig muttered to the guy at the table. He was blonder and shorter than Craig — and younger, by the looks of it. Whatever Craig told him, they both snickered before Craig dragged Jenna inside the dark confines of the house.

It left you standing there on the deck, midway between Pope and the house, not sure what to do with any part of your body. Behind you, the exit beckoned and your feet started moving on their own accord before you managed to turn it into an awkward shuffle instead. What you had thought of as a cage-like design now felt more like a lion’s den where you had wandered in like the unwitting lamb.

It would be fine, you thought and drummed your fingers against your purse strap. Jenna would be back in a few minutes. You and Pope would pretend you had never seen each other before. You would be out of here before your heart managed to escape through your mouth. It would be fine.

Despite this, you risked a peek in Pope’s direction, unable to help yourself. Not at all spell-bound by the way his muscles shifted and glittered on his naked torso as he undid the hand wraps with precise movements. Holy shit, was the only half-coherent thought you managed to string together. You knew he was strong — he filled out his clothes nicely and had literally carried you around with such ease last night — but it was something completely different to see him like this.

Wearing only a pair of knee-length black athletic shorts and high-tops, most of him was on full display — a lot more than you usually saw — and your eyes did not know where to stop. It had never occurred to you to use the word ‘thick’ to describe a man before, but you struggled to find any other word that did him justice. The guy was built like a tree-trunk, with a healthy layer of padding over his muscles that was still not enough to fully conceal them. His firm obliques created a completely square frame, emphasizing that Pope obviously did not train for aesthetics, but functional strength.

Not that you did not appreciate his current aesthetic anyway. It stirred something in you that you had never experienced before.

At this distance, he only looked tan and flushed, but you knew freckles dotted every square inch of his skin. Probably mixing with the rivers of sweat running down between his pecs and over his abdominals until they seeped into the waistband of his shorts. His damp hair seemed closer to black than its usual auburn and a few strands laid plastered onto his forehead. Right above his watchful eyes that were, again, staring right at you.

For the second time, the bones in your neck griped when you snapped your head away at lightning speed. A rush of blood scolded your cheeks as you focused on the nearby parrot cage instead, studying it with great interest until realizing it did not even have any birds inside of it. Had he been watching you the whole time? Was he still—

You risked a fast glance. Sure enough, Pope was still staring at you with absolutely no attempt to hide it and you had the feeling that had been the case since Craig moved indoors. The other guy — who you at least assumed to be the last brother — obviously could not care less. He still picked at his food with a kind of focus that told you he would rather not be bothered by any random girls Craig had over this early in the morning.

What was Pope playing at? When two more furtive glances revealed he was still absolutely staring at you, you finally dared to raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking what he was doing. In response, he only kept staring while folding the hand wraps into tight, neat squares. He held eye contact for a beat and then dropped his gaze low, trailing your legs in a completely different way than his brother had done. Ending up at ankle height, or so you presumed, where the thin golden chain laid unhindered against the bridge of your foot.

Whatever expression Pope had on his face, it was a far cry from the smug smile he had had last night.

You resisted the urge to cross the offending leg behind the other to hide the anklet from sight. It was not like the chain carried his initials or any other identifying mark. Nothing that would expose you and Pope’s affiliation, as far as you knew. Not that it mattered, anyway, since Pope would not stop staring at you!

You resolutely focused on some animal skulls hanging as decoration on a nearby wall, but even in your peripheral vision, you saw how Pope watched you. Almost like he couldn’t look away.

Nevermind that you kept getting distracted by the way the ridges of his obliques shifted whenever he moved. Or by the way the prominent veins of his lower arms traveled all the way up to his swollen biceps. Or by the way the thick crest of his shoulders flexed when he breathed and how you could imagine digging your fingers into them as he covered you with the full weight of his body, his hot skin slick with sweat against yours as you left scratches and bite marks all over his neck and back as you held onto for dear life while he—

Pope’s stare shifted to something behind you and that slight movement broke your trance. You became aware of some murmurs of conversation from the breakfast table, including a female voice, and then the distinctive click-clacks of high heels approaching. You turned automatically, expecting Jenna, but found yourself in front of a petite, sharp-faced woman. Maybe in her fifties or sixties with almost shockingly blond hair swept into a heavy side-part.

“Hello,” the woman said and smiled. It was a warm but somewhat unnerving smile. The heavy make-up and thick fake lashes made her eyes look like black slits over her weirdly smooth cheeks. Her plump lips twisted sideways instead of up, reminding you of stroke patients without full control of their face. In this case it was probably lip injections or a facelift or both that hindered full movement. Not that you understood why she thought she needed either; despite her advanced age, she looked incredible. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

Her whole presence demanded attention where she stood with the deep red and black of her cheetah print blouse, a stark contrast to the mellow blues and greens of the pool deck. She had a black jacket folded over one arm, and the handle of a small suitcase on wheels in her other hand, which she shifted so it stood without assistance.

“Oh, uh, I’ve never been here before either.”

“Okay?” The woman still smiled, but crossed her arms over her chest. “So what are you doing here now this early in the morning?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting for my friend. She’s my ride, so,” you explained in what you hoped was a bright and natural voice. The woman still smiled, but you caught the razor-edged focus of her eyes shifting momentarily to something behind you. “She forgot her phone here last night.”

“Jenna?” The woman’s voice cracked into a hoarse delight and her bright teeth shone when she smiled even wider. “Oh, that girl’s such a sweetheart. Way too good for Craig, but don’t tell him I said that. I’m Janine Cody—”

You automatically shook her outreached hand — with black-painted fingernails and a stack of golden bangles on her skinny wrist — and smiled back the best you could.

“—Pope’s mother,” Janine Cody finished and it took everything you had not to tear your hand loose. Pope’s mother. Not Craig. Pope. Why had she mentioned Pope? Had she caught him staring at you? Was this a test? Did she assume everyone knew Pope? Did everyone know Pope?

And instead of saying anything clever or disarming, you tilted your head a bit to the side and kept smiling. “Pope?”

Janine Cody pursed her lips and nodded her sharp chin at something behind you. “Andrew.”

“Oh,” you said, like this meant nothing to you; like you were only being polite; like you were just another airhead that did not understand what was going on, but eager to please nevertheless. You kept your smile, the best and brightest one that earned you the most tips, in place.

So, this was Pope’s mother? You had suspected it from the start, but having it confirmed made a lot of pieces fall into place. While totally opposite on the surface, you could easily see the family resemblance upon closer inspection. Hell, they even had the same kind of raspy voice, even if hers dripped with the sweetened honey of experience. Like her sons, she carried herself bigger than she was. Keeping her back so straight, it almost curved in the opposite direction, reminding you of a hissing cobra rising from the sand. Even the intensity of her stare felt the same, the only difference being that Janine Cody smiled at the same time.

“People call me Smurf,” Janine Cody said, the very definition of friendly, and finally released your hand. The way she studied you reminded you of how Pope had scouted the hallways of the strip club, noticing details that you did not even know existed. “You have a really beautiful smile, you know that?” She sounded almost serene and definitely sincere, which made it even harder to swallow. “I bet that’s gonna get you far in life.”

“Well, it’s gotten me all the way here,” you said and kept smiling, while praying for Jenna’s return soon.

“Mm,” Janine Cody, who you could not for the life of you think of as Smurf, made a humming sound that could have meant anything. Her keen gaze trailed over you, much like two of her sons had done already, and her voice turned harder and more business-like as she said, “Jenna and Craig are currently having sex in the shower.”

“Oh.” Fuck me. You resisted the urge to close your eyes in defeat. Fucking Jenna. Still smiling, still keeping your voice bright, you said, “Okay, uh, that’s fine, I’ll just go wait in the car.”

“Are you sure? Knowing Craig, it’s gonna be a while.”

And again, Jenna really hadn’t been kidding when saying Craig’s mother was open-minded. You blanked at the imagery and then shook your head.

“Really, I’m fine waiting—”

“I’m heading for the airport right now. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’re going that way.”

“No! No, I’ll—”

“Of course, you’re not going south on the I-5, are you?” Janine Cody let out a short laugh, as if amused by her own foolishness. “You’re headed downtown, obviously. Jenna said she was going shopping today. Tell you what, I’ll have one of my boys give you a ride.”

“Thank you, but that is so not necessary, Missss…” You faltered, not sure what title to use.

“Call me Smurf. And it’s no problem at all. I think Baz was just on his way out, anyway.” She stretched her neck toward the guys at the dining table, one of which you hadn’t seen before. “Baz?”

“I’ll take her.”

You froze at the sudden proximity of Pope’s authoritative voice. He had somehow come up right next to you without making a sound. Still sweaty and shirtless, he stared relentlessly at his mother, who met it in turn with something akin to a knowing smirk on her face.

“Is that all right with you, sweetheart?” Janine Cody asked, barely sparing you a glance, her full lips gradually drooping to a frown.

“Yup.” Your voice sounded tiny even to your own ears, and you resisted the urge to fidget or flat-out run. No matter what you said, it’d be wrong somehow, so you tried to roll with the punches. Even if standing in the middle of the two staringCody’s felt like being the last scrap of meat left between two circling predators. “Uh-huh, yeah, that’d be— that’d be great. Thanks.”

“Okay, then.” Janine Cody’s smile flashed back into place when she looked at you. “It was really nice to meet you. I hope I’ll see you again sometime.”

Before you could respond, she turned on her heel and waltzed out through the breezeway, giving Pope a calculating smile over her shoulder. A sense of triumph radiating from her. Her heels click-clacked and her trailing suitcase rolled on the concrete until both disappeared around the corner.

You turned toward Pope, mouth open, about to say anything, but he beat you to it:

“Wait here.”

“Okie-dokie.”

Without sparing you a glance, Pope marched straight past his brothers — both of them following his movements with interest — and into the house. Leaving you standing on the stupid pool deck with your stupid purse and your stupid outfit and the stupid chain looped around your stupid ankle. Feeling like a complete idiot for having ruined things. Okie-dokie? Shit. Shit!

“Hey.”

Shiiiiiit!

“Hi.”

Mentally closing your eyes and just screaming, you nevertheless smiled at the man who approached you. Baz. The one brother Pope had mentioned by name, now sauntering over with both hands in his pockets and mouth split in a curious smile.

From what you remembered, he was close to Pope in age, and he looked like it too, even if he dressed sort of youthfully with a loose t-shirt and tight jeans. Like the other guys, he also had a deep tan, but combined it with a five o’clock shadow and a distinct crew cut where the longer hair on top stood up in gravity-defying spikes. His generically handsome square face seamlessly continued up from his thick neck, where it split in a cleft chin and slightly crooked teeth.

“I’m Baz,” he said with a friendly nod, one you returned. And for the fourth time today, you squirmed under the scrutiny of a Cody family member. “This is gonna sound kinda weird, but have we met?” He laughed an easy, charming laugh. “I know I should probably at least pretend to remember, but I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Shit. Was this the brother Jasmine had said was a regular at the club? He did not look all that familiar, but in your line of work, every guy looked the same as the next one. For all you knew, you could have danced for him at some point.

“I’m not sure. I get that a lot,” you said, not trusting yourself to lie outright. You glanced at the tall windows of the house, hoping to see either Pope or Jenna return. “I just have one of those faces, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Hey, do you work at a bar? Waitress or something? I know it sounds dumb, but I can almost taste the beer in my mouth when I look at you.”

“I, uh, actually work at a few different places around town.”

Baz snapped his fingers. “The Flying Pig? Over at Mission Avenue? My girl works there. Catherine?”

“I’m not sure…” You shook your head, as if trying to remember. “No, no, that doesn’t ring a bell, no.”

And Baz, apparently, took that as his cue to guess a few other places around town where you might have worked and you made a show of trying to recall any of them.

For once, your prayers were answered as Pope stalked out of the house with fast steps, now dressed in his usual ensemble of a dark blue, short-sleeved shirt and jeans. His hair clung more to his head, the remaining evidence of what you assumed had been a speedy shower.

“Let’s go,” he told you and would have kept walking if Baz hadn’t put his arm out.

“Listen, man, can I talk to you real quick?”

The way he asked made it clear this was meant to be a private conversation. You motioned vaguely to indicate that you’d go ahead and wait by the car, following Janine Cody’s footsteps through the breezeway, and also looking at Pope over your shoulder. He never seemed to take his eyes off of Baz and you saw his head roll on his neck when Baz said something you didn’t hear.

“…you knew!”

You had just turned the corner of the garage when Pope’s angry growl shot your way. Some would call it eavesdropping, but you could not help yourself and slowed down, the soft soles of your sandals barely making any noise on the concrete. Baz’s part of the conversation was nothing more than quiet mumbles, but Pope occasionally raised his voice loud enough to make out.

“…no way she drugged me…signing off on it.” Pause. “…still takin’ em?” Longer pause. “…drugged up or crazy? I kinda think you…less competition.”

They had to be talking about Pope’s medication and the unorthodox way of administering of them. She drugged me. Did not take a rocket scientist to figure out who that was and you swallowed hard at the memory of Janine Cody’s friendly smile. Smurf. Out of all the nicknames in the world, you could not even begin to think where that had come from. A chill went through you and you remembered the hard punches Pope had dealt to the bag. Blowing of steam, maybe? What was up with this family?

The next thing you knew, Pope tore around the garage corner and almost crashed into you, where you were sort-of-but-not-really hiding. Only Pope’s razor-sharp reflexes kept him from walking right over you.

“I wasn’t sure which car,” you tried to excuse yourself and waved in the general direction of the crowded driveway. Not the worst excuse considering the number of vehicles in the vicinity, but not a good one either.

Pope did not look anywhere near convinced and stalked past you with agitated steps. “Truck.”

*****

The truck seemed unfamiliar in the daylight. Only the sun warm leather seat grabbing at your bare thighs reminded you of last night, along with the lingering scent of hand sanitizer that you had silently accepted when Pope held it out to you. Even while doing the math, it did not seem plausible that it had been mere hours since you last sat in this car with Pope. While the warm sun had seemed comforting before, now it only served to highlight all the imperfections. Exposing all the flaws with remorseless illumination, like the clinical overhead lamps at the hospital.

The AC purred along with the engine — the only noise other than your own breaths — and you barely noticed how the rapidly cooling temperature raised goosebumps on your exposed skin. The landscape rolled past in reverse from when Jenna had driven you here, the coastal desert now looking barren and hostile. Bright sunbeams swooped over the horizon and straight in through the windshield, bathing your face in an intense whitening glow that burned your retinas.

You jumped when Pope unceremoniously reached over and lowered the sun visor to shield your eyes.

Watching him sit back, you waited, like you had waited the whole car ride, for him to say something. Anything. Since you had watched him sweep the car interior with the device-thingie, you assumed it was safe to talk, but Pope had remained silent. Just like now, as he only kept driving toward the downtown area of Oceanside.

“I didn’t know,” you said quietly and stared at the sun visor instead of him. No answer. “I swear I didn’t know, Pope. Jenna never told me his last name and you’ve never mentioned him and I know maybe I should have made the connection when she said he had three brothers, but in my defence, my family is really weird. I’m the only one who doesn’t have at least three siblings. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I’ve mentioned him.”

The relief that he was at least talking was short-lived considering how flat his voice sounded.

“You’ve never mentioned you had a brother named Craig.”

“I’ve mentioned him,” Pope repeated, his pitch rising along with his annoyance. He drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes constantly scanning the road. The other laid near the handbrake, clenched into a fist. “He’s the reason I had to beat the shit out of DJ Snowfall.”

“Okay, but you never told me his name!” you pointed out and Pope’s hands tightened around the wheel. “Was I supposed to make that connection because Jenna told me her new guy had a great hookup for cocaine and you’ve told me you had a brother who does cocaine?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m a stripper, Pope. Everyone I associate with does coke.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t,” you agreed, even if Pope hadn’t posed it as a question. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I honestly had no idea Jenna was seeing your brother, otherwise I obviously wouldn’t have barged in like that. Or at all, really.”

Pope’s nostrils flared, and he ducked his head to get a better overview of the road before making a hairpin turn. “You shouldn’t have talked to her.”

“What was I supposed to do? Pretend to be deaf?”

He didn’t answer, but the flex of his jaw revealed that he considered that alternative better than what had happened.

You crossed your arms and scoffed. “Well, maybe she wouldn’t have talked to me if you hadn’t kept staring at me the whole time.”

“I stare at everyone,” Pope pointed out with his usual irrefutable logic. “You were staring at me.”

“No, I didn’t— that was— I mean—” You stuttered, instinctively trying to deny, but replaying it in your head, you knew he had a point. “Okay, yeah, maybe I did. But there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for my staring.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like what?” you repeated dumbly and your chest flared up with heat that had only laid partially dormant since you left the Cody house. He was joking. He had to be.

Pope took the time to look your way, momentarily breaking his concentration from the road ahead. “Yeah, like what?”

“Like…” You faltered, the warmth spreading to your face, counteracting the cool breeze spewing from the AC. “You know what.”

“I don’t,” Pope said earnestly and his lip curled in confused contempt. “Why would I ask if I did?”

He had to be joking. Right? Trying to read him proved impossible, his expression was the same kind of mixture between condescending and sincere as always.

“I— I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“What?”

Realizing that he was (probably) not feigning his confusion did not make it any easier. You gnawed at your lip for a second, trying to work up the nerve, before deciding to just go for it.

“It was because of what you were wearing,” you explained quickly, focusing on the salt-tolerant, low-growing evergreen shrubs that inhabited the landscape closer to the ocean. Your voice dwindled further as you simultaneously tried to keep quiet and said, “Or what you weren’t wearing.”

For once, Pope’s face transformed into genuine surprise with his eyebrows lifting and he swung his gaze back and forth between you and the road. “That’s why you were staring at me?”

You tried to disappear into the seat. “Oh my gosh, don’t—”

“Because I wasn’t wearing a shirt? That’s it?”

“Why do you have to make it sound so weird? Yes! That’s why I was staring, okay? That’s it. Now shut up, please.”

Of course, Pope did not even pretend to listen. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know and I’m sorry.”

Pope shook his head. “And you shouldn’t have lied to her, either.”

“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have done. I’m well aware.”

“And you shouldn’t have talked to Baz—”

“Oh my gosh, I know! Thank you! I shouldn’t have stared at you, I shouldn’t have talked to them, I shouldn’t even have been at your house. I know. But maybe you should have called her bluff and just let Baz take me?”

Pope’s mouth had parted slightly, but snapped shut at your question and you knew he was doing that thing again. Grinding his jaw together, too angry to get any words out. Stupid. You were so stupid sometimes.

The car lapsed into silence, the only refuge coming from the whirring AC, and you subconsciously pushed into the door frame, staring out the window. Arms still crossed over your chest, squeezing down like that would suppress the repulsive clawing of fiasco threatening to burst through your stomach.

The treeline outside dispersed and gave room for more and more buildings, meaning you were getting closer to downtown.

“Where am I taking you?”

“You can just drop me off wherever, it’s fine.”

“Well, where do you need to go?”

“Nowhere.”

And you saw how he looked at you and how he did that slightly confused back and forth with his eyes and you heard the completely sincere shift in his voice when he asked, “Did you want to go with Baz?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Okay.” Pope’s lip had lifted in that confused curl he sometimes had, along with his eyebrows. “You said you were running errands all day. So, where’s the first stop?”

You blew air out your mouth, just wanting out of this car. “There’s a bookstore on the main campus I need to go to.”

“Okay,” Pope repeated, and it almost felt like he was trying to lighten the mood. And he did not comment on how he had to make a U-turn because the main campus was not downtown, but up by Mira Costa. “Are you going back to class soon?”

“Yeah.”

“How are ya gonna have time for classes between all your jobs?”

“I won’t.”

Pope spared you another glance. “What does that mean?”

“Next week’s my last at the coffee shop.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, but he did not say anything more, and neither did you. Soon enough, he swung the large truck into the college parking lot. For once practically empty, which was not that surprising, considering it was Saturday morning. The bookstore had just opened, if you remembered the opening hours correctly.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said without looking at him, already pushing open the door. “See you on Monday.”

“Wait—”

The heat from outside blasted against you as you jumped out onto the parking lot. The cracked concrete steamed like molten lava without nearby trees or structures to provide any kind of shade since sunrise. You didn’t know what you expected, exactly, but you heard the driver’s side door slam shut and a second later, Pope’s hand locked around your wrist.

He caught you mid-stride, which made you do a full spin until you ended up with your back against the car door. Pope released your arm, but did not step back, trapping you between him and the glossy enamel of the car’s exterior. Staring you down, but not threatening, just searching.

Not able to look at him, you made a half-hearted attempt to push past .

“Hey,” he said and blocked your escape with a quick side-step, weaving into your line of sight. “Hey, hold on. Just hold on a sec.”

“Pope, don’t—”

“I can’t tell if you’re upset with me,” Pope cut through in a slow voice and twisted around to establish the eye-contact you tried to avoid by looking everywhere but him, “or if you think I’m upset with you.” Apparently, your face told him everything he needed to know as he bobbed his head to find your gaze again. “I’m not. Okay? I’m not.”

With a sigh, you stopped dodging his attempts at eye-contact and leaned desolately against the car. Temporary admitting defeat, even if the way his eyebrows pulled together in concern made your stomach pull together in guilt.

You twisted your hands around the strap of your purse. “I’m not an idiot, Pope.”

“I never said you were.”

“No, I mean that I know why you keep coming to the,” you glanced around, but the parking lot remained empty, “strip club, okay?”

Pope pulled in a breath through his nose and squared his shoulders, like he braced himself for impact.

“It’s the same reason that every other guy comes there,” you continued and did not really pay attention to how Pope deflated again. “To escape the real world. It’s what all the music and lights and sequins are for. To create this illusion, right? This fantasy place where anything can happen. Where the girls are always hot and happy and don’t have any problems of their own, always ready to shake some ass and lend a listening ear to whoever’s paying.”

“You know I don’t—” Pope tried to get a word in, but you weren’t done.

“And it’s not like anyone’s signing a strict client confidentiality clause or anything, but it’s kind of implied, ya know? From both sides? Because that’s the only way to maintain that illusion. You need that firm line between the real world and what’s inside the club and we don’t have that anymore, Pope. You’re not supposed to see the strippers without makeup or in real clothes or even in daylight. I’ve consistently ruined the illusion bit by bit ever since I called you out in the coffee shop and today I just put that final nail in the coffin by barging into your mother’s house first thing in the morning!”

Pope seemed to wait a beat this time to see if you were done.

“You weren’t inside the house,” he pointed out slowly and you sucked in a harsh breath, ready to blow up again before you spotted the teasing hint of a smile. He sighed, a motion that shifted the straight row of buttons on his chest, and the hint of a smile faded. “This isn’t about you.”

As usual, his response blindsided you and you shook your head. “What do you mean this isn’t about me? How is this not about me? You told me you didn’t want me there and then I—”

“I told you last night, it’s not you, it’s them. My family’s… complicated, all right?” Pope looked torn, as if just admitting this was some form of betrayal. He was shifting around more than usual, like he did not know where to put either hands or feet. “I don’t want you to get caught up in any of their bullshit. Smurf, I mean, she can be a lot. You should see the way she treats Catherine sometimes. I don’t want that for you.”

“You call your mom Smurf?”

“Everyone does. That’s not the point.”

“Right. Okay. Am I right to assume that Smurf is the one who does the cooking in the house?”

It slipped out before you had the chance to really think it through and Pope’s lips snapped together like a bear trap.

“Yeah,” he bit out eventually. “She does. And— and I’m handling that. You’re helping me handle that, right? Right?” He waited for your reluctant nod and then mirrored it. “Just watch yourself with her, okay? Her and Baz. I’ll take care of you, but I won’t always be around.”

It took you a few seconds to process his words, and you furrowed your brows. “Am I going to be around?”

“I don’t see why not. You’re already on their radar. And I know that one’s on me too, I could have just let you go with Baz, but…”

Your grip on the purse strap had loosened and your hands slid down to settle on the purse itself, waiting for Pope to sort through the words he wanted out of his locked mouth.

“What you said before, about illusions? I don’t care about any of that shit,” Pope said slowly, making it impossible to miss a single word. “Any of it. You know that. I only care about you.”

One day Pope’s sincerity would be the death of you, you were sure of it, and it cost you a lot to meet his eyes; to pretend your skin didn’t feel feverish with heat.

Pope continued, “But I’ve never really had anything that was just mine before.”

His words hung heavy and vulnerable in the quite limited space between you.

Still riled up from before, you shifted uneasily. “You know I dance for other guys at the—”

“Yeah, but that’s not you. That’s like a part you’re playing or something. And you’re not acting when you’re with me, I can tell the difference. And I don’t…” Pope trailed off, made a few different expressions without getting anywhere, and tried again. “And I don’t have to either. Not with you.”

“Pope, I—”

“I haven’t kept you a secret because of what you do. It’s not about that. It’s just that everything I’ve ever had, I’ve shared with either my sister or my brothers. Including friends.”

Friends. The word hit you like one of the punches Pope had thrown against the bag earlier. Friends. Was that all you were? Was that all he needed? Or just what he needed right now? No matter how many times you tried to formulate the question, you could not get yourself to ask it. If he had ever even had a girlfriend before, if he even considered that as an option.

“Right,” you said quietly while your mind whirred away with everything you did not know how to say the right way. Not yet. “You wanna, uh, come with me? To the bookstore?”

Pope drew in his chin. “You think I wasn’t gonna come with you to the bookstore?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, even if it proved hard to form the words around the growing smile taking over your mouth. You pushed off the car, which left you even closer to Pope who hadn’t moved. “You’re not paying for anything.”

Not looking convinced, he let out a huff of amusement and gave you a lopsided smile as you passed him. “Can I carry stuff for you?”

“Yeah, all right.” You paused after another step when you realized Pope wasn’t following. For some reason, he hung back, and you automatically reached out your hand. “Coming?”

He ducked his head and stared at your hand for a beat, but you did not miss the way his lips twitched into a smile when he accepted it. It made it hard to ignore the way your heart leaped when his calloused fingers tightened around yours, and you almost suspected him to have done that on purpose.

One day, maybe, you’d figure out the full mystery that was Pope.

“I’m not gonna pay for anything today,” Pope said conversationally as he let you lead him over the parking lot toward the campus bookstore, walking next to you with his slightly uneven bowlegged gait. You decided to ignore the slight emphasis on the word ‘today’. “But are you gonna be able to afford rent without your shifts at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah, actually. Maybe. It seems like my stash has developed its own interest rate. There was almost four hundred dollars more there today than last time I looked.”

Pope let out another amused snort. “You noticed that, did you?”

“Yeah, I did. How and when did you even find it?”

“Last night when you were in the bathroom. It was a good hiding place, not many people would think to look inside the curtain rod.”

“You found it in less than a minute!”

“That’s just ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t use any of the obvious places since you’d just been robbed. And it’s not like you had the tools to access anything better. You should really think about getting a small safe. One of the good ones, that you can bolt to the floor. And then hide that somewhere that’s not obvious.”

“Oh, so it’d take you a whole extra minute or something to get into it?” You rolled your eyes, not at all bothered by the smug smile on Pope’s face. Not at all desperate to see him smile more. “Please. And I can’t bolt anything anywhere, I’m renting. At this point, it’d be easier to just have you hold my cash until I need it.”

The campus bookstore had not been open long for the day, but already amassed a collection of onboarding students that milled about with their book lists. You eventually had to let go of Pope’s hand to scrape together everything you needed, all of which he carried diligently while varying his focus between you and the other shoppers. It was the epitome of mundane, so it surprised you how much you enjoyed it. So much so that it became embarrassing to consider how infatuated you really were with him.

Friends. Yeah, right.

At the register, you exchanged generic pleasantries with the clerk in service worker solidarity. Pope hovered in the background, not contributing or seeming to pay any attention. At least not until the clerk asked for your student ID.

“Yup, gimme a sec. Here you go.”

You smiled and slid the plastic card with a barely recognizable photo of you over the counter. To Pope’s credit, he did not actually try to sneak a peek, which was maybe what prompted you to slide it his way when the clerk finished with it.

Pope waited a few seconds, like he was giving you the chance to change your mind, before he picked it up. He studied it for far longer than you deemed necessary. “Is this your real name?”

“Yeah.”

“You should try using it,” Pope suggested and handed you the card while the clerk bagged all your books. “It’s a pretty name.”

You shrugged noncommittally. “So is Andrew.”

The sun seemed relentless when the two of you exited the store, trudging over the shimmering parking lot toward the truck. Pope had a book bag in each hand, having completely ignored your offer to take one of them, which prevented any further hand holding. For the time being, anyway.

It was not until Pope had started the car, along with the AC, that he said, “I wouldn’t mind that, you know.”

“Mind what?” you asked, still rubbing your hands with the hand sanitizer that seemed like a standard practice every time Pope got in the car.

“Andrew.”

You paused, hands still folded over each other. “You said that everyone calls you Pope.”

“You’re not everyone.”

*****

It took you a few hours to clear your whole to-do list, which was still three times faster than it would have been with Jenna. She had texted a heartfelt apology after a good while (proving that Smurf obviously knew what she was talking about) and asked for a rain-check of your shopping day. It was difficult to be upset with Jenna under normal circumstances and today you did not even try as you vastly preferred your current company.

“Are you gonna keep working at the club when you go back to school?”

After it became clear that neither of you had had anything to eat the whole day, Pope (you were still getting used to thinking of him as Andrew) had taken you to a burger joint called Spiro’s, a block away from the renowned Artist Alley. You sat outside under an awning, behind a tall yellow fence that separated the seating area from the rest of the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly in the midst of finishing up your fries. “Maybe, assuming it’s even gonna open up again after the shooting. Are you gonna get in trouble for that, by the way? That detective guy recognized you.”

“Nah. They can’t prove that I was there when everything went down since we dodged all the cameras.”

“Almost all the cameras. There’s one in the booth too, remember?”

“That’s been out of commission for weeks now,” Pope said offhandedly behind his burger. “Besides, they got their shooters already, I swung by to check it out after I dropped you off last night. The police are gonna want to keep this under wraps too because of all the wasted detectives carrying their service weapons after hours. Didn’t even make it onto the morning news.”

“Right,” you said, not bothering bring up how you would not mind if the club stayed closed for a little bit. Even if the shooters turned out to be a coincidence, Geri was still on your case. Not to mention The Text and everything that entailed. “Was anyone hurt? I didn’t see—”

“Roider-Roy left in an ambulance, that’s all I could tell. No body bags.” He put down the half-eaten burger and exchanged it with his drink. “You didn’t answer my question before about the rent.”

“The coffee shop doesn’t really pay that much,” you admitted and popped another fry in your mouth. “I mean, it helps when some guy comes in and tips a hundred bucks for already overpriced coffee, but…”

Andrew snorted and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the sight of yet another smile. “Why do you work there?”

“The fetching uniform is a big plus. No, it’s for experience, mostly. My resume’s not too hot, to say the least. I never had a contract at my dad’s store and he can’t really be a reference in his current condition, so…”

“Your tuition’s paid, right? And now your books? So it’s just rent that’s left?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, rent is like a monthly thing. Uh, there’s a few event nights coming up at the club that I was planning to use to bulk up my savings. But, to be honest, if I don’t land a roommate by this time next week, I’m gonna move back in with Jenna.”

“The girl who’s seeing Craig,” his expression told you everything you needed to know for once, “and blew you off this morning?”

“She has other redeeming qualities. And she lives closer to the school, so it’s not that bad.” You licked salt and grease off your fingers. “Besides, your mom seemed to like her.”

“Yeah,” he said, staring at your fingers in your mouth. Eventually, he handed you a napkin. “Smurf’s good at seeming.”

You made an attempt with the napkin, but the grease seemed to have seeped into your skin. “I’m gonna go wash my hands.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said with such earnestness you had to laugh.

In another act of service worker solidarity, you put everything from your meal on the tray and brought it with you inside. The burger joint did not have any functioning AC, but a forlorn fan squeaked in a corner where a few elderly men sat drinking coffee. With no line to the restroom, you took your time to wash your hands and otherwise clean up your appearance. The anklet seemed to hold on pretty well still — you continued to worry about a weak clasp since it had escaped from its previous owner somehow.

On the way out of the restroom, you spotted a guy leaning onto the tall yellow fence, obviously talking to Pope. Even through the window, you could tell that he looked rough. An older guy, with weather-worn skin and clothes alike, wearing a frayed denim vest and some faded jeans. Gray hair slicked-back from the hairline that had receded almost to the top of his head. The conversation seemed amiable enough, but Pope’s body language looked tense.

And you caught him glancing at you through the window, just once. As if to confirm you were still inside. Whatever it was, you definitely got the feeling he did not want you outside.

Seconds later, Pope got up from the table, tray in hand, and stalked through the door. He looked more over his shoulder than at you, obviously making sure he wasn’t followed.

“Everything okay?”

“I gotta go.”

“You what? Now? Who is that guy?”

“No one.” He pushed something into your hands, still keeping watch over the windows. “Here’s the keys. You can bring it over later or I’ll come pick it up. I gotta go.”

“What?”

“Wait at least ten minutes before you leave, okay?”

“What? Wait, no, no, no.” You tried pushing the keys back into his hands. “I can’t drive your car, I—”

At least that made Pope pause. “You can’t drive?”

“I can drive, but like a regular-sized car on a normal backwoods road, not the world’s biggest RAM truck in the middle of a city!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No, no! What if I scratch it or—”

Pope’s jaw flexed as he shot another glance over his shoulder. “Then I’ll fix it. I gotta go. Wait at least ten minutes before you leave.”

And with that, he stalked outside and left with the guy in the denim vest. You looked down at the unfamiliar car keys. Shit!

--------

Ohohoho we have finally reached the Cody's. Pope's not smooth and neither is Karma, so this is gonna be great.

Also, y'know, Pope's opening up, but he's not telling everything yet. And neither is Karma, so it's fine. They'll figure it out.

I don't know how this turned out so long, it's actually only supposed to be half a chapter. Ay ay ay. Oh well. Please let me know if you liked this part too! Until next time ✌️

Other than that, if you liked this, please let me know! Reblogs and comments also make me write faster 💕 Thank you!

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