Free Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) by A. Rosa Page B

wait!"
    "No, Jeremy, forget it! I'll get over it. I always do. Just add it to the list, bro."
    With that, Jeremy stops and turns around to look at me. His face falls with some unknown emotion, and I wonder what Marcus means about adding it to the list, but Jeremy's stricken expression tells me he needs me. I grab his hand, pull him back inside his apartment, close the door behind him, and do the only thing that I think can make this better.
    I take his face between my hands , and kiss him long and hard. He wraps his arms around me in our first warm, endearing embrace. He hugs me tighter as if he doesn't want to let me go, and he is so sincere that I don't want to let go either. I just need to be there for him.
    Reluctantly, I pull away and lead him back down the hall to his bedroom. We crawl into bed to wait for the pizza guy, wrapping ourselves around each other. This is the only way I know to calm his busy mind, and even still, it's only a guess.
    "I'm sorry for getting between you and Marcus." I have to say the only thing that is on my mind.
    He shakes the statement off, and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. "Don't be sorry. It's not you. It's the timing. It's just that, in general, I have been a shitty friend to Marcus. He deserves better, ya know?"
    No, Jeremy, you're wrong. Your best friend wants to wipe out populations of people for money, and is doing it right under your nose.
    I nod as if I understand, and I think a series of different thoughts and questions as I gaze into Jeremy's glacier blue eyes:
    I need to call Derek to set up a meeting to discuss my current predicament.
    I am falling for Jeremy hard , and I can't understand how it is happening.
    Can I care for Jeremy and at the same time use him as an angle for this assignment? Is that fair?
    Will he still look at me the same way when, or if , I reveal the truth?
    Can I turn this all around?
    Where is the damn pizza?

CHAPTER TEN
    Losing Control
     
     
     
     
    MARCUS GIBBS
    I let my knee wobble up and down as I sit on this lumpy leather couch taking in the surroundings. I am in some kid's dump of an apartment in Southie. Shitty movie posters plaster the walls. The carpet looks stained from repeated bong water spills, mixed with cigarette burns. The air reeks of stale smoke and incense.
    "Care for a line?"
    "Huh?" Is he talking?
    "I said , do you want to hit this?"
    My eyes bounce up and meet Steve Wilkinson's spry, crisp stare. I watch him bob his cigarette between his smug lips. I always have the urge to beat the shit out of this guy, but I don't turn down his offer. I am on edge from my withdrawal, even though it’s only been around eight hours.
    "Yea h, sure. Thanks." I grab the rolled up twenty-dollar bill.
    I lean down and use it to inhale the crystal white line off his clean coffee table. It's the only clean surface in the apartment. It's obvious what he finds most important.
    His eyes are a sky blue, and between that and his attitude problem, he reminds me of Jeremy. I think that is what annoys me most about him. He gets a lot of ass. Most days when I pick up, there is a new blonde leaving his apartment. Must be nice, douchebag . Although, maybe they're drug addicts too.
    Steve is young, younger than I am at twenty-three. He's built like a linebacker, but his wit is as sharp as a knife. This kid has done every drug from marijuana and acid to cocaine and DMT. He is a nut job. He dropped out of Tufts University because he figured he could make more money, and get more girls, selling drugs. He's smart as hell with numbers, but dumb as fuck. His deep, cocky voice always irks me, because he acts as if he has it all, but it’s all a matter of his stupid perspective. His apartment is a shithole, but his pride and joy is that bright red Corvette in the driveway.
    He has the same dominating presence as Jeremy too, which fucking bothers me about the guy, but at least he can be funny as hell, and I think if he didn't remind me so much of my back-stabbing