Ariel Beckham.
I walk straight to reception.
“Hi, I’m here to sign up for the perfume academy class.” The blonde-haired girl behind the counter puts down her phone and looks up at me with a polite smile.
“Your name?” she asks, fingers poised over a keyboard
“Ariel Beckham.” I reply, excited but I’m hiding my joy. This class is a big deal for me. If it not for the $2000 that Ramirez gave me, I wouldn’t even be here to register for it. Yet, at the back of my mind, I am unable to ignore the question that’s been gnawing at me for days. It’s been three days since I saw him storm past, a gun tucked in his waistband. My heart dropped when I caught a glimpse of it, but what hit me harder was the look in his eyes. If I hadn’t seen that, I might’ve assumed he was avoiding me because we’d slep
