by Fields, MJ
I have paid a bit more attention in the classes I have with them, and I think there’s more to it. The way she looks at him, and he at her, when the other isn’t paying attention, is much different than the hate-mance that Patrick talks about.
About a week ago, two more boys were born into the Steel family, and all I have to say is, Look out, world.
Today, after school, there was a baseball game against their old school that Amias and Justice played in. Amias is the stronger player of the two. I watched from the hill behind the field, sitting in the trees, and I used binoculars. Sounds freakishly odd, borderline stalkerish, but I wanted to see the dynamics. I was a bit shocked when I saw Gabrielle sitting with the family. And I felt for her when I saw her expression half the time. She was uncomfortable.
Makes me feel sick to my stomach that, one day, very soon, I will be in that position, and someone like Gabrielle is much more apt to handle it than me.
Their old school lost, and they all celebrated with them all going to dinner. Apparently, the other family with them has decided to enroll their children here next year. I can’t wait to see the look on Harrison’s face when he realizes he’s going to be even more outnumbered. Fucker.
Sitting in the art studio, music going, I am finishing up the last batch of plates for the fundraiser next week.
I know the Peace Corps has always been my calling, but taking four years of art classes would be cool, as well. Pretty much anyone will take me, and because of my GPA being a 4.6, I’d get a full ride.
When two hands cover my eyes, I barely startle. I know those hands, and I know that smell.
I turn off the wheel and lean back.
“Need any help?”
I smile as he leans down and kisses me.
“How was your dinner?” I ask when he steps back.
“Always a joy.” He winks. “You think you’ll have these all done by next weekend?”
“Yes, one hundred percent sure.”
He pulls up a stool and sits behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder, his legs against mine. “Can you work like this?”
“I think I can manage.”
“Good. You mind if I take a nap?”
“So, you’re using me as a place to rest before you go to Gabrielle’s party.”
“Come with me,” he says, kissing my exposed shoulder and sending goose bumps up and down my arms.
I hit the button on the floor with my foot and turn the machine back on.
Chuckling, he tugs my earlobe with his teeth. “I think you should stay with me tonight.”
“Yeah?” I laugh. “And how would your parents feel about that?”
“They’d actually be fine with it. I told you they would like for me to live with them forever and ever and ever, which is why they redid the pool house into a Patrick palace.”
“You left out the whole when-you’re-eighteen part.”
He wraps his arms around my waist. “So fucking close. I’m sure they’d be chill, Savvy.” He runs his hand up my shirt and cups one of my tits.
My back arches in reaction as I try to be firm when I tell him, “We’re at school.”
“Tell me to stop,” he says, peppering kisses on my neck while cupping the other breast, each one now in his hands, kneading them.
Hands still in clay, I turn back and look up at him. “You—”
His lips come down on mine, and I groan, opening my mouth. He presses his tongue into it. Then, his lips never leaving mine, he stands and spins me around so I’m facing him.
“My hands,” I murmur against his lips.
“So what?” he says, pushing my skirt up past my knees as he sits back down.
Before I can break the kiss, he grabs the back of my head and kisses me harder. God, he’s an amazing kisser.
I feel his other hand on my ass as he lifts me and pulls me onto his lap.
“Patrick, I—” My mouth snaps shut when I feel his hand run up my leg, and then fingers sliding into me. “This is … This is … This …”
He pulls his fingers out, and then I feel what I assume is the tip of his cock at my opening. Before I can think, he pulls me fully onto his lap as he thrusts into me on one, deep, steeling move.
I fall forward, my hands above me so I don’t ruin his clothes, and lean down to bite into his shoulder, to muffle my cry.
He then cups my ass and stands, his lips on mine, cock fully inside me, unbelievable pleasure rippling through my core, and my back hits the wall. Holding one knee up, he lets the other leg fall. He takes my wrists in one hand and holds them against the wall.
“I missed you.”
I let out a breath, wrapped around a whimper.
“I love you, Savvy.”
“Love you.”
He clamps his teeth into my shoulder, and I curl my fingers down, needing to hold onto something as he pulls almost all the way out then thrusts back in, immediately hitting that spot inside me that causes me to catch fire.
“Oh, God.”
He groans as he mashes his mouth on mine and proceeds to fuck me so good, so deep that it doesn’t even matter where we are.
He moves his mouth down my jaw, saying, “Fucking addicting. So hot. So wet. So. Fucking. Good.” With his big hands, he pushes up my skirt and grabs my ass. Lifting me, he hisses, “Wrap them around me.”
I do as he says, and he fucks me harder, faster. He doesn’t slow; he just keeps going. His skillful thrusts hit me over and over in just the right spot until my entire body tenses around him. Pushing me against the wall again, he lets go of one of my ass cheeks and reaches between us to rub my clit.
“Come for me, Savvy, come with me.”
“Oh, God. Oh, yes. Oh—”
“Fuuuuckkkk.”
My orgasm rips through me as his pumps out of him.
I rest my head on his shoulder as I try to catch my breath.
“Savvy,” he pants.
“Hmm?”
“I can’t wait to do that again.”
I can’t help but smile, and then laugh. “Next time, a little warning?”
“No.”
* * *
“Hello, everyone, I’m Patrick Steel, your emcee for tonight’s first annual Seashore Sit Down and Listen Fundraiser and Talent Show.”
I stand in the back of the room and watch him talk about the charities in which tonight’s fundraiser will support. Seashore’s art department is getting what they originally planned to charge admission to the show—ten dollars a ticket. The dinners we had planned on doing ourselves are now catered at a reduced price of fifty dollars a head which, to me, was a bit much, but it also meant there was no cost for renting the space.
“Three students sat down and tossed an idea around a table in pottery class. They hammered out a plan and presented it to the art department. That idea has raised five hundred thousand dollars for the charities that those students saw as in need of funding. Tonight, you’ll be helping a mobile mental health unit that will service communities in need, you’ll be helping provide necessities for several homeless shelters in the area, and you’ll be helping children of domestic abuse.”
Chloe nudges me. “I didn’t know we added the last.”
“Me neither.” I smile as I watch him as they all applaud.
“On top of that, you sparked a passion in one of those three students for the arts. The plates you’ll be served on tonight took over three months to craft by hand. I was able to watch her work, and it was truly inspirational. No pressure, Miss Sutton, but I believe you’ll see this happen again next year, and I believe that’s not going to be the end of her artistic ventures.”
Again applause, and I also kind of want to kill him.
“Because of Miss Sutton, she inspired not only the art department of Seashore Academy, but the Steel family, who has adopted three public schools in the area. This year, they will be receiving the equipment needed for their students to learn the art of pottery. Art should never be seen as a privilege.”
Thu
nderous applause fills the room.
“I’d like to give you the opportunity to do even more.” I see him try to hide a smile. “In just a few minutes, four men will be walking around to take donations so that we can do just that. And together, they will match your donations up to half a million dollars.”
“What’s going on?” Roach asks.
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
“I know some of you may be disappointed, but I won’t be opening the show.”
The audience grumbles.
He holds up his hand. “I will be closing, but”—he waves for someone with a huge grin on his face—“after they have collected your donations, they’re going to take the stage and open the show.”
I watch as the room erupts in applause. Some people even stand, whistling, and camera lights are flashing.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Ziggy gasps.
“Who are they?” I ask.
Roach throws an arm in the air and cheers, “STD in the house!”
Over the speakers, Patrick announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome the legends and one of my all-time favorite bands … Steel Total Destruction!”
It’s taking forever, but how do you tell people writing checks and snapping selfies with rock stars, who are also writing checks, to speed it up?
You don’t.
I send Patrick a text.
8:45 p.m. - First, you’re amazing. Possibly my hero. Second, could you play your guitar or something??? XOXO Me
Patrick plays guitar and, straight up, it’s sexy. It’s more than sexy. It’s foreplay.
And when STD—still a gross name—finally takes the stage, Memphis Black takes the mic from him. “Thanks for keeping it warm, Tricks.”
“Anytime,” he says then takes the stairs down to the audience.
“His parents might disagree, but this band helped raise that one, and we did a hell of a job, wouldn’t you say?” Memphis Black says into the microphone.
Everyone applauds, and Patrick just shakes his head as he walks back to join us.
“He’s a little sneaky at times, though. Like that time I thought I lost this very guitar, and he’d shoved it under the seat in the tour bus. I was going to make his old man cancel the show, because this guitar, whether played or not, goes everywhere with me. It’s a reminder of where I was when his dad took a chance on three idiot kids, and me, and gave us a start.”
The crowd erupts in laughter.
“When he pulled it out, he looked at me and said …” He nods to the band, and all together, they say, “Tricked ya.”
Patrick is standing beside me now, shaking his head.
“Or the time when Finn was lying to us about having quit smoking, and Tricks was throwing them all out the bus window. When Finn caught him, he almost pissed his pants, but he smiled and said …”
The band and some of the audience say, “Tricked ya.”
The drummer stands up. “Then the time I woke up on the bus with one eyebrow missing and he hid behind Billy and said …”
Everyone laughs as they say, “Tricked ya.”
Memphis laughs. “Nah, man, but he made a hundred bucks for covering my ass.”
“You better sleep with one eye open, Black,” the drummer sneers.
Memphis replies, “Get over it. It grew back.”
The drummer looks at the other guitarist. “He being serious?”
The guitarist lifts a shoulder.
The whole crowd erupts in laughter and applause.
“Tonight, we’re going to start out playing a song that hasn’t been released yet. It goes live tomorrow, and we hope it tops the charts. All profit from this song will be donated to charities those three kids and Tricks chose.”
“This is unbelievable.” I look up at him. “This is …” I stop. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Savvy, this was all you. I didn’t do anything but make a few calls.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “And I did that when we weren’t talking. Can you imagine what I would have done after.”
I smile and shake my head.
“The songwriter asked to be left unnamed, and we collaboratively agreed, but …” He holds the mic out, and the band and a few people say, “Tricked ya.”
“Sorry, man, but as your Four Fathers, we want you to know how amazing a human you are and how fucking epic this tune is.”
“Way to keep it PG, Memphis,” someone calls out from the audience.
“This song, for all those who don’t know it yet but someday will, ‘You are Not Alone,’ was written by Patrick Steel.”
“I’m gonna kill him,” he sneers.
I listen intently to the hauntingly beautiful lyrics to a song I’ve no doubt was written about me while looking into his eyes the entire time.
When the end nears, he gives my hip a gentle squeeze and starts toward the stage.
“You better marry that boy someday,” Chloe whispers.
“I don’t believe in marriage,” I whisper back.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t believe in shaving your cha-cha until you went over there that morning either.” She smirks.
I elbow her. “Shut up.”
* * *
Together, all of those who signed up to be part of this fundraiser when it began, serve the dinners while our classmates take the stage.
Nineteen entries, no break, my feet are killing me by the time Patrick comes out on stage.
“We have a surprise last-minute entrant, and although it’s way past the deadline, an extra hundred bucks is an extra hundred bucks. Please welcome Tris to the stage.”
I look up and see his cousin, the youngest girl, walk out on stage, and he whispers in her ear. Then he nods and looks off stage, lifts his chin, and a kid comes out with an electric guitar.
When Patrick begins the intro, I don’t recognize the song, but then again, I don’t know a lot of pop.
When Tris sings her first note, the hair on my arms stands up. Her voice, her raspy but whimsical sound, is crazy different.
“I wanna start this out by saying, I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest. Got no anger, got no malice. Just a little bit of regret.”
Watching her sing to the crowd, it’s obvious she has a stage presence, leaps and bounds above the rest that have been on stage tonight. Looking at Patrick’s expression, I can guess he had no idea.
When she sings, “I’m just glad I made it out without breakin’ down. And then I ran so fuckin’ far,” he cringes at her using the F-word. But she looks back at him and shrugs, and he nods.
She stomps across the stage to the kid who is playing electric guitar and plays air guitar along with him. Then she stomps across the stage at the chorus to Patrick.
The way he looks at her, encouraging her, I see deep concern, too. It’s all beautiful and heartbreaking.
When she stands center stage and sings, the “heys,” there is so much emotion in her voice, in her posture, in her face, that I swear I tear up. I’m not a hugger, but I want to hug her so fucking badly.
When the song ends, she hands the mic to Patrick, pushes her little nose in the air, and walks off stage, but then she stops and grabs the other guitarist’s face and lays a big-ass kiss on him.
I look at Patrick, who mouths, “What the fuck?” then looks into the crowd and gives the harshest look to someone who I’ve never seen.
Then I see Truth, Brisa, and Gabrielle stand and walk to the door.
When the applause dies, Patrick puts the mic in the stand. “Well, that was pretty bad-ass, right?”
Everyone claps, whistles, and cheers.
“Gonna be hard to follow that, but I’m gonna try. Before I begin, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight and supporting the first annual Seashore Sit Down and Listen Fundraiser and Talent Show. The people behind the scenes have been counting the money and have tallied the donations from tonight. I’m sure Savvy, Roach, and Ziggy would love to know that one, ten-minute discussion turned in
to a million dollars to help human beings who are less fortunate than many of us, but no less important.”
I am overwhelmed and overjoyed. Tears, happy ones, flow down my cheeks.
“This song I’m going to sing is my own little version of Joe Cocker’s ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’.”
Patrick doesn’t stay on stage, he hops down and walks around, singing from table to table, letting them sing with him.
Arm linked with Chloe’s, we sway to the song whose lyrics I’ve known all my life but never sounded so fucking amazing.
* * *
Patrick had plans tonight and had to leave right after the fundraiser ended, and I am absolutely fine with it. I’m sure I’ll see him in the morning.
Right now, I’m standing in the middle of a ballroom, looking around, feeling a huge sense of pride. Not so much for me. This did start out as a way to fluff up college applications, if I so chose to take that route.
When my phone chimes in my pocket, I reach in and see a message from him and smile.
11:49 p.m. - If you haven’t left yet, could you check back by where you were standing to see if I left my mug?
I nod as if he can see me and skip—yes, skip—to the back. But then I stop abruptly when I hear a guitar and turn around.
He’s sitting on the stage, looking at me as he plays.
“Heaven only knows where you’ve been, but I don’t really need to know. I know where you’re gonna go. On my heart, where you’re resting your head. And you just look so beautiful. It’s like you were an angel …”
God, I believe You’re real. I see Your beauty in places I never thought to look before. I know You’re not a genie who grants wishes, but I do know You’re all powerful. I want to ask You that, if he ever needs saving, please know that, not only did he save me, I don’t know anyone more deserving of a wish, or a miracle as him.
One more thing, thank You for making those pretentious assholes open their wallets for something important tonight.
Peace, love, and all that stuff.
It’s me,