( Julio POV )
I shouldn’t have messed with her.
I just couldn’t help it.
I’m the guy that likes to get in trouble and do the things people love to consider reckless or stupid. I will tell a girl anything they need to hear to get them in my bed and I can lie through my teeth and make you believe anything you want.
I know the art of scheming. My whole life is a scheme worth writing about. I can hustle anybody to do anything I want. It’s like taking a candy from a baby. I’m the guy you try to avoid on the street because with just one look, you’ll know I’m trouble.
I have tattoos covering my arms, some with meaning and some just for show. I have Mexican blood running through my veins and it just makes me more of who I am. I’m proud of who I am and where I come from.
But that’s all I’m proud of.
Not once have I ever done something for the greater good. When it comes down to it, caring for other people just wasn’t in my nature. Either we were close or you weren't a care in my mind.
Igrew up living the life my father put me into and it made me make sacrifices in my life I wish I didn't have too..
I no longer did things without meaning. I learned a long time ago that caring for something more than you should lands you in one thing: Trouble. Not that I don’t like trouble, I just know my limitless.
Girls know me as the heart-breaker.
But for some reason they can’t stay away.
I’m honest about who I am even when I’m lying. People say I need to change. Figure out where I am going, who I plan to be. But why would I change for something that means so little to me?
I am who I am and why would I want to change that?
My life has been full of disappointments and I live my life on whims. I like being sarcastic, cocky, and rude. I like being Julio Hernandez. I like doing the unpredictable because my life is beyond predictable. I’m a cliche’ in the damn making.
Sure, It doesn't get me far and pisses people off. I don’t care though because at-least I’m not trying to hide who I am. Hell, I don't even try to kid myself anymore. I learned a while ago that you should always keep people at a distance.
Never let them get close.
If they get close, they have a chance to hurt you. They have a chance to disappoint you. When you give someone hope, they have the chance to build you up and break you down. They have the handbook on how to break you where it hurts the most.
Why the hell would anyone wanna give that kind of thing away so easily?
When I see my motorcycle leaning against a tree in the parking lot I smirk to myself. My mom was so dead-set against it, but I refused to give it up. Cars were to compacted for me. I liked the freedom a motorcycle offered me.
Freedom is all I’ve ever wanted in my life.
Mi madre thought it was my death. She swore every day that a motorcycle was the last thing a guy like me needed. Maybe she was right. I swear she was wrong.
Like I said, a motorcycle was the ideal thing to have. I sling my shitty bag on the bar and when I slip on, I look over and I see Kelsey Mays herself, walking down the pathway, leading to the girls even shittier dorms.
Her head is down and her hair is swinging in the fall air, creating a sort of golden brown curtain hiding her from the world. It’s like she refuses to look up at the things around her. She likes to live in her head more than she does in the real world.
Even from where I am you can tell how hot the mamacita was just by looking. It seemed like she tried to hide it though. I have no idea why.
From the oversized hoodie she had on and to the jeans she always almost wore, she left a lot to the imagination.
And my imagination can think of some pretty fucked up things.
I continue to watch her walk and I wonder if I was turning into a fuckin’ freak? The girl drew me in and I knew from the moment I danced with her, at the ball my last summer in high school, that I wanted to get to know her.
Know her in ways she didn’t want to be known.
She stops and turns her head, as if she can tell that someone is watching her, and when she squints her eyes and catches me sitting on my motorcycle, obviously checking her out, I see her actually glare from here.
I smile and wave at her, my fingers moving up and down and she brings her hand in the air, flicks me her finger, and turns around continuing on her way.
Well, well, well.
Kelsey Mays was a feisty one.
The funny thing is that I have plenty of experience with girls like her. Ones who act like they hate boys and could care less about their charms, but they always crumble.
I can have Kelsey in my hands in a matter of a week if I actually tried.
I slip my helmet on and I rev my bike, my hands tightening around the bars. I knew going to college was a stupid idea from the beginning.
This place wasn’t made for someone like me and I told my mom the same thing. But that woman scares the hell out of me and is probably the only women who could get me to do anything. She wanted her son to be something. Something more than the life he was offered.
So she signed my student loan, got me here, and told me that she suspected me to be home every night since I didn’t too far. I was pissed for weeks when she actually signed the loan. That amount of money for a fucking AA degree?
My family doesn’t have a lot of money. Ever since my dad got locked up for dealing drugs we have been living on practically nothing since forever.
This is why college is such a shitty idea. That’s why signing that loan was crazy. I could use toward more important things. Not college. Since I am the oldest in the family, I should be supporting my familia.
My mom shouldn’t have to go through all the backache and hard labor to support our family. I’m the man and I have to step up and become one. I should be the one to support the people I love.
I thought about it for a while. Longer than I should have. Since my dad was the drug dealer he was, a lot of his partners and clients came to me when he went to jail.
They asked me if I wanted in, to help with what they claimed the ‘Family Business.’ I refused and they told me they would be back.
And come back they did.
They would find me all the time, get me behind some building, and ask the same question again and again. The same stupid shit I never wanted to deal with.
Do you want in? I would always tell them the same answer, no. But that didn’t mean I didn’t think about it. It didn’t mean I didn’t think about following in my fathers footsteps.
My mom needed the money for bills and since Jose and the rest were growing up so fast, they would need clothes for school and other things.
Marcia still needed money for class fees so my mom would work and it killed me every time I saw her come home from the grocery store, slick with sweat and exhaustion in her eyes.
I grip the handlebars tighter and make a left turn. There was a Café close to the college that was hiring and I decided earlier today that I should give it a try.
I could balance my classes and get money to help my with whatever she needed.
Because the fact is:
Real men get money from labor.
Not drugs.
I pull into the parking spot that is empty and I turn off my motorcycle without thinking about it. I take off my helmet and I run my hands through my black hair, hoping it looked somewhat decent.
I swing a leg over the side and I sit my helmet on the back of my bike. I knew no one was going to touch it because I had a reputation around here for getting in fights and defending what was mine.
The Café looked like a knock off Starbucks, but bigger. A lot of college kids came here with their laptops and notebooks and would finish any work they had from class. It was full of wanna be hipsters and losers hoping to make it as writers.
It wasn’t really my kind of hangout, but when you needed a job, you would take anything the world threw at you. It could have been worse.
A little ding rings out when I open the door and the smell of grounded coffee hits me hard when I step in. I absolutely hated the smell of coffee.
Some kids my age were already set up at some round tables by the windows and others were sitting at the booths to my right, laughing and hanging out. One girl even has a feather hanging from her hair.
I see a slim redhead at the counter, running a towel over a napkin dispenser. Her hair is the kind of red that doesn’t come from a box and was up in a high ponytail. She looked probably two years older than me but that didn’t mean anything.
She has on the black issued uniform that anyone working here wears and a little blue name tag over her breast pocket stands out in contrast.
I weave my way around tables and when I get close enough to see her name, I smile and try it out real quick.
Becca.
Not too bad, actually.
She is so busy cleaning that she doesn’t hear or see me come up. I smile and I set my hand on the napkin dispenser, blocking her exceptional cleaning.
She looks up quickly, shocked, and when her green eyes meet mine, they seem to widen a little.
She fumbles with the napkins and ends up dropping them all over the place. They fall to the ground and she curses under her breath a little, a pink flush blossoming her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” She says as the napkins fall to the floor on my side of the counter. She backs up, about to come over, but I hold my hand up to stop her.
“I got it.”
I give her a little smile and bend down to pick them up. While I am busy, I analyze what kind of girl she might be.
Bitchy? No, so being rude won’t work on her.
Easy? My eyes lift to her and I see her running a hand over the counter nervously, a worried look on her face. I shake my head, getting rid of that idea.
If she was she would have more confidence. That leaves my next option open.
Sweet.
That meant she would want to hear what she likes to hear. She liked to be told the truth and sob stories were your way in.
This was going to be pretty easy if I say so myself.
I hand her the napkins and she smiles gracefully and she starts to shove them back into the dispenser. I watch her for a while and then I clear my throat, getting her attention. When she looks up, I nod my head to the window.
“I heard you guys were looking for someone to hire.”
She looks over at the sign too and her head nods fast. Some of her red hair escapes her ponytail and she swipes it back without bothering to look.
“Yeah, the manager is on vacation and I took her place for a while. Do you have any experience with people or with making coffee?”
I lean against the counter and seem to think about the question. Coffee? No. People? Depends on what she means by ‘Experience.’
“Look,” I say, deciding to just tell the chick the truth. What was the point in lying? She seemed like the type to care and consider things, so maybe for once not trying to play a girl could work to my benefit.
“I have no idea how to do ... any of this,”
I finger what I think is a salt shaker, but the label reads vanilla. Do white people actually like this stuff? Seriously?
“I just really need a job right now.” I don’t elaborate on why I need the job because it wasn’t a need to know kind of thing.
She looks up at me and sucks on her bottom lip. I can literally see the thoughts running through her head. I had to admit, the girl was cute, but she was someone that I could never see myself taking advantage of.
Sweet wasn’t really my type.
She lets out her breath.
“How about I let you try out tonight and if you do a good job, then I will hire you? Sound good?” I slap my hand on the counter and give her my best smile.
“When can I start?”
She gets out a piece of paper with the schedule and squints at it. The little ding goes off on the door and she looks up to see who it is and then goes back to looking at the paper.
“Come around 9 and you can stay till closing which is 12. Is that okay?” Her green eyes meet mine and I nod, more than relieved.
I turn around to leave and I look over my shoulder to see her putting the papers back under the counter. She wipes her hands on her uniform and she goes to turn to the customer when I call out to her.
“By the way, I like the red.” I twirl a piece of my hair, indicating her hair, and she blushes a little and turns back to the costumers.
I laugh under my breath and head out the door. I see my motorcycle and I reach for the key in my back pocket, nerves suddenly making there way to the surface.
Tonight at nine I’ll be starting my first job ever.
Can you say dios mio?!