7
FINN
Where am I?
The weight of a woman’s leg draped over my right thigh told me that I had once again scored. But the smell of lemons on the scratchy sheets told me that I had not made it to my home.
Shit! I gotta get out of here!
Easing out from under the leg, I sat up on the edge of the bed, finding that it was still dark out. Which was good for me. I used the lack of light to my advantage. This way, if the woman did open her eyes, she might not even see me.
Moving about in the room, I looked around the clothes-strewn floor until I found mine. The girl wasn’t much of a housekeeper — that much was obvious.
The week of me shadowing my father had been unbelievably boring and monotonous. He hadn’t allowed me even a sip of alcohol. He’d said that it was to keep my mind sharp. And it
