Slide (Black Addiction #1)

by T Gephart

  “So, you just want to stare at me for a while. Okay, we can do that. I’ll turn for you though, my left side is better.”

  “You are avoiding.”

  She was right, I was avoiding. Not because I didn’t want to talk about Alison, but more because I really didn’t have much to say. She was an awesome chick who unfortunately had drawn the short straw. And I wasn’t a heartless bastard who was going to take advantage of that. Sure, I could have slept with her—she repeatedly told me it’s what she wanted—but it felt like she needed other things from me instead. Things I was more than happy to give. So as far as discussing her, the topic was closed, even if my curiosity about her wasn’t. I always did enjoy a puzzle, which is probably why my brain kept going to the brunette I’d left in my bed rather than the one sitting in front of me.

  “Since when have you ever wanted to talk about the girls I bring home, I didn’t realize you were so interested.”

  “I don’t care who you bring home, but if something is going on with you, I’d hope you’d still talk to me.” Angie reached over and grabbed my hand. “Your head isn’t in the game and that’s not like you. You’ve never dropped a note and in the last few hours, you’ve been playing like shit. And I want to know what is up with that. Just because things are different now doesn’t mean I’m not here for you.”

  Life after the Power Station tour had taken us in different directions, I got that. She more than deserved her happy-ever-after with Jase and seeing her smiling was all I ever wanted for her. She was without a doubt the closest thing I had to family beside my folks, and I didn’t need a constant reminder to know that.

  “Babe, I would never think that. Look at me. Me and you—we are solid. I will always have your back and I know you aren’t afraid to have mine. But your focus has to be on that human you are growing and the dude whose ring you’re wearing. I’m all good. The back and forth with Joey and Max sometimes gets a bit old, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I’m just being an asshole. Don’t mind me.”

  “You’re just tired?” She eyed me suspiciously. I had no idea if she was buying it.

  “Yep, I’m just tired.”

  Not a lie; while Alison passed out sometime in the early morning, I hadn’t really gotten much sleep myself. Her rubbing up against me meant parts of me stayed awake. The parts that were tired not getting much of a choice.

  “Well, why don’t we wrap for the day. Nothing good is coming anyway and it will give me some time to rework the bridge. I’m not convinced it’s sounding tight enough as it is.” Thankfully it seemed she was letting it go.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s just do that chorus one last time and then we’ll bail. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

  ***

  Fuck, I could really use a cigarette.

  I’d been trying to quit for a few years, but I’d always given it a half-assed effort. Not that I didn’t know all the shit it was potentially doing to my body, I just didn’t really much care. That changed when Angie got in the family way and smoking around her was banished. I resisted for a while but then finally caved. She didn’t lay the guilt on me or anything, but it highlighted my addiction to the Marlboros wasn’t doing me any favors. This time round I was convinced I was going to kick it, even if every time I walked past a bar I still got the urge. Twenty-one days to break a habit, my ass. It had been two months, and I still missed it.

  One thing that had come with the tossing of the smokes was the fucking constant urge to have something in my mouth. It was that bullshit that had me chowing down on Tootsie Pops like they were heroin. My local bodega supported my newest addiction while more frequent gym visits evened up the extra calories. Both kept me even and in check. Something I needed right now.

  As Angie had suggested, we’d pulled the plug on the session and gone our separate ways. I’d headed home wondering if maybe Alison had stuck around, or if at the very least she’d left her number. Part of me was definitely hopeful.

  Neither of those things had happened.

  No note, no number and no girl—my house completely empty of any traces of her. Even the note I’d written was gone, my unmade bed the only reminder that I’d shared it with anyone. Irrationally, it made me antsy. Disappointed even, which didn’t make sense; the need for a cigarette increasing with each passing minute.

  Awesome.

  And what do you know I was all out of Tootsie Pops. It just kept getting better and better.

  God, I would kill for a cigarette. Just one more inhale. No one would even have to know. And I could just quit again tomorrow. What’s the harm?

  Ah, fuck. I was starting to sound like a junkie, and there was no way I was falling off the wagon. I was just going to have to push through, moody bastard my way through the rest of the day. Thankfully no else had to put up with my bullshit mood. There was a positive.

  So rather than risk having a moment of weakness later, I grabbed my keys and my phone and decided to head out the door. Getting my candy stash back up to par was my first objective, and improving my frame of mind came second. Either way, I was done sitting around thinking about a girl I had no business thinking about. That shit was in the past and that’s where I intended to leave it.

  Things can always get worse. I knew this, my last few weeks had been an exercise in adding a new layer of misery to an already overflowing load—and yet, I was still freaking surprised.

  My head hadn’t even made a proper indent on my pillow, sleep not coming as I tossed and turned in my bed. The replay of the night’s events was still turning in my head, and my eyes still wearing most of last night’s make-up when the next bomb dropped. News of my change in employment status had reached my landlord. Specifically that my employment status had been revoked. How? It was still a mystery, although if I had to take a wild stab in the dark I would wager it was my ever-pessimistic neighbor, Joy. Her name was actually ironic because no joy lived in her. Nothing. She was devoid of happiness. Which is why I assume when she saw me crying outside my door carrying a cardboard box housing my prized stapler and coffee mug, she joined the dots. Ratted me out like a second grader vying for the teacher’s affection. There was no loyalty among the sexes.

  The knock at my door happened around ten a.m., the subsequent questioning happened soon after. My lease had expired last month and with the anticipation of Rob asking me to move in with him, I had yet to renew it. Dumb by all counts. So after informing me that technically I could be tossed out at the end of the month, the demand was made that I pay in advance the next three months rent if I wanted to renew my lease. Security and all that, surely I understood. His cheesy smile didn’t comfort me nor did his offer that we try to work out another arrangement—the fine print being my ass could be used as an acceptable method of payment.

  Seemed finding refuge in my apartment was also not in the cards. No—that also had to be taken from me. Instead, I had to focus on how to make some money quick—at this point I was willing to bend on legalities—or find a new place to live. Neither option filled me with excitement or hope. Didn’t the universe get the memo that I’d had my share of crap? Obviously not.

  It was around two in the afternoon when I’d hit bottom. I’m talking the lowest most desperate place. Darkness, despair, devastation. And they were just the D words. I was slowly working my way through the alphabet, wondering if anyone would actually notice if I was gone. Seriously, notice. I still had Renee’s jacket hanging in my closet, so at the very least she’d need me for that. It was a flimsy excuse at best but one I held onto. My untimely death not looking like an option.

  So rather than toy with the idea of building a meth lab in my bathroom and becoming a notorious drug lord—what? I got an A in chemistry—I got up off the floor and forced myself to shower. Look at me adulting, all without Renee’s threats or a serving of Kung Pao chicken. Maybe I could actually do this. The this not thought out beyond getting clean and dressed. Let’s not get too crazy now; my life was still in the toilet.

 
And with my clean, fresh and slightly less manic brain running the show, I’d decided if I was going down in a blaze of glory, it was going to be on my own terms. Thelma and Louise style. No one puts baby in the corner. Or if they did, she certainty didn’t have to stay there. I really wished I’d paid more attention to pop culture movies; they seemed like they might have been helpful, or at least I’d get my references straight. Never mind. I was doing this. And I’d be damned if I didn’t go down swinging.

  ***

  Finding a job should have been my first priority, or failing that, a new place to live. Two very good options. Instead, I went with option number three.

  Leaving my apartment.

  It wasn’t going to solve anything, but neither was sitting around obsessing about the series of unfortunate events that was my life. I’d been there, done that, had the souvenir T-shirt annnnnnnnd I was still no better off. My method of dealing was clearly flawed. I needed a new plan.

  That’s what last night had been about. Oh, sure my delusions of freaky, unrestrained sex with Rusty were no longer in play—not that sleeping with him wouldn’t have softened the blow. But my main objective now wasn’t about getting horizontal. Insanity, I know.

  It was living up to the list of awesome he had so generously helped me compile that was my main focus. Something that I had all but forgotten this morning when I left, the fragments of the conversation returning now my back was up against the wall. God, I wished I could be more like him. His carefree disposition and confidence would have been an asset. One I could have desperately used.

  My pulse raced as I stepped out into the street, my destination not immediately clear but my common sense had sailed right out the window with each passing second.

  It was Rusty who dominated my scattered thoughts; my brain auto-directing back to him whenever I was about to panic. The reasons why weren’t immediately clear. Was it his calmness, his lack of give-a-fuck that I craved? Maybe it was that he was by far the nicest guy I’d ever met and I just wanted to get to know him better? Who knew? But other than waking up confused and slightly embarrassed, the night with him had been one of my most honest and comforting nights in . . . well in a long time. There was something about him, his energy, his . . . I was really trying hard not to think his cock because that wouldn’t be helpful right now but I just knew there was something about him that I couldn’t discount. It wasn’t even entirely physical, and I just knew I had to see him again. Even if it made it worse, I was willing to take the risk.

  My feet moved aimlessly without direction; the store windows I passed not providing anything more than fodder for my already churning mind. I didn’t even have to look where I was going, able to navigate my neighborhood purely by memory. The eyes instead inadvertently darting across the street when I caught sight of Rusty slowly emerging from a tiny corner bodega.

  My heart skipped a beat like it always did but this time it was more than just the view I was admiring. My insider knowledge added an additional reason for my heart to swoon. Whether or not it was a good idea to see him so soon was quickly tossed around in my head before my feet made the decision for me.

  Without crossing a busy intersection into oncoming traffic, or screaming his name at the top of my lungs—both of which I considered—I got my legs moving quickly as I power walked to the crosswalk not far from where I’d been standing.

  My hand pumped the button, willing the light to change as I watched him disappear into a drug store further down the road. Crap. Please don’t leave’s were mumbled under my breath as the light finally changed. With my heart in my throat, I sprinted across the street to the other side just in time to see him leave the drug store and wander further down the street. This time into a small bakery, the huge cupcake sign looming above the doorway he’d just walked through.

  Without much thought—or common sense it seemed—I took off in a flat out run hoping to catch him before he disappeared again. The alternative of turning up at his house way too stalker-ish, even for me. My feet pounded the pavement as I bounded to where he was. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t a runner.

  “Hey, Alison.” I’d barely jogged through the narrow open doorway when I almost smacked directly into his chest. Not that I would have complained. He had a very nice chest.

  “Hey, Rusty.” I tried to suck in a breath between words, my fitness clearly on hiatus up until now. “I need to talk to you.”

  Even I was surprised by my bold request. There was no actual asking of anything. Just a demand for his attention. Who the hell was I?

  “I’d say fancy meeting you here but neither of us is surprised.” A smile lit up his eyes, the same ones that showed a genuine lack of shock. And if I wasn’t mistaken he actually looked glad to see me.

  “Did you know . . . I was following you?” I tried to rein in my breathing as my pulse continued to hammer under my skin. Seriously, the treadmill and I were going to be spending some quality time together in the next few weeks. The run wasn’t even that far.

  “I saw you when I was leaving the bodega. I figured I’d play a little longer, I know how much you love to lurk.” His arms folded casually across his chest as the lady behind the glass cake counter looked at us with interest. Yep, we had an audience.

  “I was just looking for the right time. I didn’t want it to be creepy.” I tried unsuccessfully to sound un-creepy, the effort making it worse.

  “Ah, babe, that’s so sweet. You know I kinda dig creepy. Feeds into my god complex. So unless the shadow-jumping is done with a machete I’m totally cool with it.” He motioned toward the door and with a nod of my head, I followed him back out onto the street. Bakery lady not impressed by our lack-of-purchase exit.

  “Okay. I’m going to pretend like that statement wasn’t just completely nuts, and you basically gave me carte blanche to stalk you.” Because we both knew that could be dangerous. Look at what I’d done without his permission. Clearly I couldn’t be trusted.

  “I can put it in writing if you feel more comfortable. I am a man of my word.” Another smile and now I was having trouble breathing for an entirely different reason.

  “No, that’s not necessary.” I took a big swallow before continuing. “But I did need something from you.”

  Asking for help was a huge thing for me. When it came to throwing up a flare or giving someone the 9-1-1, I always chickened out. I figured it was better to slowly sink with my ship than ask anyone to bail me out. Pride, signs of weakness—whatever the reason was, I avoided it like a department store on Black Friday. Yet, there I was. My hand reaching out just hoping another would extend. Petrified wasn’t even the half of it.

  “Sure, what did you need?” He answered with zero hesitation.

  “You’re just going to offer, just like that? What if I said I needed a kidney?”

  I’d expected my request for help to be met with some resistance or at the very least hesitation. Maybe even a healthy dose of skeptical reservation. What I got from the man in front of me was none of those things. Just an easy, sure, what did you need. Like no matter what I’d ask would be no big deal.

  “Well, I’d hope if you were angling for body parts you’d at least come and see my band. Oh, and you’d have to wear one of our band shirts. Possibly with the words, Rusty is the greatest guitarist of all time, on the front. I figure that’s a fair trade.” He was no less amused than when we’d started the conversation. Oh, and somehow I’d secured the donation of one of his kidneys.

  “You would give someone a kidney just like that?”

  “If they needed it and they weren’t an asshole. I draw the line at assholes. And people who listen to country music, because that shit ain’t right.”

  I blinked back in confusion. “I don’t need a kidney. Or listen to country music.”

  “You just keep saying all the right things. So, what’s this big ask you hunted me down for?”

  The street was only a mildly better venue than the bakery, the noise of the road peppering the air around us while
we continued this bizarre conversation. The one where I admitted that maybe I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

  “I need you to help me be more like you.” The words found their way out of my mouth. It seemed even if my mind had no idea, somehow it had formulated the request.

  “Alison, I haven’t seen you naked, but I can assure you, you would make a terrible guy.” He laughed. Not sure if he missed my point, or it was his attempt at humor.

  “No, I don’t want to be a guy.” My head shook as I tried to clarify, realizing how scattered I sounded. “I mean, you. Look at you.” My hands waved in front of him animatedly to prove my point. “Nothing fazes you. Before I met you, you said you were playing support to Power Station on a huge tour.” I didn’t need to hide my admiration. “Destined for greatness. The big time.”

  “Just because we haven’t hit the big time doesn’t mean we haven’t achieved greatness. I’m here to tell you, greatness was definitely achieved.”

  “Okay, of course. I mean. Like you weren’t a huge success.” My stumbling words dug a deeper hole. I truly sucked at this.

  “So, are we trying to make you feel better or me feel inadequate?” He eyed me intently. “Because if it’s me, you’ve got your work cut out for you. I don’t buy into that shit.”

  “Yes!” My hands clapped of their own accord. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s what I want. Teach me to be like that. Show me the ways, oh wise one, so I too won’t give a shit.”

  My sudden burst of enthusiasm caught him off guard. It was the first and only time I’d seen him actually surprised.

  “You want me to teach you how to not give a shit?”

  “Yes . . . Please . . . Yes.” Manners were important, especially now.

  “Ordinarily I’d say that the responsibility of teaching anybody anything that isn’t musical would be a big mistake.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck; he was close to agreeing, I could feel it.