Bang Theory

by Valente, Lili

  We soar into the sky just as Newton cries out in pain and apples begin raining down on his head and shoulders. Drag leaps to her feet, waving an arm, “Goodbye, sweetheart. And don’t forget to read the signs on your way out. Always read the signs!”

  “Okay! Thank you!” I shout back. There’s no time to ask her what signs, but soon enough her meaning becomes clear.

  As my dildo in shining armor and I soar into the clouds, we pass by planes dragging banners behind them.

  Banners that combine to read: Enthusiasm + Skill/Practice + Confidence = Success.

  I bite my lip, thoughts racing, but I don’t waste a moment wondering what exactly the banners are talking about. I’m soaring through the air on the wings of a giant flying dildo. That kind of success is pretty self-explanatory.

  What we have here is a Bang Theory.

  One that’s just begging to be put to the test.

  I might have gotten a degree in hotel management, but I remember the steps of the scientific method. This is step three. “Hypothesis,” I murmur as I come to on the sidewalk, Theo’s worried face hovering over mine.

  “Oh, thank God, you’re awake,” she says, touching fingers to my forehead. “I’m calling 911 right now.”

  “No, don’t,” I say, blinking as I scan my body from head to toe. “I’m okay.”

  “A plant fell on you. You could have died, and you’ve got a huge lump on your head!”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much. Not any worse than a normal headache, anyway.”

  “Then let me take you to the hospital,” she says. “Sit tight, and I’ll go get my car and pull it up to the curb.”

  “No, really. I don’t need a doctor.” I push slowly into a seated position. Movement makes the pain worse, but still not bad enough to call for an ambulance or head to the ER. “I’m okay,” I insist, patting Theo’s thigh. “Just help me home? I’m not sure I should ride my bike right now.”

  “Of course you shouldn’t! And we’re not going to your place; we’re going to Kirby’s. It’s closer, and she’ll be tough and make you go to the hospital.”

  But by the time we get to Kirby’s, I’ve convinced Theo that I’m steady on my feet, making her side with me when Kirby wants to rush me straight to the closest emergency room.

  I convince my sister to put me under observation for the rest of the afternoon, gratefully accept a cup of tea, and snuggle into the comfy blue chair in the corner of her living room to ponder the big questions, wondering if this is how Sir Isaac Newton felt the day he discovered gravity—like he was buzzing and humming, his brain on fire with questions that demanded to be answered.

  Chapter Three

  Shep

  I get the call from Kirby, telling me that Bridget’s been hurt and is resting up at her place, and I run.

  I hang up without a word, leave the wood I was cutting for a new closet door for my mom’s bedroom on the sawhorse, toss my protective glasses onto the concrete on my way up the driveway, and make the journey through the neighborhood from my house to Kirby’s in half the usual time.

  I race up the stairs leading to her porch and slam my fist into her door hard enough to make the stained-glass shudder in the window frame.

  I pull my hand back, willing myself to relax before I break something, but before I can knock with a more appropriate degree of force, the door swings open and Kirby’s pale face appears.

  “How is she?” I ask, breathless.

  “She says she’s fine,” Kirby says, motioning me inside. “But I think we should go to the emergency room. Just to be safe.”

  I sweep past Kirby, freezing as I meet Bridget’s eyes across the cozy living room. She’s tucked into a blue chair the same turquoise as her eyes. Her brown curls are tangled, and there’s dirt on her face, but she’s awake and in one piece.

  Thank God.

  I want to rush to her, put my arms around her, and hold her so close nothing can ever hurt her again. Better yet, I want to rip open my chest, tuck every precious inch of her inside me, and shield her from all the hurt in the world.

  Instead, I force myself to cross the room at a reasonable speed and crouch by her chair—close, but not too close.

  I’ve already fucked up with her once, already crossed a line I never should have crossed and put our friendship and her happiness at risk. I refuse to do it again, no matter how much I adore her.

  Worship her, really.

  Maybe there’s a woman more perfect than Bridget Lawrence somewhere out there in the world, but I’ve never met her, and I don’t expect to.

  “We should get you to the doctor,” I say. “We can take my truck. It’s right outside.”

  “I’m fine,” she insists, her lips curving. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” I rest a hand on her knee, unable to resist the temptation to touch her.

  She softens beneath my fingers, leaning closer in a way that makes my ribs clutch and my jaw go tight. In the weeks since The Mistake, I’ve shoved all my inappropriate feelings down and buried them deep in my subconscious. But now they’re bursting free, zombies who refuse to return to their rest until they get a taste of what they’re after.

  Only I don’t want brains.

  I want Bridget’s mouth, her lips, the skin of her neck, sweet and salty beneath my tongue as her arms wrap around my shoulders and she sighs, “Please, oh please,” again into my ear in the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.

  I jerk my hand away from her knee, determined to regain control, but Bridget captures my fingers and holds on tight.

  “Can we talk?” she asks. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you. This thing that came to me after the pot hit me on the head.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “A pot?”

  “Yes. A pot. From a second-story balcony.” Kirby perches on the coffee table in front of Bridget, a worried expression on her face. “And see? She’s spacey.”

  “I’m not spacey,” Bridget says, still clinging to my hand with a determination that would make it awkward to pull away. “I’m fine. I just had a breakthrough, that’s all. Things like that happen.”

  “A breakthrough you can’t share with your sister?” Kirby asks suspiciously. “We share everything. I’m pretty sure I still have several pairs of your panties in my lingerie drawer.”

  “Ew, Kirby.” Bridget’s cheeks flush pink. “You do not.”

  “Bras at least, from back when you had small boobs, too,” Kirby insists. “And we shared a toothbrush when we were little because Mom was a freak who hated to spend money on personal hygiene. And I bought you tampons until you were twenty.”

  “Enough, Kirby.” Bridget stands, drawing my hand closer, pressing it against her stomach as she cradles my knuckles with her free hand, making my blood pressure spike. “It’s a surprise. Something I can only tell Shep. So we’ll go out to the garden.”

  I cut my gaze Kirby’s way. She’s distracted by concern for Bridget’s health at the moment, but she’s one of the most observant people I know. If Bridget and I aren’t careful, Kirby’s going to sniff out The Mistake and then the shit will really hit the fan.

  It’s fine for Kirby and Colin, my band mate and best friend, to go from friends to lovers. But the same rules don’t apply to Kirby’s sister.

  If she knew I’ve had my hands on Bridget, she’d cut them off and stick them on a pike in the town square as a reminder never to come sniffing around her baby sister again.

  Kirby’s whip-smart. It would take her all of five seconds to realize I’m incapable of making Bridget happy—no matter how much I might want to—and start brainstorming my punishment.

  Bridget is a homebody who rarely leaves Hidden Kill Bay, values her privacy like priceless jewels, and gets hives at the thought of getting up in front of a crowd. And there’s nothing she hates more than saying goodbye to the people she cares about. Every time Kirby goes on a book tour, Bridget spends the entire morning in tears.

  Being a rock star’s girlfriend wo
uld be hell on earth for her. She’d hate it, and she’d eventually come to hate me.

  And the only thing worse than not being able to love Bridget would be knowing that I hurt her so badly she can’t stand to look at my stupid face.

  “A surprise, huh?” Kirby’s eyes narrow as she harrumphs beneath her breath. “Keep an eye on her, Shep. If she gets any weirder, yell at me and I’ll get the car started.”

  “We’ll take my truck. I can drive to the hospital while you sit with her in the back.”

  “You two.” Bridget laughs as she starts for the hallway beside the stairs, towing me along behind her. “I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m great, in fact.”

  “Have your keys ready, Shep,” Kirby calls after us.

  I give her a thumbs-up and follow Bridget out into the perfect autumn day. It’s sunny, but cool in the shade, and the sound of the water feature burbling by the rose bushes soothes my soul.

  At least it does until Bridget turns to me and whispers, “So I was thinking about The Kiss.”

  I swallow hard and take a quick glance over my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, she can’t hear us,” Bridget says, releasing my hand. “But she’s probably watching through the window, so keep that in mind if you’re still worried about what she’ll think of us maybe being more than friends.”

  More than friends.

  It’s all I want, all I’ve wanted for longer than I can remember. But it wouldn’t be fair to Bridget, and I refuse to hurt her with my selfishness. “Bridge, we talked about that. I don’t—”

  “I know that you don’t want to date or anything,” she cuts in, her cheeks going pink. “But I was at this sex-toy party earlier today…”

  I choke on my next breath, still coughing as Bridget continues, “And I got to thinking about a few things. Things I want to change. And then I got clocked with a pot, and it all became clear.” She steps closer, her brow wrinkling as she pats me between the shoulders. “Are you okay? Want me to get you a glass of water?”

  “No. I don’t need water. I’m fine.” I shake my head. “No, I’m not fine. I’m lost.”

  Lost and a little afraid to find out where this is going.

  “Bang Theory,” she says, her grin stretching to take up more real estate on her face. “I think I’ve got it figured out!”

  “Bang Theory,” I echo.

  “Yes. Bang Theory. The formula guaranteed to take me from celibate to sexy.”

  You’re already sexy, I almost say. You’re so sexy all I can think about is kissing you, touching you, stripping off your clothes and discovering every inch of your skin with my tongue.

  Thankfully, when my lips part, something safer comes out. “I’m still confused. You’re a beautiful woman. You don’t need a formula, you just—”

  “But I do. I’m hopeless.” She shifts in front of me, tipping her head back, drawing my attention to the lump on the top of her head.

  “Jesus, Bridget, let me take you to the hospital.” I cradle her face in my hands as I angle her head to get a better look at the damage. “That thing is the size of my fist.”

  “It is not. It’s just a bump, like when you’re a kid and hit your head on the kitchen table playing tag.” She shoos my hands away. “Please, Shep. I can’t ask anyone else for help. You’re the only one I trust to be honest with me and let me know if I’m doing it right.”

  I frown. “Doing what right?”

  “Proving or disproving my theory.” She pulls her cell from the back pocket of her jeans, tapping at the screen for a moment before she spins it to face me.

  I squint and read aloud, “Enthusiasm plus Skill and Practice plus Confidence equals Irresistible to Target Audience.”

  “And the target audience would be men I’m compatible with,” she says, blushing again. “Obviously I don’t expect to attract all men, just the ones that would be a good fit for me personally. But I think it could work. If I can just master the three pillars of Bang Theory, I won’t have to be alone for the rest of my life!”

  I clear my throat. “Bridget, I really don’t—”

  “I know you don’t think I need help.” Her breath rushes out. “But that’s because you’re my friend and you think the best of me. But most guys don’t, Shep. Most men find me completely forgettable—or cute like a little sister or a puppy or something. Something you enjoy having around and all, but that you definitely don’t want to get naked with.”

  Great, now all I can think about is Bridget naked.

  Naked and reaching for me in a field of wildflowers, while a puppy runs around in the grass behind her. And because I’m clearly sick in the head, the puppy is doing nothing to dampen the enthusiasm the mental image is inspiring.

  I close my eyes for a beat, focusing on my to-do list for the renovation, counting on the stress-inducing mountain of work I have to finish before we leave to go on tour, anything to keep the situation below my belt from getting any worse.

  When I’m back in the driver’s seat, I open my eyes to find Bridget even closer, looking up at me with a pleading expression and softly parted lips I want to kiss so badly, hunger twists inside of me like a knife.

  “Please,” she says. “We wouldn’t have to do All the Things. Just enough to be sure that I’d be good at All the Things when I find the right person.”

  “All the Things. You mean…”

  “You know. The Things,” she says, her cheeks flushing an even brighter red as she adds in a whisper, “Sex things.”

  I choke on my next breath, but eventually manage to sputter out, “You want me to teach you how to have sex?”

  “No, I know how to do that!” She flips her bangs from her forehead with a flustered huff. “Well, I sort of know that. I’m fine with the basics anyway. I just want you to help me test my theories on how to be sexy. How to put my money where my mouth is when the push comes to shove, you know?” She breaks off with a wince and a tight laugh. “Wow. That sounded stupid. And not really what I meant. I just want to know what to do with the fish once I’ve caught him, you know? And to make sure he’s a happy fish. Right?”

  I take a step back, colliding with a late blooming rose that punches me softly in the shoulder, encouraging me to get back in the ring and take it like a man. But I can’t. I can’t stand here for another second talking about sex with Bridget or I’m going to embarrass myself.

  Or do something I’ll regret.

  Or both.

  So I ignore the rose and smack myself on the head, “Shit, I think I left the band saw plugged in when I ran over here. I should get back. Unplug it before one of the neighbor kids decides it’s a toy and cuts his fingers off.”

  Bridget blinks. “Aren’t the Youngs’ kids all in college by now?”

  “They still can’t be trusted with power tools,” I say, tripping over my own feet in my haste to get to the stone path leading to the lower part of the garden. I back toward the house, hands lifted in surrender. “So I’ll talk to you later, okay? And let me know if you change your mind about the hospital. I’m happy to take you.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” Bridget mumbles so softly I can’t be 100 percent certain that’s what’s she’s said.

  But thoughts about “taking Bridget” are suddenly charging through my mind like a herd of horny rhinos, threatening to destroy everything in their path. So I don’t ask her to repeat herself. I wave, insist, “Any time you need me. For almost anything,” and jog around the side of the house.

  It’s not until I’m making the turn back into my own driveway that I realize I didn’t say goodbye to Kirby. But it’s probably for the best. She would have smelled the fear on me and refused to let me leave until she got to the bottom of it.

  Kirby writes horror novels. She lives for fear and mayhem and things that go bump in the night.

  “But not if those things are you and her baby sister,” I remind myself as I unplug the saw, only to plug it in again and get back to work on the fucking closet.

  I will conc
entrate on renovations. I’ll work myself to death if that’s what it takes to keep my thoughts—and my hands—off of Bridget until Lips on Fire leaves on tour.

  Because she matters that much—too much to ever try to make her mine.

  Chapter Four

  Bridget

  Mortification.

  I thought I knew what it felt like.

  I had no idea.

  Now, of course, I realize that I should have stripped naked and run through the streets of Hidden Kill Bay confessing that I still listen to boy band music when I touch myself before I dared to ask Shep to be my sexy times lab partner.

  Sure, I would have been humiliated, but I also would have realized what a bad idea it was to discuss getting naked with my best friend before it was too late.

  “You okay?” Kirby asks as I stumble numbly inside after Shep’s abrupt departure. “Where’s Shep?”

  “He had to get home to take care of his saw,” I say, shame clutching at my throat, making each word hurt on the way out.

  Kirby grunts. “What? Are you sure you heard him correctly?” She rests the back of her fingers on my forehead. “You feel warm. I think you might have a fever.”

  “I don’t have a fever,” I say, breaking toward the kitchen. “I’m fine. I just need ice cream. Lots of ice cream.”

  “Ice cream is always a good idea. Grab me a pint, too. I’ll get spoons and meet you on the back porch.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, but it’s a dirty lie.

  Nothing sounds good right now.

  Shep is never going to forgive me.

  And I will never forget the horror in his eyes when he realized what kind of “experiment” I was talking about.

  He was shocked. Repulsed, even.

  The guy who turned my bones to jelly with his kiss finds me erotically revolting.

  I’m not sure my ego will ever recover.

  I fetch two pints of gourmet ice-cream from Kirby’s freezer and devour mine in ten-minutes flat, but not even Bourbon Chocolate-Covered Pretzel can numb my shame or cool my burning cheeks.