Page 10 of Lawton

Their voices were very close now. Concealed by the hedges, I saw their silhouettes pass just a few feet away. They were still laughing. I wasn't. Apparently, I wasn't just the neighbor guy.

I was a total loser.

A drug-snorting, hot-headed fucktard with a not-so-promising future as a mall-cop.

Most of the time, I didn't give a rat's ass what people said or thought of me. For some reason, this wasn't one of those times.

Before I knew it, I'd slipped out the narrow gate and turned to follow them. They were several paces ahead, but their voices still carried. Chloe was talking when her friend interrupted. "But he doesn'thavea drug problem."

About this, the friend was right. Oh sure, I'd tried a few things, but those days were gone. Now, I had something to lose, and not just my temper, listening to this line of bull.

"Not that you know of," Chloe was saying.

"And you can't go through that much money," the friend said. "It's not even possible."

"Oh yeah?" Chloe stumbled forward, dragged along by the little dog. "Tell that to Mike Tyson."

Following behind them, I tried to not take it personally. Yeah, I had a bad reputation. And yeah, some of it was earned. Okay,a lotof it was earned. But I was no loser.

Walking, I waited for them to turn around, or at least notice some muscular, tattooed guy following after them. But between the hyper dog and their little joke-fest, they kept on going without a single backwards glance.

Rich girls in a rich neighborhood. The lack of street-smarts shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Before I knew it, we'd circled back to the sidewalk in front of my house. Passing my front gate, Chloe slowed down. She glanced toward my front door and said something too low for me to make out.

Looking toward my house, the friend gave a low whistle. "Wow, that's seriously huge." She laughed. "Like the rest of him, huh?"

Without thinking, I picked up the pace. The joke might've been funny the first time. Now, after five years of fame, not so much.

"What I can't figure out," Chloe said, "is why he's living in Rochester Hills of all places."

"Well, heisfrom Detroit."

"Yeah, but shouldn't he be living in Hollywood or New York by now?"

I was just a couple steps behind them, and they still didn't notice.

The friend snorted. "Want to know what a million bucks buys in New York? A coat closet."

Again, Cloe glanced toward my house. "What? No room for orgies?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I spoke up. "Yeah. That's it." It came out louder than I expected, and I stopped moving.

They whirled around to look, even the dog. When they spotted me, they froze. I should've felt bad. But I was too pissed off. Or maybe I was just too crushed.

For years, she'd been the girl of my dreams. And here she was – just a girl who hated the guy I'd become.

Orgies, huh? I gave her a hard look. "You volunteering?"

Standing on the sidewalk, she stared up at me. At something in her eyes, I felt myself swallow. I was being a dick, and I damn well knew it. From the look on her face, she knew it too.

I opened my mouth to say something. What, I'll never know, because just then, her gaze slid from my eyes and travelled slowly downward. She stopped at my crotch.

What the hell?

And then, as if remembering herself, she looked quickly down to my feet. At the sight of my old-fashioned red tennis shoes, she paused. At the color? Or the fact I wasn't barefoot like the last time she'd seen me?