Crash (Band Nerd Book 3)

by Danica Avet

  She frowns, casting a quick, assessing look at the crowd. I thought she was tipsy, but that calculating glance tells me she isn’t as drunk as she’s pretending to be. Once satisfied that I would be safe going to the bathroom alone, she nods.

  “Ten minutes,” she shouts back.

  Shaking my head at her protectiveness, especially when she’s shorter than me by several inches, I work my way through the crowd until I reach the parking lot where there are a lot less people. Mr. Johnny made sure a few of his employees—although I don’t think they’re tattoo artists—stood around acting as security to the tattoo shop, I guess to keep the general public out.

  Trying not to feel nervous about those men watching me approach, I instead think happy thoughts. Like the fact that my truce with Kimber seems to be holding steady, if not strong. She hasn’t insulted me in two weeks which has to be some kind of record. She’s snapped at me a few times, but now that I’m not terrified of her killing me, I’ve started giving her as good as she gives me. The atmosphere in our dorm room is a lot more relaxed, although sometimes it’s like sharing a room with Delia and Lucille all over again.

  Then there’s Crash. I sigh and smile at my feet.

  I still haven’t told him whether I’m going to Moiselle Bayou yet or not. Mostly because Becca, Lena, and Nessie all have ‘other’ things to do. I think they’re just trying to make it seem more like a date than what it really is: hanging out. I’ve told them he’s planning to invite a few other people from school, but no, they’re being stubborn.

  I really want to go though. Since that trip to Indiana, Crash has been talking to me more, and not just about music or school. When we’re waiting for rehearsals to begin, he’ll tell me stories about growing up in Moiselle, or more tidbits about his nana who sounds like a hoot. He’s even gotten me to share a few stories of my own, although I don’t mention anything about how the good people of Pepper Ridge treated me and my family. Mostly, I tell him the silly things my sisters and I got up to and leave all the bad things out.

  Funny, I never gave it much thought, but I do have good memories of my family. They’ve just been overshadowed by all the bad. That’s made me decide that I’m not going to dwell on any of the things that make my stomach ache and my heart hurt. I can focus on the future, and when I look back, find the good times. Maybe that’ll help me get over my anger at Mama.

  “C’mon, baby,” a man’s voice croons nearby.

  Pausing, I see I’m about twenty feet away from the entrance of the tattoo shop. The lights are blazing, but they don’t illuminate the entire parking lot. Glancing around, wondering if one of the drunk guys followed me, I don’t see anyone.

  I shake my head.

  I’m about to continue to the shop when I hear a girl’s slurred response. “Leave me ’lone.”

  “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. You know you want me.”

  “Stop!”

  I look left and right before finding two shadowy figures tucked between a couple of trucks. Squinting, I see a girl pushing at the man who’s crowding her against the fender. I bite my lip. I should mind my own business. They’re probably just having an argument, but the way the guy is hovering over the girl makes me feel uneasy.

  “Leave me a-alone,” the girl says again, pushing on the guy’s shoulders.

  Knowing Mr. Johnny’s employees are watching me, their eyes alert, I decide to brazen it out. I’d want someone to help me if this happened to me.

  “Hey, there you are,” I say cheerfully, walking towards the couple. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl. You said you were gonna go with me to the bathroom.”

  The girl turns to look at me, her shadowed face slack with drunkenness, but there’s no mistaking the relief in her dark eyes. “Hey,” she croaks, giving the guy another push. “Sorry. I got sidetracked.”

  I glance at the man whose gaze darts between us suspiciously. “Mr. Johnny’s gonna wonder where we are if we don’t hurry back,” I lie through my teeth. “Unless there’s a problem he needs to know about?”

  One thing I’ve learned since becoming friends with Becca, is that her uncle is some kind of big deal. I don’t want to say mafia because she denies that’s what he’s into, but he’s a powerful man.

  As evidenced by the way the guy splutters, “J-Johnny T?” before taking a huge step away from the girl, hands in the air. “There’s no problem here. I was just helpin’ her, uh, to the shop.”

  He spins on his heel and disappears across the parking lot before I can challenge him even more. Which is for the best as the girl decides to collapse against the side of the truck in a boneless heap.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask as I hurry to her.

  I wrinkle my nose once I’m crouched next to her. Alcohol. Lots of it. So much, I’d swear she bathed in the stuff, but the way she’s acting, I know she got a lot more in her stomach.

  “Thanks,” she mutters.

  “You’re welcome.” I grab one of her arms and sling it across my shoulders. “C’mon, honey, I need you to come with me. We’ll get you sober or find your friends so they can take you home.”

  She didn’t look all that heavy until I tried to get her to her feet. Remembering how hard it was to move Mama when she got to the stoned drunk stage, I finally stop trying to get her on her feet. Standing up, I look around to make sure there aren’t any predators heading our way before I round the hood of the truck. I’ll just get one of Mr. Johnny’s workers to bring her to the shop. I’m not sure how I’ll find her—

  “Jolene? What’re you doin’ out here by yourself?”

  Turning with a smile I’m sure that betrays my relief and excitement, I watch Crash saunter up. “What’re you doin’ here? I thought you were working late and didn’t even like big parades?”

  He shrugs and stops a foot away. “Figured I’d come out anyway, make sure you didn’t find any trouble.” His grin is irresistible and I give him one in return.

  The khaki button-up shirt he’s wearing and the matching pants shouldn’t look sexy, but on him they do. The tails are untucked, there’s a streak of dirt or something on his forehead, his hair is sticking up in several places, and I smell his sweat and dirt, but he’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  I sway towards him, his potent pheromones rendering me completely helpless to do anything else until I hear a gagging sound nearby. Remembering exactly what I was supposed to be doing, I step away from Crash and shake my head.

  “I actually did find trouble,” I tell him with only the smallest tremble in my voice. “I need you to help me get someone into the tattoo shop so I can find her friends and family.”

  Crash’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t ask any questions, just moves aside to give me room to skirt around him—God in heaven, he smells so good all sweaty which sounds gross but isn’t—and lead him to the place where I’d left the girl.

  “Shit,” he mumbles as we find her sprawled on the ground, her hair covering her face, legs splayed wide, her skirt high enough you could see the promised land. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know, but some guy was tryin’ to take advantage of her,” I answer as he bends down, easily scooping the girl into his arms.

  I don’t like the way my stomach clenches and twists seeing him holding another girl. It isn’t like he’s about to seduce her, but there’s no denying the jealousy that threatens to rear its ugly head. I want him to swoop me in those strong arms, hold me against that muscled chest, and carry me as though I weigh absolutely nothing.

  The scowl on his face when he turns back to me causes those thoughts to flee. “You didn’t go get someone to help?”

  His anger surprises me. I shuffle my feet. “Um, no, it happened so fast, I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

  He grunts something as he passes me, the girl’s long hair draped over his shoulder. I almost growl, but Crash doesn’t even slow, just strides to the shop as though he carries drunk girls around all the time. And
maybe he does. Maybe this is what he does in his off time. When he isn’t with me. Being friends.

  Hurrying after him, I tell Mr. Johnny’s workers, “We need to get her to the bathroom.”

  I don’t know if they know Crash, but they eye us for a second before they nod.

  The shop is blessedly quiet and lit up. Crash waits for me to lead the way to the women’s bathroom which is at the back of the building. Once we get there, I help him get her into the room before shooing him out again. No girl wants a handsome man watch her being sick. Even if she is drunker than a lord.

  “I’ll take care of her from here,” I whisper without meeting his gaze. I don’t want him to see how jealous I am, or how upset I am that he’s mad at me.

  But before I can get him out of the room, he cups my chin in his callused hand and tilts my head back until I have no choice to look at him. His beautiful eyes glitter with something I can’t explain. His thumb brushes my skin in a soft caress that I feel all over the place. Here, in the light, I can see the dirt streaking his face from a hard day’s work, see the exhaustion, and all the beauty that is Levi Cracchiolo.

  “I’m not mad at you,” he murmurs. “Just wishin’ you had a little more self-preservation because that guy, whoever he was, could’ve hurt both of you. And then I’d have to kill him.”

  My lips part in shock, but that’s just the beginning of it because he swoops down and kisses me. It isn’t the kind of kiss you give a girl who’s just a friend, or a girl you give minimum effort to so you can get in her panties. It’s a sweet, gentle kiss. A press of lips, the glide of a sleek tongue across the seam of my mouth and a retreat. It’s a promise.

  And when I open my eyes again to see him closing the bathroom door, I whisper, “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”

  A groan from the floor in one of the stalls reminds me of my responsibility. Hurrying to the girl just as she starts making gagging sounds again, I maneuver her over the toilet and pull her hair away from her face. My nose wrinkles at the smell, but the poor girl is so drunk, if she doesn’t purge it out of her system, she’ll feel a lot worse.

  When she stops, panting and crying, I ask, “Do you have someone I can call to pick you up?”

  “Want I—,” she mumbles, leaning against the stall and I don’t catch the name. “He’s the-the only one who lo-loves me.”

  She starts crying, great big tears rolling down her face. Shaking my head, I lean her against the wall and find her phone tucked in the cup of her bra. No, I don’t grope her. The girl’s wearing a top so low-cut she’s lucky she hasn’t popped a nipple.

  Scrolling through her contacts, I find a listing for I-someone and find an ICE-shithead. Okay then. I know ICE means in case of emergency. The shithead part is a little more puzzling, but maybe it’s her boyfriend and they’re fighting. Whatever. I’ll go through her whole contact list if I need to because this girl needs to get home.

  I start the call as I hurry to the sink. I know she isn’t finished puking. Guess all those years of getting Mama and Delia cleaned up and in bed when they tied one on was a blessing in disguise. I grab a bunch of towels and turn the faucet on to wet them as I wait for her friend to answer.

  I’m already kneeling next to her wiping her face when the guy finally picks up.

  “What’s wrong?” a deep voice growls.

  I pause in the middle of cleaning the girl’s mouth.

  “Natasha, what the fuck do you want?”

  Well. This doesn’t sound like someone who loves her, but he’s the one she asked for. Hopefully it isn’t an ex-boyfriend. I sigh. Lord have mercy.

  “Um, hi, Natasha needs you to come pick her up at Wicked Bones Tattoo Shop,” I say just as the girl lurches for the toilet again. “Oh, honey, just let it all out.” I rub the center of her back wishing I had another set of hands because her hair is trailing all over the nasty bowl. “No, don’t—”

  “Who the fuck is this?” the man demands.

  “I’m Jolene. I found her being harassed by some man in the parking lot and she’s in no shape— Oh, honey, don’t do that,” I tell Natasha as she rests her cheek on the bowl. “That’s not clean.” Tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder, I grab some toilet paper and line the edge of the bowl. It isn’t the best solution, but at least she isn’t almost kissing porcelain. I shudder. “Anyway,” I turn back to the phone call. “She needs someone to bring her home.”

  Silence.

  Pulling the phone away, I see that he hung up. How rude!

  Natasha starts sobbing, mumbling words I can’t understand. Stroking the side of her face, I can’t help but notice she’s a lot younger than I first thought she was. If she’s eighteen, I’ll kiss that toilet myself. Yet the few times I’ve been able to catch her gaze, I recognize the misery and self-hatred in the dark depths. Such a pretty, young girl to be so troubled. It’s like staring into a mirror minus the slack, drunk expression. This is who I would’ve been if it hadn’t been for my determination for something better. And my friends.

  She turns to me, curling up with her head on my shoulder. Not hugging me, but accepting the comfort I’m giving her.

  Poor thing.

  Levi

  Jolene’s soft drawl comforting the drunk, sobbing girl wafts to me through the closed bathroom door. I lean against the opposite wall and close my eyes.

  I’m fucking exhausted, but I’m glad I gave in to the temptation of meeting up with Jolene tonight. Well, meeting up with her and her girl crew. Becca’s the one who actually invited me, but there’s only one girl I came to see.

  If we hadn’t gotten that late shipment of potting soil in, and if Jeremy hadn’t been fucking around with the forklift, I’d have been here much sooner. If Root had been at work tonight instead of studying, that shit wouldn’t have happened. Jeremy’s scared of the big bastard and would’ve just unloaded the truck without all the playing and I’d have been here hours ago. Way before Jolene got it in her head to rescue some strange girl from a drunk man. Just thinking about what could’ve happened to her, with people all around, has me fighting my anger again.

  She’s gonna drive me to an early grave. Or an ulcer. I haven’t figured out which. She looked so glad to see me, her face actually lit up. And what a face it is. Other than at the dinner party at Savage’s place, I’ve never seen her with makeup on, but she’s wearing a lot more tonight than she did then. And I don’t like it.

  Well yeah, I like it a lot actually. She’s fucking gorgeous, but I don’t like that she’s wearing it while she’s single and hanging out with two other single girls, and a bunch of men around. She’s turning me into a fucking caveman.

  And that kiss? Fuck. So much sweeter than the one I stole two weeks ago. I didn’t want it to end, but a women’s bathroom with a girl puking nearby isn’t exactly the right place to make my move. I’m hoping she’ll accept the invite to Moiselle, although she hasn’t said anything about it since I mentioned it to her.

  Fucking depressing.

  “I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight,” one of the guys at the open door of the shop says.

  Looking up absently, I straighten from my slouch as Ivan “the Terrible” walks in looking like a storm cloud, face dark and angry, a crackle of energy surrounding him. I have nothing against the guy, even though he’s the moodiest motherfucker I ever met, but I don’t like him being here with Jolene nearby.

  He’s got that thing about him that makes girls stupid and I’ve seen one too many of them heartbroken when he walks away. Which he does without looking back.

  Maybe that makes me sound like a hypocrite considering my own reputation, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that the girls I have sex with are still my friends. Terrible ignores them once he’s had his fill. There is a difference. Small, yes, but we’re not the same. Not by a long shot.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” I ask as I move to stand in front of the door. He could be going to the men’s room, but that look in his eye tells me diffe
rent.

  He stops a couple of feet away, everything about him screaming danger. I don’t give a shit. We’re evenly matched in size and while I’m not much of a fighter, I’m also not just gonna let him get by me without trying to stop him.

  He doesn’t answer me because he’s a bastard, just gives me a stare as though he thinks he’ll intimidate me into backing down. What he doesn’t realize is Jolene and that girl aren’t for playing. And if it takes me beating his ass to make him understand that—

  The bathroom door swings open and Jolene pokes her head out.

  “I thought I heard someone—”

  I only take a second to look at her, more concerned with Terrible than her, but that one look is enough to tell me enough. She’d taken out her ponytail, leaving all that golden hair spilling over her shoulders in a mess of waves and curls. That hair coupled with the makeup? Fuck.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks in a tone I’ve never heard before.

  The girl is unfailingly polite, even when someone’s being an ass to her, but that soft drawl is sharp and hard when she addresses Terrible. A sick feeling socks me right in the stomach. I push it away. No fucking way did she and Terrible… No.

  I shake my head and put myself between them.

  “Fuck,” Terrible mutters, looking away from her, jaw bunching. He seems to wrestle with himself before turning back. “I’m here for Natasha.”

  “You’re her emergency contact?” she asks, again in that tone. The one of a pissed off, vengeful woman. “No. I’ll take her home.” She steps up next to me, one of her hands slipping into mine. “We’ll take her home. You leave that girl alone.”

  Her words are brave, but her hand is cold and shakes the slightest bit. And I don’t think it’s from anger. It’s like fear and my protective instincts swell.

  There’s the commotion of girls talking excitedly as they approach the tattoo shop and at the same time, a small voice from the bathroom calls out, “Ivan? Ivan!”

  Instantly, the asshole’s gaze goes from his stare down with Jolene to the room behind her. He pushes passed us just as Becca says, “Well, no wonder it took you so long to come back.”