I wonder what B's got to say about this.

BPOV

I can't believe it. I can't fucking believe it.

My heart is beating a million miles an hour, and I don't know where I get the guts to talk to him like that.

He's gorgeous, in a dark kinda way. Everything about him screams trouble, from the vivid green eyes to the tattoos and the demeanor. Hell, even the way he talked to me. He's arrogant, yet funny, and I can't keep my eyes off him.

Masen.

He's proposing to be my AA sponsor, even though he looks like he doesn't want to be here. I wonder why that is. He keeps talking to me during the moment when other people talk, when they share. He whispers to me that he can help me a hell of a lot better than this pathetic bunch. Is that what he thinks I am? Pathetic?

"Why are you here?" I ask him, baffled by how relaxed he's sitting here, with one arm draped around the back of my chair, his legs spread wide. He's confident and laid-back. He's too tanned to be living here in New York.

"Why do you think, little Doe?" He breathes deeply. "Where the fuck are we?" He's got a foul mouth but I kinda love it. Masen doesn't walk on eggshells around me.

"You're an alcoholic?" I wonder.

"That's right, Doe." He nods, acting as if he's paying attention to the woman at the front of the room talking about her falling off the wagon.

"How long since your last drink?" I want to know.

"Long enough. Five years."

"Was it hard?" He smirks at me and licks his lips. They're full and pouty as if he's been kissing someone for an hour straight.

"Exceptionally hard, Doe." He nudges my shoulder. "But I'll make it less hard for you." He whispers.

I snort.

"That sounds hella dirty." I laugh. Two people turn their heads to look at us.

"I guess that means your mind is dirty, love."

I don't reply.

When the meeting is over, I get my newcomer's chip. There's a leaflet with information Derick pushes into my hand. I put it in my purse. There's no way I can endure this more than once a week. No way.

"Gimme your phone." Masen holds out a hand, swirls of ink adorn his hands, his neck. I wonder what else.

"I didn't bring it." I shrug. He eyes me suspiciously as I light up a cigarette just outside the building.

"What? How the fuck is that possible? Aren't people your age basically addicted to social media?" He asks me, patting his leather jacket, retrieving a manhandled, frumpled pack of Marlboros.

"Oh please. I'm an alcoholic, like that's not bad enough." I huff, attempting to make a little joke. I succeed, he laughs. He's got his tongue pierced, the black ball rattling against his teeth. I avert my gaze.

"Then how the fuck am I supposed to get in touch with you? That's what sponsors do, you know."

I bite my lip and take an empty envelope out of my bag and a lipstick I haven't used in years. I hand it to him.

"Old-school, I like it." He nods and starts scribbling on muted green paper and red lipstick, smudges on his hand.

"You could have just given me your phone and I would have typed in my number." I note, stuffing the envelope away in the front pocket of my handbag. He bites the inside of his cheek.

"So you're a smartass, huh?"

"Just stating the obvious. Are you that old you can't think about that?" I joke.

"Exactly how old do you think I am?" He narrows his eyes at me, they're gleaming as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.

"I have no idea. Maybe mid-twenties?" The tattoos and dark clothes make it hard to tell.

"Lucky number twenty-seven." He smiles.

"So only five years older than me. That means you can stop acting like my dad, Masen." I grin at him, tapping my ashes on the ground.

"Rest assured, you don't have to call me 'Daddy' if you don't want to." He winks at me and I feel my face grow hot all the way up to my ears. I don't know if he's serious or joking.

"You're barely legal for one year, how the fuck did you get here?" He asks me. He stumps the but of his cigarette. His boots look expensive.

"You never did under-age drinking? If I'm doing the math right, you got sober at my age. So what's the difference?"

"I can't imagine a good little girl like you doing such bad things. That's all."

"I do bad things, a lot of them. And I do them very well." I shrug and start heading off. His eyes are dark, haunting.

"Where you going?"

"Home." I shout. Where Rose is waiting for me.

"You better text me your number, Doe-eyes."

I don't let him see my smile as I walk away.

"Bye, Masen."