by C. M. Owens
I…I…I…have no idea what is going on right now.
I glance around, wondering what fucking rabbit hole I fell down, and then I immediately go to the stove.
“What are you doing?” Mom snaps as I start wedging the unit away from the wall.
“Looking for the gas leak that’s made you lose your motherfucking mind,” I call over my shoulder.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Sticks booms as he comes in. “How’s things in here?”
I turn around just as Britt looks over at a gobsmacked Krysta and asks, “Increasingly uncomfortable?”
Krysta gives her a firm nod, staring at my mother like she’s worried about looking away. “I’d say that sums up how things are. Yep.”
Sticks looks from me to them to mom and fucking grins.
“The red isn’t natural either,” Mom goes on, only adding to my horror.
Sticks stops Taylor from walking in, still grinning, as Mom taps her foot and swings her gaze to Britt.
“I’m naturally red, but my natural isn’t this color of red,” Britt says unsurely, like she feels she needs to explain.
“There’s absolutely no reason why I should have seen this coming. Have you really lost your mind?” I ask Mom again, who ignores me as Britt quickly continues.
“But my brother took me to get it changed when I first told him I wanted it, and I’ve just kept it up ever since,” Britt adds. “I’m sorry if it offends your culture or beliefs in any way—I wasn’t aware. I’ll cover it if I need to,” she offers so sincerely.
Mom’s hard look wavers, almost like she’s getting confused.
“Well, no, I was just…” Mom’s voice trails off like she doesn’t want to point out she was being ridiculous and scrambling to be an asshole when she’s never an asshole. At least not when she’s being sane.
Britt stares like she’s waiting patiently on my mom to recover.
“Which one of you is the attention-starved rich girl turned hot mess?” Mom asks, gesturing between Britt and Krysta, only adding to the growing list of things I need to apologize for.
“That’d be me,” Krysta says tightly, pointing at herself.
“Which one are you…you know?” Mom asks me as she points between Krysta and Britt.
After seeing my life pass before my eyes, I scrub a hand over my face as all three of my fucking bandmates choke back a laugh.
“Oh, that’s code for sex, right?” Britt asks, then carries on quickly. “Base won’t have sex with me because I still have a hymen and he thinks I’m not mentally ready to deal with losing my virginity with a lack of feelings,” she states very seriously.
We walked in. I said, Hi, Mom. Mom hugged me, I introduced her to Britt, we moved to the kitchen, and bam. Nope, retracing my steps does not explain how this whole conversation got away from me so fast.
Mom shoots me a horrified look, like she can’t believe Britt just said that to her. I’ve never once been embarrassed by my mother. Until today. Today, I regret stopping in, since it’s clearly not as casual as I expected it to be.
Britt leans over and whispers something to Krysta, who is still a little…dumbfounded.
“I think we’re past the point of what is or isn’t appropriate by now, but no, not under normal circumstances,” Krysta tells her, brow furrowed like she can’t believe this is her day.
“Sorry,” Britt says to my mother. “I haven’t been in a situation where I’ve had to meet a potential—”
“Stop talking,” Krysta cuts in, patting Britt’s knee.
Britt swallows the rest of her words, and my mom exhales harshly.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re a virgin? What the hell are you doing with my son?” Mom asks, doing a complete one-eighty as she moves quickly to Britt’s side.
Sticks comes up and claps my shoulder. “Reason number four-hundred and seventy-three not to fuck a virgin,” he says quietly. “You go from don’t-you-touch-my-baby-boy to what-are-you-doing-with-that-whorish-man-child.”
“No, no, no,” Britt is saying, assuring my mother of something. “He told me he’s leaving in four months, since the tour has been slightly delayed. We were just discussing sex. Not a relationship. But we’re friends with partial benefits now.”
Mom and Krysta cast a dirty glare in my direction.
“I walked in, which usually leaves Mom really happy for the first few hours and I can get away with murder,” I go on, gesturing toward the front door, my head hurting with the spit-fire madness.
Mom stands abruptly and walks over to where we’ve moved, and she hisses, “Are you playing games with this poor girl’s head?”
“Then I hugged my mother,” I go on, looking over at Taylor, who shrugs and stares up at the ceiling like he doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary.
“As a man raised by a single mother, you should be more sensitive to a woman than that,” Mom goes on.
“How am I in trouble right now?” I ask, seriously needing someone to walk me through how this has all transpired.
Sticks clears his throat, doing a miserable job of schooling his grin.
“I don’t know what to say to make it better. I just keep making it worse,” Britt says a little helplessly from behind my crazy mother.
Mom smiles abruptly, a full, takes-over-her-entire-face smile, and laughter begins bubbling out of her more and more as she doubles over.
Britt and Krysta exchange a confused glance as my dickheaded bandmates all start laughing as well. Mom actually wipes tears out of her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Britt, Krysta,” Mom says, waving a hand in their general direction. “But I couldn’t help myself. Your face,” she says, laughing as she points at me.
She stops laughing and quickly turns around to face Krysta.
“I’m so sorry, honey. Really. I had no idea one of you would sincerely own up to being an attention-starved, hot mess. I was just tossing out a stereotype.”
Krysta looks torn between laughing and hiding under a table, but Mom turns back, staring at me as I glare at her.
“You’re fucking evil,” I state very honestly, gesturing at all of her.
“I’m sorry, but it’s rare I meet new people I can actually embarrass you in front of.”
“You can be damned sure you won’t be meeting new people in the future. Enjoy your one crowning moment of victory,” I dutifully inform her, still feeling the urge to apologize.
Britt just smiles like she finally gets the joke, and Krysta slowly relaxes.
“Again, sorry,” Mom says to Krysta, patting her arm on her way by. “Just so you know, I’m not actually all that judgmental. Usually I’m the one being judged, so let’s start fresh.”
“I’m just going to go splash some cold water on my face and stuff,” Krysta says before scurrying out of her chair.
“You need to apologize better than that,” I tell Mom.
“That’ll just make it worse. Ignore it and it’ll go away.”
“That’s the opposite of the healthy approach to problems,” I point out.
“Actually, it depends on the individual and their own perspective,” Britt argues in a tone that sounds like she’s in a stale debate club. “Can I just ask Krysta which she’d prefer?”
“Now it’s just getting weird,” Sticks says as he exits in the same direction Krysta went.
“How’s the road? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll still doing it for you, kiddo?” Mom asks idly. “Make sure you get him tested before letting him pop any precious cherries.”
I glance over at Britt and mouth another apology, as she just tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles over at my mother.
“We’ve got to get on the road soon, because we have reservations at a hotel closer to the venue,” I say as I stand, stretching and gesturing for Britt to get up.
“I thought we were spending the day and night here. That was why we missed karaoke night,” she points out like she’s confused.
Mom cuts her eyes to me. “You’re an idiot,”
she says before turning her attention back to the stove.
I groan as I sit back down.
Britt glances between us, and her eyes widen before she makes an understanding O with her lips.
“So, Britt, why are you still a virgin?” Mom asks her. “No brave men left in the world?”
I palm my face, and then, like a dick, stand and abandon Britt because I can’t. I just can’t sit here and listen to how embarrassing my mother is still being.
Why did I think this was going to be a good idea?
Chapter 27
BRITT
“So you really teach classes on this?” Base’s Mom asks me as the guys argue about something outside.
She hands back my phone as I shake my head. “Informative seminars at the clinic. I don’t have the certification to teach actual classes.”
“And you’re legit documenting your struggle to lose your virginity. And you have a lot of people following the scoop,” Krysta goes on, brow furrowed as she reads from her own phone.
“I leave out details, but still mention the challenging world of navigation. I considered random stranger sex, but then read the statistics on the danger incurred with that. I decided against it, despite how well/complicated it worked out with some other members from my family.”
“This isn’t just about sex. You have an entire life plan in writing,” Krysta goes on, groaning a little. “I haven’t even decided on a major.”
“Harley has helped me out with that,” I go on as commotion stirs inside the garage next to us. The guys have been outside a while.
“Seems you have a rather large support system,” Base’s mother tells me.
Before I can answer, Base pokes his head in the door, narrowing his eyes at his mother.
“All good in here?”
“Anyone been irrevocably offended by my bad manners since earlier?” she asks us.
Krysta opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but gets cut off by Base’s mother.
“When you boys finish your chores, perhaps you’d like to join the adults for conversation.”
Base just gives her a bored look as he backs out and shuts the door.
“I’ve recently given myself a new nickname, and I want you girls to be the first to try it out for me,” Base’s mother says as she pours us another round of tea.
When Krysta nods, I do the same.
This is a social first for me. I didn’t realize people gave themselves nicknames.
“Honey Bee,” she says, grinning like she’s brilliant. “I’m tired of my vibrator, and I need a name that sounds sweet so I can lure in the bears.”
“What about just Honey?” Krysta suggests.
“Too much like a stripper and not a hot, pre-grandma woman in her prime,” she says as she adjusts her bra. “Base is all grown up, and it’s finally safe for me to date again—and has been for a while. I need to quit dallying before everything finishes its gravitational rotation,” she adds as she finishes some minor adjustments to ensure her breasts are sufficiently perky.
“I pick the losers, so that’s why I stayed single. I realize you can marry with a kid, but why risk screwing him up twice as much?” she goes on. “I’ve got shit taste in men.”
I don’t think Base is really screwed up. Is he?
“So what is he trying to save you from, Britt Sterling?” she asks when we don’t speak.
Seems random, even to me.
A little surprised, I sit back. “This is my confused expression. I’m not constipated,” I tell her so that she’s not stuck in that horrible paradox.
I wish she’d repay the courtesy and explain her expression.
“Base only brings home the ones he wants to save, sweetie. They tried to name their band Bastards of the Fallen for a reason. I vetoed the first half because they were in eighth grade. So what’s your story?”
“Why do people do that to you?” Krysta asks, drawing both our attention as she focuses on me. “They do it to me too.”
“I’m asking her story because she’s with my son. But people genuinely want to know about the rich. The popular. The pretty. They want your dark secrets so they can feel like you’re no better than them; you just got luckier.”
“That’s true for me,” I decide to say, causing Krysta to huff out a sound. “I was lucky my brother searched for siblings. He checked to make sure I didn’t have any more out there either.”
Honey Bee looks over at Krysta, who seems a little…annoyed? At least I think annoyed is right.
In a somewhat defensive tone, Krysta starts, “But why does she have to—”
“She doesn’t have to tell me anything. Masters men are devilishly gorgeous, and they have really big hearts. Especially when they’re young. A girl can be blinded by that sort of natural charm that they don’t even really mean to use. But those hearts of theirs are big enough for more than one woman at a time, until that heart collapses from trying to spend too much of itself all at once.”
She glances down at her tea, smiling tightly.
“But my son isn’t like the rest of them,” she goes on, eyes meeting mine again. “He goes out of his way to be the opposite of the womanizing stereotype. He’s focused on the music, so when a girl snags his attention, it’s because she needs saving. However, he has one hell of a hero complex. I’m not judging you or anything; everyone needs saving from time to time.”
I’m not really sure what to say to that. I feel like I should defend Tag, but he did used to be a womanizer. However, now he’s a man with two children and a wife who he still adores.
“I’ve already been saved. I don’t need to be saved again,” I finally decide to say when it seems like she’s waiting on me to respond.
Honey Bee leans up like she’s about to say something, but the front door opens, and the guys start pouring in.
“Your fence is fixed, along with the mailbox,” Taylor tells her.
“Gutters are cleaned, and the yard is mowed,” Base adds as he steps in.
I’ve never understood the fascination with sweaty men. Until now. I now have something to share on the next girl’s night when conversation predictably takes this turn again.
Base runs a hand through his damp hair, and I somehow tune out the rest of the words going on around me as I simply stare. He smiles over at Honey Bee as she says something back, but my eyes are on him, and his naked upper body.
Tattoos—I never understood the fascination with those either, until Base Masters.
It’s like he pulls all the clichés together in a unique way and makes me understand why it all works at once.
His eyes finally land on mine, and it feels like I’ve been waiting for that, almost like I needed that acknowledgment. I’m smiling before I can stop myself, and his grin immediately mimics mine.
Until Randy steps between us and mocks a gag.
I blink like I’ve been stuck in a trance, and notice everyone is looking between us. Honey Bee just blinks at me a few slow times before she exhales a long, loud sigh and stands while shaking her head.
She whispers something to Base that makes him roll his eyes, but his smile stays in place as his gaze meets mine again.
“The girls can share the only guest room, and the guys will all stay in Base’s room. I won’t be hearing any hanky panky going on under my roof tonight,” Honey Bee calls as she leaves.
Chapter 28
BRITT
This weekend, between Randy causing us all to suffer through the sense of smell in the van with burnt ball hair and his lactose intolerance, a lot of band arguing, and some tunnel vision for Base that left him almost absent while fully present today, has been leading up to this moment.
Base grins from the stage, and a small gathering near the front—much smaller than the one that gathers at Silk—swoon as he talks into the microphone.
When his fingers strum the first chord and his eyes stare directly into mine, I get a telling tingle that makes me wonder if I have the potential to be a groupie.
>
The hypothesis is cleared up when he sings the very first verse of some very dirty song strung with metaphorical lyrics that don’t actually make a lot of sense. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense, because he really can sing. And play. And stare at you until you question if combustible panties really are as impossible as they’re supposed to be.
Everything on me moves to the music, except for my eyes. Because my eyes stay fixed to him like they’re permanently glued to his soul.
Each raw note and natural charisma in his altogether presence is too powerful not to feel. How have I never known this about him?
“Ruby wants to know if you’re…” The rest of Krysta’s words are seemingly drowned out when Base hits a chorus that just takes so much emotion from him, his face playing out the song like a an easily read canvas even to me.
It’s amazing.
“What?” I ask absently, never looking away.
“Never mind. I already answered her a big fat yes,” Krysta says, taking a random picture of my face.
The flash makes me blink several times, but it’s only a mild hindrance until Base’s eyes look away and focus on the growing crowd around us that is packing full of girls.
It’s the first time I’ve noticed how they’re all sort of groupies like me. Krysta is busy texting on her phone as I clear my throat, backing away when one group of girls starts forcing their way between us and the stage.
Then a group of guys try to start dancing with us, and it’s all so crowded that I end up losing sight of Krysta as random hands go to my hips.
“Hey!” someone shouts against my ear before pulling me really hard against them.
A little panic rises up in my throat when I see a lot of shoulders and chests, but can’t catch sight of any faces under the crazy, strobing lights.
I’m struggling, doing all I can to break away from the grabby hands, and end up falling forward as I quickly scramble between feet to escape.
It isn’t until I’m behind the crowd that my breathing starts slowing down as the music thuds like a deep echo in my ears, my pulse throbbing louder as the fear inches down.