He processes what I said and then sits up, chucking the cards aside. “Wait? ‘Deal’ as in drugs?”

I shrug with my hands out to my side. “Are you really that surprised?”

His eyes scroll up and down me. “Yeah… I don’t know.” He scratches his head. “Why do you do it?”

“Because it’s a job,” I tell him. “I also work as a waitress because I hate being in debt and school has made me get in debt a lot.”

“But you could go to jail. Or worse stuff could happen.” He swallows hard. “Drugs are dangerous, Violet.”

“So.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? What could happen to you?”

“Not really. Life is just life, whether I’m living in the streets, behind bars, or in a dorm.”

He frowns at me. “I had a friend that went to jail once and things weren’t great for him for a while.”

“Things are never great for me.” It slips out and the shocked look on his face makes me want to take it back. “It doesn’t really matter anyway,” I hurry and say, hoping to distract him. “I don’t have a supplier anymore so I won’t be dealing for a while.” I swallow hard at the truth.

He frees a breath, his solid, tattooed chest puffing out. “Where do you get the drugs?”

I hold up two fingers. “That’s two questions and again I only owe you one.”

Shaking his head, he grabs the cards and quickly deals another hand. He wins again and my suspicion rises because he has an ace and a queen and the probability of him getting such good cards three times in a row is unlikely.

“I’m not so sure these are legitimate wins,” I state, putting my cards on top of the deck. It’s not that I’m pissed, which is strange. I’m more intrigued than anything because usually I’m the one screwing someone over, but if he is cheating—if he’s fucked me over—that’d be a first in a long, long time. “I think you might be cheating, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

“Prove it then.” His lips quirk. “Now, for my next question. Where do you get the drugs?”

“From a panda bear,” I say the first thing that pops into my head, not ready to fully accept he’s won this hand.

His forehead creases and then he chuckles under his breath. “Oh my fucking God, you are seriously the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks.” I shake my head and shuffle the cards on the mattress in front of me.

He puts his hand over mine, stopping me from shuffling. “No way. You still need to answer my question.”

“What? ‘Panda bear’ wasn’t a good enough answer for you?”

“Where do you get the drugs from?” He withdraws his hand from mine.

I align the cards evenly against the mattress. “From the guy you beat up today.”

His lips part in shock. “How do you even know him?”

“He’s my foster parent, or was from the time I was fifteen to eighteen.”

“Your foster parent?” He gapes at me. “Are you fucking serious?”

“What do you think?” I remain as composed as I can, making him work to see if I’m telling the truth.

He firmly maintains my gaze. “I think you are.”

“Okay then. You have your answer.”

“Okay then.” He repeats my words, his face contorting with perplexity as he takes the deck from me. “Next hand.”

This time I watch him carefully, calculating every one of his movements. Everything seems flawless, until I go to pick up my dealt cards. I notice him shift his weight forward and scratch his leg. I swear to God it looks like he takes something out from underneath his ass.

“Wait a minute.” I raise a finger, setting my cards down as I lean forward. “Did you just take a card out from under your ass?”

“Now why would I do that?” He lifts the two cards he has as he presses his hand innocently to his chest. “Besides, where would I put the other cards I dealt?”

“How the hell should I know,” I say. “Maybe up your ass.”

He blinks at me, unimpressed and I get to my feet. Without any warning I push on his arm so I can look under his ass. He busts up laughing again and I make a mental note that I’ve involuntarily managed to get him to laugh twice in the last few minutes. I don’t know what it means, other than I must be on some comedian trip and he finds me amusing when no one really has before.

As he tips to the side, and lets me look under his ass, I get a peek of his ass as the towel slouches lower on his hip and smell the scent of booze on his breath.

There’s a card hidden under him, just like I thought and I snatch it up and hold it between my fingers. “You were cheating the whole time, weren’t you?”

He grabs the card away from me, a trace of a smile at his lips. “I always cheat at cards. It was how I was taught to play.”

“So you knew I’d lose every hand and you’d get to ask the questions.” I sink down on the bed, crossing my legs, unsure what to make of this. No one’s ever played me like that. “I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or impressed.”

“I’d go with the latter,” he tells me, his smile growing and reaching his eyes.

“I could do that…” What the hell is my problem? I should be getting upset with him. He played me. And I kind of like it, in a weird, playful way. “But I only think it’s fair that you answer some of my questions.”

“Why’s that fair?” he asks, tightening the loosened towel on his waist. “I should get to ask more questions for being clever enough to trick you, which I’m guessing doesn’t happen that often. I’m guessing you’re usually on the giving end instead of the receiving.”

“I get to ask you three questions,” I say, cutting him off. “And the first one I want to know is why don’t you have anywhere to live?”

He’s unenthusiastic about my question. “That’s really what you’re choosing to ask?” he asks and I nod. “Fine, but it’s nothing interesting like dealing drugs.” He blows out a loud breath, leaning back down on the bed, propping sideways on his hip. “I do have a place to live, but it means going back to live with my mom in my hometown and I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You don’t like your mom?”

“Not really.” He lifts up two fingers. “That’s two questions, for the record. You only get one more.” His voice quivers and so do his fingers. I feel bad for him because I can tell there’s more to it then what he says. As much as I loved my mother, I know from my time in foster care that not all mothers are sweet and loving like mine was. Mine would read me stories, sing with me. She even taught me how to play the piano, but there are some who don’t like children, who hurt them, not just physically, but emotionally, both of which I’ve experienced.

I thrum my fingers on top of my leg, thinking how far I want to delve into his head and my own. “Why don’t you just rent a place here?”

It wasn’t the question he was expecting and he’s startled by the easiness of it. “Because I have about two hundred bucks to my name.”

“Me, too.” I lean back against the headboard and kick my feet up on the bed. “How coincidental is that?”

“Not very coincidental,” he replies. “Considering we’re both two college kids who just had to fork out a shitload of money to pay for fall tuition.” He reorganizes the deck, moving top cards to the bottom. “You know, together we have about four hundred bucks. That’s enough to get an apartment in one of the Oak Section Apartments.” He winces as he says it and I’m not sure if it’s because he just offered to live with me or because the Oak Section Apartments are in the ghetto area of the city, where crackheads and prostitutes live. But they’re easy to get into and cheap because no one but crack heads and prostitutes want to live there.

I’m not sure what to make of his offer. My initial reaction is to reject him before he ends up rejecting me. “Nah, I don’t think that’d work.”

He crosses his legs, still turned sideways. “Why not?”

“Well, for starters, it’d get us a month, but then we’d be broke without food or money to pay the other bills. I still have my waitressing job at Moonlight Dining and Drinks, but I make shit and it won’t cover nearly all the expenses… and I don’t even know if you have a job,” I say. He looks hesitant and I have my answer. “So you don’t have a job?”