Midnight Toxicity

16.

Inside the Gas-N-Go, Nicole Johnson glared out the front display window at Jack's recognizable vehicle as Honey shopped for snacks and booze, oblivious to the fact the mother of the guy she planned on banging was livid, unable to stop Jack from checking in on her. Or maybe her hateful demeanor stemmed from him having fun while she had to work.

"Nicole looks constipated," I mused, sitting comfortably in the backseat after fixing my makeup. A few bruises had already formed, but would disappear within a few days. "Honey seems... sweet, as her name suggests."

He grunted, swiveling in his seat to take me in. "My blood is still on fire over Bruce. I wanted to pull the trigger when I found him strangling you. Are you sure you are okay?"

I gripped his arm. "I'm glad you didn't. Where did you meet him?"

He ripped off his hat with a dejected exhale, raking a hand through his hair. "Last night, at a club. When I didn't drool over his babies, he grew curious. I told him all about you, and we partied until I gave in."

"Damn straight I'm the hottest bitch you know, but babies? Give in to what?"

"It's what he called the girls. The dude has a weird daddy complex. Bruce wouldn't stop hounding me to bring you over." He let out a frustrated sound. "Did he...?"

I shook my head, regretting it immediately when my sore neck protested. "No. Thank you for saving my life again. Good thing we don't keep score."

He cupped my face gently, his blue eyes soft under the streetlamps of the convenience store. "Serves me right for trying to punish you. Don't thank me. Where are we going?"

I sighed, slipping out from under his touch. "I can't go home."

"Why?" he demanded. "What happened?"

I shrugged, too tired to get into details. "A lot. But I just want to have a drink and sleep."

"So... Hotel Chaz? You can afford it."

Why was it always my money he offered to spend? We split the profits, but I never balked at paying when we were out. He had more responsibility than I did. I glanced to where a scowling Nicole rang up a chatty Honey. "Jack—"

"I'll book an adjoining room so that you won't be alone," he said in a low voice, refusing to make eye contact. "We need to have that talk tonight, after all."

"Sounds great," I agreed, watching Honey leave the store with heavy plastic bags looped over her arms. "Hotel Chaz it is, then. By the way, Honey reminds me of someone..."

He shot me a knowing wink before jumping out to help Honey load the sacks in the trunk.

* * * * * *

Hotel Chaz wasn't upscale, but not cheap either. Constructed in the late eighties, the owners renovated once they realized flat-screen TVs were not a fad. The rooms weren't much, but the large whirlpool tubs in each suite kept me coming back. I was a sucker for a luxurious soak, which Jack claimed was disgusting. He couldn't see the benefits of a relaxing bath, complaining that I swam around in my own filth.

The pimple-faced night clerk swallowed hard when we strolled through the lobby doors with booze and Cheetos instead of luggage. The three-story building resided in a sketchy part of downtown, but because of the nearby nightlife, it lured in guests despite the outdated interior.

"How are you doing, man?" Jack asked the guy before he could greet us. "Two adjoining rooms."

I read the plastic tag on the red-faced clerk's tan shirt. "Hi, Nero. Nero? Is that your real name?"