Gunner (EDITED/REWRITTEN)

27- Aria (EDITED)

The Back Door Lounge?

Shit...

I stared at Cole's message, wondering why there? He knew how much I hated that place. The place is old and run down, it smells, it's dark, the people who hang out there are untrustworthy, and there's always a fight.

There's no way I could go there alone.

While contemplating what to do, a shiver ran up my spine after feeling that someone was watching me. It also felt as if someone was standing before me, but when I looked up, no one was there. I looked around me, then when I saw no eyes, I looked back at my phone and quickly sent Cole another message before Gunner saw I was there.

Me: I'm not going alone. You know I hate that place.

After seeing the three tiny dots moving up and down on my screen, my nervous heart gained speed. And when the message came in, my eyes closed in disappointment.

Cole: If you're not coming alone, forget it.

He's not the one calling the shots. I am.

Me: Why? What's the big deal, anyway? I'm curious about what was so important that you needed to tell me.

Cole: The big deal is that I wanted to talk to only you, without your desperado boyfriend. He's trouble, Aria, and you will find yourself hurt by that hooligan.

I laughed, then quickly slapped my hand over my mouth after it echoed the hallway.

Hooligan?

Desperado?

I think not! After what Walter found and mentioned, Cole's the fucking hoodlum.

Me: You know what? Forget I asked to see you. I don't trust you or anything you have to say to me. So never contact me again, got it?

Cole: Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you.

Me: If you want to talk to me as bad as you do, you'll allow me to bring someone along. I refuse to go alone, especially to the Back Door Lounge. And if you want me to feel safe, you would allow it.

Cole: Alone, or not at all...

Cole: What will it be, Aria?

"Aria?"

Shit...

Hearing Gunner's voice instantly had me widening my eyes. I lowered my phone to the side of my leg, then looked up. "Hey, Gunner," I greeted, a higher-pitched voice than usual.

"What's up?" he asked, looking inquisitive.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

He leaned back on the balls of his feet as his arms folded against his chest. "It doesn't look like nothing. You've got a guilty look on your face." A furrowed brow formed on his sweaty face. "Is there something you came here to tell me?"

"No," I said, whiffling my head.

Now I know I'm looking guilty.

I feel guilty.

I am guilty.

He knows me, and I can see it on his face that he know's I'm guilty of something.

His eyebrows raised. And he lowered his hands to his hips when his eyes dropped from mine, down to my phone. "Who are you talking to?"

I slowly gulped, then discreetly hit the button on the side of my phone, turning it off. "Nobody important. Are you almost done here?"

His eyes found mine, and the look in his eye told me he didn't believe a word I said. My palms became sweaty, my heart rate increased, my knees trembled, and my stomach fluttered nervously.