Home > No Tomorrow(12)

No Tomorrow(12)
Author: Carian Cole

His mouth clicks as he taps his piercing against his teeth. “Were you coming to see me to be polite?”


“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He says it with such sadness I almost burst into tears. I look at my feet and swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

He tilts my face with a finger so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “You want to tell me why?” he asks softly.

“I was scared. I am scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of you,” I admit. “And other things.”

His brow creases, and he licks his lips. “You should’ve told me you were a virgin.”

Ugh. I’m grateful for the dark hiding my blushing cheeks. “I didn’t really get a chance to.”

“True. I never would’ve done that if I’d known. I thought you wanted me.”

I breathe in a shallow breath. “I did.”

Grabbing my waist, he pulls me against his body and leans down, pressing his lips against my forehead and holding them there for a few moments.

“I like you, Piper.”

“I like you, too,” I whisper.

“I think I might need you in my life.”

My stomach flip-flops.

“Let’s drive back to the park,” he suggests. “We can sit in the car and talk for a while.”

“Okay.” I slowly pull away from him.

“Do you mind if Acorn sits in your back seat? His paws are clean.”

“Of course he can.”

I let myself into the driver’s side while he puts Acorn and his stuff in the back and then gets in the passenger seat next to me.

“How did you know this was my car?” I ask as I put the key in the ignition. “Have you been watching me?”

“I actually saw you getting into it one night before you first saw me playing in the park. Me and Acorn were walking around, and I saw you in the parking lot where you work. You dropped your keys, and when you reached down to pick them up, your sunglasses fell off your head and were all tangled up in your hair.”

I nod, remembering that crappy day when everything under the sun seemed to go wrong.

“I thought you looked way too young to be driving, and I wondered if you could even see over the dashboard.”

“Really?” I ask, offended and humiliated. “You’re going to be one of those people who make fun of my height now?”

I’ve heard it all over the years. Pipsqueak, Shorty, Tinkerbell. And let’s not forget Pussypuker, which has nothing to do with my height and everything to do with my supreme awkwardness.

“Go easy, baby. I think you’re fucking cute and sexy.”

Ignoring my frown, he reaches across the car and holds my hand as I drive. It makes me feel so excited inside that I have to force myself to focus extra hard on actually driving the car, especially when I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost run a red light.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asks when I slam on the brakes at the last minute. “You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m fine. I’m just not used to someone holding my hand while I’m driving.”

“Do you want me to let go so you don’t kill us?” he teases.

I tighten my fingers around his before the light turns green. “No,” I answer with a smile.

When we get near the park, he directs me to a dead-end side road, and I stop the car and turn off the lights and engine when we reach the end of the street near the woods.

“I don’t think anyone will bother us here,” he says. “You mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all.”

He lets go of my hand to light up a cigarette, and I turn the key to lower his window for him.

“You said you were scared.”


He exhales smoke out the window and waits for me to continue without prompting me.

Running my finger over the leather steering wheel, I search for the right words and come up short.

“I’m afraid I might be pregnant. Or that maybe you have something.”


“Yeah. Like something I could get.”

“Oh.” He flicks ashes out the window. “That kind of something.”


“I didn’t come in you, so the chances of you getting pregnant are slim. And you can’t get pregnant from swallowing.”

“I know that,” I say defensively.

“Just making sure.”

Does he think I’m stupid? It might have been my first time, but I’m not a total moron about sex.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Two years, maybe. Maybe more.”

A wave of relief washes through me hearing that. I was afraid he’s been wandering around sleeping with all sorts of women in different states from coast to coast.


“I don’t blame you for thinking I’m scum, Piper. I know how I look, being homeless, having long hair and tattoos, not being able to take you on a date. You deserve better.”

“I don’t think you’re scum at all. And I like the way you look. I didn’t think you had a disease because you’re homeless, Evan. You’re just really good-looking, and I figured you probably sleep with tons of women.”

That makes him laugh. “A few. But definitely not a ton. And I usually use protection. I just couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get inside you. You scrambled my fucking brain.”

“I know the feeling,” I mutter.

“And just so you know, I shower several times a week. There’s a kid that works at the truck stop on the highway. I give him guitar lessons, and he lets me use the shower early in the morning. He even gives me soap and shampoo. I’m squeaky clean,” he says with a grin.

I shake my head and smile at him. “I wondered how you always smell so nice.”

He takes one more drag off his cigarette, throws it out the window, and then grabs my hand again.

“Next time, I’ll be prepared. Okay? And I’ll try to go a little slower.”

Next time? There’s going to be a next time?

“And if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go to the clinic downtown and get tested.”

The idea is tempting, but I think it’s safe to assume Evan doesn’t have health insurance like I do, and he’ll end up with a huge bill to pay. That makes me wonder how he even gets his bills in the mail. Does he have a PO box? Or does he have to pay for everything immediately and in full with cash? How does anyone even get in contact with him? This homelessness situation is very confusing to me.

“Um, I think that might be expensive,” I say.

“I have some extra cash for emergencies.”

Oh no. I can’t let him do that. What if he gets sick and needs the money? Or what if Acorn gets sick or hurt? What if they need food?

“You don’t have to do that.” I face him. “Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?”

“I give you my word.” His eyes hold nothing but sincerity, and it soothes my nerves somewhat. I’ve heard liars have shifty eyes, but his are calm. I decide to keep my appointment to get tested to myself and only bring it up if a scary result comes back. Otherwise, there’s really no point insulting him by telling him I ran to a doctor after having sex with him. No guy wants to hear that.

We hold hands across the inside of my car and listen to the radio in the dark. He tells me he started playing guitar and writing songs when he was about eight or nine years old and how his older brother introduced him to weed right around the same time. He explains how the words came easier when he was high, and it took him almost ten years to realize he couldn’t keep smoking weed every day. He admits he dropped out of high school during his junior year.

I listen intently as he tells me about the other drugs he then started to use—most I don’t even recognize the names of. While rubbing his thumb along the inside of my palm, he tells me how it took him another four years, a stay in rehab, and threats from his family and friends for him to get off the harder drugs. I’ve only smoked pot a few times and didn’t like how it made me feel or all the coughing it made me do, so I can’t truly understand his addictions. But it’s clear from the emotion in his voice that he had a very strong love/hate experience with drugs and alcohol.

“Living straight and sober made me feel restless. That’s when I left and started living like this. Being free became a new high.” He lifts my hand to his lips, and my breath hitches when he kisses the tiny ladybug tattoo on my wrist.

“Now you’re my addiction.” His low, gravelly tone sends ripples through my stomach.

Letting go of my hand, he leans across the small car and kisses me. I open my mouth for his tongue, welcoming the familiar minty-smoky taste of him. As he kisses me, he reaches across my body, finds the seat lever, and pulls it while pushing the headrest with his other hand until I’m leaning all the way back. Acorn quickly scooches over to the other side of the back seat to make room for the sudden invasion.

He leans over me in the front seat, still kissing me hungrily. When I reach up to put my arms around him, he slowly moves his lips down the side of my throat, sucking and biting a tantalizing path to the V-neck of my sweater, pulling the fabric down to expose the pink silk push-up bra cradling my breasts. I send up a silent thank you to Victoria’s Secret for designing a bra that makes even my small breasts look good.

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