by BB Easton
We locked eyes, and a year’s worth of history passed between us. Juliet hated Knight. Hated him so much she couldn’t even bring herself to say his name. Maybe that was why I’d come to her for advice. Because I needed someone to give me permission to let him go.
“I know,” I said, wiping the spit-up off Romeo’s chin with the cloth.
Satisfied with his burp, I cradled the sleepy guy to my chest and resumed my pacing. Having something heavy and warm to hold on to was surprisingly comforting. The quiet snoring didn’t hurt either.
“He’s the fucking devil,” Juliet continued. “Let’s see. He stalked you for months until he finally manipulated you into being his girlfriend. Then, as soon as he’d brainwashed you into caring about him, he completely shut you out of his life. He let Angel bully you because he wanted you to think they were fucking. He choked you when you confronted him at school about the steroids; don’t think I forgot about that shit. Then, when you still didn’t give up—because you’re an idiot—he joined the Marines and told you to find somebody better.”
Juliet’s voice rose as she pointed at me in anger. “So you spend a month moping in your room, depressed as fuck, with no word from him, and when you finally do what he said and find somebody better he shows up and tries to take that away from you too. What in the actual fuck, B? I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. That guy is a psycho who has done nothing but hurt you and scare you and fuck with your head. That’s it. End of story. Move on.”
Yeah, there was definitely a reason why I wanted Juliet’s opinion.
“Well, when you put it like that…” I said, cringing from her brutally honest blow-by-blow.
“You know I’m right. And you’re trying to decide between him and Harley? Harley’s fucking nice to you. Like super nice. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’s got a pretty face and a big ole dick, too. So, I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the fuck the problem is.”
The image of Harley’s face, and his dick, made me smile. “He’s got a badass car, too,” I added wistfully.
“And a badass car. See? There’s literally no contest. Harley wins, and Skeletor can go back to hell where he came from.”
I laughed and tried to push the guilt of what I was considering into the deepest recesses of my mind. She was right, right? It didn’t matter how I felt about Knight. He was bad for me. He’d hurt me. And we weren’t even technically together. I wasn’t cheating on him if I kept seeing Harley. He didn’t even have to know. Harley made me happy. And, now that I’d seen how low I was capable of getting, giving up the one thing that made me high was too big a risk to take.
Just then my purse erupted into a crescendo of robotic beeps and tones.
Doodleoodleoodleoodleoo.
Juliet’s face lit up with the triumph of an argument won as she pointed to it and yelled, “And he calls you when he wants to talk instead of hiding in the backseat of your car like a fucking serial killer!”
I ignored her comment. I was too busy tossing a sleeping baby at her, diving into my purse to find my phone, and sprinting into the bathroom to take the call.
I answered on the last ring, totally out of breath.
The sound of smoke being exhaled greeted me on the other line, followed by the warm, raspy words, “Hey, lady.”
My adrenaline instantly evaporated into a puddle of swoon juice.
“Hey, Harley.”
I smiled into my phone and felt my cheeks get hot. Oh my God, was I seriously blushing over two little words? I looked in the mirror to check the extent of my blotchiness and gasped when I saw something way more colorful than my pink face—a stage five hickey, right on the front left side of my neck.
“Shit.”
“You okay?” Harley asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, yanking up my Bauhaus T-shirt to see what other damage had been done. “I just…saw a spider.”
As Harley laughed and made fun of me for being a pussy, I stared at the purple-and-red Jackson Pollock painting that had once been my torso. Hickeys, finger-shaped bruises, and bloody scabbed-over bite marks marred the landscape of my pale, freckled flesh. I looked like I’d been attacked. By a wolverine. And a vacuum hose attachment. At the same time.
“BB?”
“Huh? Sorry, I…I didn’t hear you. This thing is staring at me with at least six of its eight eyes. I think it wants to eat me.”
“It’s not the only one.”
I blinked and replayed his words in my head to be sure I’d heard him correctly. “Harley!”
He chuckled in that deep gravelly voice that made my insides clench and said, “Come over.”
“I can’t.” The words shot from my mouth before I had a chance to formulate a solid excuse.
I wanted nothing more than to let Harley do exactly what he was offering, but there was no way I could let him see me looking like that. Jesus, I might as well have had a blinking neon sign on my chest that said, Knight wuz here. I was going to need at least a week to heal up.
“What about tomorrow?” Harley asked.
“Uh…I’m going out of town!”
Goddamn, I was a terrible liar.
“Really?” Harley sounded genuinely surprised. “Where you goin’?”
“Um…” I looked around the bathroom, desperate for inspiration. My eyes landed on Juliet’s little brother’s swim trunks, which were hanging up to dry in the shower. They had a picture of Snoopy on them and his little yellow friend—
“Woodstock!” I blurted.
“You’re going to Woodstock?” Harley asked, incredulous.
“Yep. My parents, man. Total hippies. They’re taking me on a road trip to the place where Woodstock was held so that I can experience the majesty or some shit.”
“You guys are driving all the way to New York?”
Woodstock was in New York?
“Uh-huh,” I lied. “It’s totally gonna suck.”
Harley bought my bullshit, or at least pretended to, and made me promise to call him as soon as I got back. He said he was going to miss me.
I was going to miss him more.
Walking out of the bathroom with my phone dangling from my dejected hand, I met Juliet’s hopeful gaze and lifted my shirt.
Her mouth fell open, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “That motherfucker.”
July 1998
“Harley, get up!”
“Not until you answer me.”
My eyes flicked from Harley, who was kneeling before me in the middle of his living room, holding a tiny diamond band in his outstretched hand, to Dave, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen with an amused smirk on his face.
Lowering my voice, I whispered, “Are you really going to make me tell you no in front of your brother?”
“Ha!” Dave laughed and clapped his hands together once. “She fucking said no!” Pointing at me, he added, “I love this girl! Hell, I kinda wanna marry her now.”
Harley stood up, completely undaunted, and smirked at me. Tucking the ring back into his pocket, he pulled me in for a hello kiss while simultaneously flipping Dave off over his shoulder.
“Fuck me?” his little brother called from the kitchen. “I’m not the one who just served your ass, son!”
I felt Harley smile against my mouth as his tongue teased mine. He smelled like gasoline and cigarettes—an explosive combination that I’d missed every minute of every day that I pretended to be away.
I had healed up pretty well with some help from a vial of vitamin E oil I’d found in my mom’s collection of homeopathic bullshit. As long as Harley didn’t rub the concealer off the fading hickey on my neck, I should be okay.
The thought of how I’d gotten that hickey made my guilt flare back up, but when Harley told his brother to, “Shut the fuck up and bring my woman a beer,” it erupted into a three-alarm inferno of remorse.
His woman. God, I felt like an asshole.
With a beer in one hand and a Camel Light in the other, I settled int
o the couch and listened as Harley and Dave regaled me with stories from our week spent apart. Harley took my boots and socks off, but instead of rubbing my feet like I hoped he would, he stuck his lit cigarette between two of my toes so that he could hit the bong that Dave had just passed to him. It was fucking adorable. He was adorable, and when he exhaled and tipped the bong to me in a silent offer, I couldn’t say no.
The previous week had been hell. I’d spent every moment either racked with guilt or shaking in fear. Every creak, every beep, every bump in the night had me practically jumping out of my skin. I was convinced that Knight was there somewhere, watching me. Positive. He’d become the monster under my bed, the Skeletor in my closet. And when I hadn’t been busy worrying about Knight, I’d been worrying about Harley finding out about Knight.
But now that we were finally together again, I was feeling a whole new level of anxious. I was desperately trying to play it cool—in my coochie-cutter shorts and my Andrew W.K. T-shirt with the sleeves cut off—while on the inside I was literally willing myself not to have a panic attack. Maybe it was time to give pot another shot. I’d take feeling sleepy over having a coronary on Harley’s filthy brown carpet any day.
I sat up and flicked my fingers at Harley, gesturing for him to pass me the bong without looking too eager. I might not have been a pothead, but I knew how all the accessories worked. Hell, I’d probably drunk bong water as a baby the way thirsty pets drink out of the toilet, but I let Harley light it for me anyway.
The smoke smelled comforting but burned like fire in my lungs, causing me to cough like a son of a bitch. Harley and Dave laughed, already half-baked themselves, and I couldn’t help but chime in. Laughing felt amazing. So did Harley’s arm around my shoulders when he passed the bong back to Dave and pulled me in close. I relaxed into his side instantly.
All the tension I’d been carrying around melted like ice and slid from my bones, forming a puddle of bullshit I was done worrying about on the floor, thanks to Harley. The man was better than therapy. Better than Prozac. I stepped into his aura, and all was right with the world. The difference between how I’d felt during our week apart and how I felt after spending only thirty minutes in his presence made it abundantly clear. I needed him. Regardless of how I felt about Knight. Whether I loved him or loathed him, it didn’t matter.
Harley = happy.
No Harley = fucking miserable.
“Hey, you wanna come by the shop tomorrow?” Harley managed to ask while still holding in the hit he’d just taken. Exhaling without so much as a cough, he added, “I got a valve in that I think will work with your new cold air intake. Then we can go test it out and grab some dinner.”
I nodded up at him dreamily, my gaze drifting from his sparkly blue eyes to the silver ring hugging his big, fat bottom lip. Just as I was about to crane my neck up to kiss him, Harley covered his mouth with the bong and took another hit. My disappointment quickly turned to elation, however, when Harley’s lips found mine a moment later. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke directly into my open mouth and then sealed it shut with a lingering kiss.
My head spun, both from the weed and from the giddy, effervescent feeling I got anytime that beautiful, baby-faced bad boy touched me.
As soon as Harley pulled away, I exhaled with a cough, then a giggle when Dave raised his hand and said, “My turn! My turn!”
Harley smacked him in the face with an open hand, which led to Dave grabbing his arm and twisting it backward, which caused Harley to punch him in the shoulder with his free hand, which caused Dave to pull him to the ground like a crazy redneck spider monkey. I laughed my ass off and held the bong over my head to keep it safe while Harley and Dave rolled around on the living room floor for the next five minutes. They’d obviously been raised on WWF because those two knew every WrestleMania move and term ever invented.
At one point, Dave stood up, patted his elbow twice, and yelled “Atomic Elbow Drop!” before throwing himself at Harley, who rolled out of the way at the last minute.
As soon as Dave slid to a stop on the carpet, Harley rolled back, locked Dave’s arm behind his back, and wrapped his other arm around his neck in some kind of a modified sleeper hold.
“Cross-Face Chicken Wing, motherfucker,” Harley muttered, exerting himself while trying to contain Dave’s thrashing body. “You done yet?”
Dave, whose face was turning purple, reluctantly nodded. As soon as Harley let go, Dave gasped for air and motioned toward me with an outstretched arm. “BB,” he croaked. “Please, I”—cough—“I think I need CPR.”
Harley chuckled and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet. The guys did that thing where they hug and pound on each other’s backs at the same time, then they flopped back onto the couch like nothing had even happened.
Chugging the rest of his beer, Harley belched and assessed what was left in my can, which wasn’t much. He kissed me on the temple and got up to get us two more. On his way back into the living room, Harley flipped a light switch, illuminating the wall of neon signs behind me. The sun was beginning to set, and the room had gotten darker.
“Y’all wanna watch a movie?” Harley asked, grabbing a remote control off the coffee table.
In a few clicks, the giant TV boomed to life, and The motherfucking Fifth Element began playing. I stared at Harley in disbelief.
“Shut the fuck up,” I deadpanned.
“What?”
I gestured at the TV. “Harley, this is my favorite movie.”
“No, it’s not.” He smirked.
“Why?” I snapped back.
“Because it’s my favorite movie. I called dibs. You can ask Dave.” Harley turned and flicked his chin at his brother. “Hey, Davidson?”
“What, asshole?”
“What’s my favorite movie?”
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Dave said, “Steel Magnolias. Duh.”
I laughed and grabbed Harley’s arm before he could smack the poor guy in the face again.
“Hey, Dave?” I asked, peeking around Harley’s body.
“Yeah, princess?”
Making searing eye contact with Harley, I asked, “What’s my favorite movie?”
“Debbie Does Dallas. Or at least it was when we watched it together last night.” Looking at Harley, Dave added, “Your girl loves a full bush, man.”
I totally let Harley smack him in the face that time.
Remembering what was in my trunk, I ran outside and came back carrying four little skull pillows that I’d sewn during my week in “Woodstock” and a gray chenille blanket that had gotten “damaged” and accidentally fell behind the dumpster at work. I dropped all the pillows onto Dave’s head, who immediately grabbed one and curled up with it. Then I snuggled under the blanket with Harley on the other side of the L-shaped sectional.
After two beers and too many bong hits the room was a little spinny, so I lay down with my head on the armrest. Harley did the same, spooning me from behind. His big, strong arms were the only things keeping me tethered to the couch. I was floating. Worries, gone. It was just me and my favorite guy and my favorite movie and soft chenille on my bare legs and the lingering smell of marijuana in the air. I was safe and warm and fuzzyheaded.
“Thanks for the blanket, lady,” Harley whispered in my ear just as his fingers slid under the waistband of my denim cutoff shorts.
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled in response.
The neon beer signs and glow of the TV were the only light in the room—and Dave seemed to be pretty focused on Milla Jovovich in that little rubber suit—so I didn’t mind one bit when Harley’s fingers roamed even lower.
I could feel his erection swell against my ass, and I pressed against it in need as he teased my clit under the blanket. Harley’s breath was hot on the back of my neck as he dipped a finger inside me, then, it was gone. An explosion went off on the TV, followed by machine gunfire, providing the perfect distraction for Harley to stealthily unzip his pants.
Welcomed
rigid heat slid between my thighs and against the thin crotch of my teeny, tiny shorts.
Fuck me.
I reached between my legs and touched the smooth head of Harley’s cock, wishing like hell that I could grind against it the way I wanted to.
At the next explosion, Harley unzipped my shorts. More machine gunfire, he inched them below my ass. And, when the police sirens blared, Harley’s cock was back between my legs—only that time, there was nothing between us.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” Harley whispered, his face buried in the curve of my neck.
His big, warm arm squeezed my waifish body tighter, so I pressed my thighs together and squeezed him right back.
Harley fucked my thigh gap slowly, using small movements and long pauses to keep from drawing any unwanted attention. With every pass, the head of his cock grazed my slick entrance with a little more pressure.
Harley was begging for an invitation. And my body was ready to roll out the welcome mat.
If Dave hadn’t decided to get up and take a piss right then, my stoned, beer-logged brain probably would have just fucked Harley without protection.
As soon as Dave was out of the room, I rallied every one of my remaining brain cells and dug a condom out of my purse. I passed it back to Harley, then slid my shorts down around my ankles under the blanket. When Harley pressed against me again, I let him in. The connection was immediate. Overwhelming. I gasped as we clicked into place and relished in the feeling of being whole again.
Just then I heard the toilet flush, and the bathroom door opened. When Dave walked across the living room he eyed us warily, but said nothing as he sat back down on his side of the couch. I closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as Harley began to move again. Slowly. Discreetly. And at torturously random intervals.
I stifled a moan and peeked at Dave’s side of the couch. He wasn’t watching the movie. He was sitting with his back against the armrest, taking deliberate sips of his beer, watching us.
Somewhere in the rational part of my brain I knew I should feel weird about it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My inhibitions had been tranquilized. Besides, Dave had walked in on us before, right? He’d seen me naked. So, this was actually less weird because this time we were covered by a—