Pusher

twenty-five.

 "Is this seat taken?"

The boy glanced up at me and I immediately felt as though I stepped under a microscope. His eyes roamed over every inch of my body and I forced mine to do the same to him. The fluorescent lights shined off his short blonde hair. Muscles bulged against his tank and a sheen of sweat stuck to his forehead.

I'm sure he could say the same for me. It was blisteringly hot in here with the mass of people moving in and out of the house.

"No, it's not," he said, and then scooted over to give me space on the couch. The beer in my cup sloshed as I sat down. It was my intention to leave it back in the kitchen, but Maverick forced it back into my hand before I could escape. I had no intention of drinking any more of it.

"I'm Angelica."

"Tyler."

"This party sucks. My friends ditched me as soon we got here and I've been wandering around ever since."

"Maybe you ought to get new friends," he said, then took a sip from his cup.

"I guess it's just a matter of finding someone willing to put up with me," I said, then glanced up at him. Maverick's advice about eye contact echoed through my mind as he met my gaze. There was a suggestion in my words, and he caught it right away.

From there Tyler was telling me about everything. He was one of the best wrestlers on his school team. He hated chocolate milk and his step-dad was a complete ass. Most of the time he liked the movie better than the book and he considered it a criminal offense that I had never seen The Breakfast Club.

I didn't have to force myself to laugh at his jokes, it just happened. Maverick was right, he had no problem talking away the night, but I didn't mind so much. It was nice to just be able to sit there and listen to his voice, even if the words didn't mean much to me. I was rooted on this couch, and for the first time I didn't feel like a complete outsider in this house.

My long awaited peace was not without interruption. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Maverick hovering in the doorway of the kitchen. He wore a wide grin and performed a brief, lued gesture before sending me a wink.

I hated how proud he looked. I tried to wave Maverick off, sending him a pointed look, but I wasn't as discreet as I had thought.

"Friend of yours?" Tyler asked. Maverick certainly wasn't kidding when he said that Tyler hated him. It was all very evident in the way his voice warped and his fingers crunched around his plastic cup.

"Just this guy that's been bothering me. Don't worry about him," I said, then pretended to take a sip of my beer. The plastic had become a comfort to my hands, something to play with when I was feeling nervous. And tonight, that feeling never went away.

"Do you need me to go talk to him?" Tyler straightened up, sitting just a little taller. He set his cup on the table and I grabbed onto his arm before he could make good on his offer.

No sparks as our skin met, but it was still physical contact, and according to Maverick that was a step in the right direction.

"No, I think that would only make it worse," I said. And then a tight feeling constricted around my chest as an idea was lodged in my mind. I shuttered out a breath. "But maybe if he saw that I was interested in someone else, he'd get the hint."

I peered up at Tyler through my lashes, gaging how well he responded to my obvious attempt at flirting. I felt ridiculous, the words tumbling out of my mouth, but then he was kissing me and I was letting him. His lips tasted like the beer he'd been drinking, his cup abandoned on the table and his skin was warm under my touch.

It wasn't so bad.

When we pulled away, Maverick was smirking into his cup, eyes purposefully darted away. My stomach squirmed.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Tyler's words drew me back to him. For the first time tonight, he seemed nervous. I caught a glimpse of him smoothing the front of his jeans with the palms of his hands.

I stared wide-eyed at him, only for a moment, before I remembered I was supposed to be flirting. I dropped my eyes, tucking a strand behind my ear, and tried to distract from my discomfort. This was going in the completely wrong direction, but maybe it wasn't too late to turn it around.

"I shouldn't, not until I get rid of all of this," I said, pulling the bag of weed out for him to see. I hoped my voice sounded regretful and a little innocent, not like I was conning him. "I came here to sell this. Gotta make rent, you know? But I haven't sold a single gram all night."

"I'd buy some," he said, maybe just a little too quickly. Before I could pretend to be surprised or bashful, he was already pulling out his wallet. It was a quick exchange, and by the end of it I caught him staring at me all too hopefully.

"I have to get rid of the rest of this, but maybe I could come find you when I'm done?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll talk to my friends. Maybe they'll want some too."

"You're sweet," I said, and pressed my lips to his before I could over-analyze my own actions.

It was only after I slipped into the kitchen that I realized I had forgotten the cup that I was fake drinking out of. Now there was nothing to mask the fact that my hands were shaking and my stomach was flipping.

I almost felt bad, using his own hormones against him, but the little guilt that settled in the base of my gut dissipated with the feel of his money in my hand.

But maybe it wasn't all that bad. If he spent the rest of the night thinking he was going to get with me, he wouldn't chase after some other girl and take her upstairs. Maybe I was saving them from teen pregnancy or living with STD for the rest of their miserable lives.

Maybe I was as manipulative as Maverick was.

"Swapping spit with him was a bit excessive, but it worked so I guess I can't judge," Maverick laughed, nudging my shoulder with the back of his hand as he passed me. He threw a grin over his shoulder at me.

I just groaned. Of course he was watching.

"Sounds like you need another drink."

There was no time to protest. He had already shoved a cup into my hand and spun me around my shoulders, pushing me into the next room over. The message was clear enough: Get back to work.