¶𝗥𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗕𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗼𝗺 [H.S]

2.1

𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢

"Hi, princess," I said on the phone when I put it on speaker.

If I had to be honest, I expected a call last night or after she and her brother got into a fight. At least, that's what I believe happened after I left them.

"Hey, Harry," she said, making me smile under my nose. "Can I ask for a favor?" she asked almost angelically. If I didn't know what she was capable of, I would've thought she was the Virgin Mary or some shit.

"Those are kinda pricey, you know," I teased, continuing to fill small plastic bags with cocaine.

Melanie's friend, Charles, called me yesterday, ordering some Coke and Heroin for his yacht party tonight. And since I was bringing the drugs, I was invited as well. Who knew Melanke O'Coyle was the key to success? Of course, I fucking knew.

She laughed at my joke, "Oh, I do, but desperate times call for desperate solutions."

I loved it when she was desperate. So fucking hopeless and weak that she couldn't turn down anything I offered.

"What got you so desperate?" I asked to continue the small talk even though I couldn't care less what ruined the brat's day. I crossed my fingers, hoping she would make it quick before telling me what she needed me for.

"The usual, my therapist and brother... I just need—"

"A hot drug dealer?" I finished her sentences for her.

She laughed, "Change of scenery, but yours could do the job too. You know any hot drug dealers?"

"It's your lucky day. I'm all free 'till eight," I cooed, placing the bag of coke on the scale.

"What happens at eight?" she asked.

My Lambo turns into a pumpkin, and my clothes disappear. However, girls usually like the second part.

I rolled my eyes at her question, still smiling, "Your friend Charles invited me to his yacht."

She was silent for a few seconds, making me doubt if she was still on the phone. "Cool," she cleared her throat, "Can I come?"

Melanie was sitting on the passenger seat, leaning on the open window. Her long hair was blown back while Eat Your Young blasted through the speaker. When I picked her up by the gates in her tight little sequin skirt, I thought the night would play in my favor. It didn't. Melanie was too blue to look this hot. And it really was a shame. I had been driving for two hours, and there were still a few miles until we saw the Wharf. Melanie hadn't said a word for the past hour, and I had only so many fun stories up my sleeve to keep the dreadful silence away. 

"Are you going to be all sad tonight? Because that's not the attitude I like to surround myself with," I teased, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the song.