by Jean Haus
About half an hour later, Romeo announces he’s leaving. Though he claims the reason is studying, his voice is tight. The girls all frown as Sam gets up, but Justin looks to me. “Give me a ride?”
A trip to the dorms is out of my way and I’m positive Justin’s planning on hitting on me, but the recent image of Romeo singing about me being his dirty little secret, has me nodding.
“Justin,” Romeo says from behind his teeth as he leans across the table. “Have you forgotten the agreement?”
Justin meets the hard stare above him. “Relax. I’m just in the mood to party.”
Romeo gives him another stern look before telling the girls, who watch him with wide eyes because they’ve probably never seen his dick side, good night and motioning for Sam to follow him. I’m not sure if he even glances at me. I’m too busy piecing together the agreement, which of course has to be about me.
True to his word, Justin parties. He downs several Tequila shots with the girls. He tries to order me one. I remind him I’m driving. The girls play more music on the jukebox. They dance. Within minutes, they pull Justin out to dance and rub all over him. He tries to pull me out to join the clothed orgy. I decline and sip water. The night goes on in this vicious, boring cycle until the waitress finally announces last call.
Unsurprisingly, one of the girls offers to take Justin home after they down their last shot. Before I can gladly concur, he wraps an arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “Got my ride right here.”
Lucky me.
The ride to the dorm feels like forever as Justin searches through songs on my iPod and belts lyrics into the night from the open window. Never thought I’d grow sick of his voice, but with every passing street, it grates more on my nerves.
Finally, I pull up to his dorm.
Of course, he doesn’t get out. I don’t turn the engine off. And although my stomach churns— my upcoming rejection is probably not going to go well—I take advantage of the silence and his buzz. “What’s this I hear about an agreement?”
He lays his head back and looks at me through his lashes. “It’s about you.”
“I figured as much. What exactly is it?”
He scoots and leans an elbow on the console between us. “He’d be pissed if I told you.”
Though Justin likes to act the front man, his buzzed up honesty makes it obvious he knows who runs the show. “As if I’d tell him.”
In the dim light from the dashboard, his twisted grin brings out deep dimples. He obviously likes my bitch attitude toward Romeo.
“We’re not supposed to hit on you or anything. That’s why he finally agreed to let you in the band. If anyone seriously hits on you or tries to hook up with you, then you’re out. That was the deal.”
My hands clench the steering wheel but his explanation is pretty close to what I guessed.
He leans closer to me. “But what happens when we can’t resist? What happens when you draw us like a moth to a flame?” He reaches out and runs a finger softly down my cheek. “Like a dying man to heaven?”
If this is the normal shit he spouts, the girls he’s with are either as drunk as him, seriously blinded by his dimple, or really horny. Guess if you were looking for a lay, Justin’s the perfect no strings attached.
I cover the fingers caressing my cheek and pull at his hand. “Oh, I think you can resist me.”
He shakes his head, leans even closer, and looks at me through his lashes again. “I don’t think I can. I’m falling and you’re the parachute that will save me.”
“What?” I shriek before my laughter escapes at the ridiculous image of me bloated wide above him as we fall through the air. His soft sultry expression turns hard as I giggle. It takes me a moment to rein in the laughter. “I’m sorry, but that was the lamest line I’ve ever heard.” Another giggle escapes. “A parachute!” I grasp before going into another round of hilarity.
Justin’s leans against the headrest as I try to control my laughter. “Guess I should go.”
I can only nod. I’m afraid if I try to say anything I’ll burst into giggles again. He slowly gets out of the car and goes to main door of the dorm. While I wait to make sure he gets in, Justin looks over his shoulder. I offer a wave. He waves back before tumbling into the door of his building. Five seconds later, I can’t hold it in any longer, I’m laying my head against the steering wheel and laughing like crazy. Part of my uncontrollable laughter is from trying to hold it in so long, but really a parachute?
Chapter 14
The next day I sit on a bench in the center of campus at the edge of the outdoor commons. Marcus agreed to meet me for a late lunch. Pissed and confused about the whole Chloe thing, I haven’t seen him in a while, but I need to ask—beg—him about using his drum set, and I’d rather do my begging face to face. But his class ends over an hour after mine. So I listen to my iPod shuffle through music and read from The Life of Julius Caesar, my latest assignment in Ancient Roman History.
Taking a break from the tedious account of Mr. Caesar, I set the book in my lap. Although the day is sunny and warm, the leaves are beginning to turn. Soon autumn will flow into the cold days of winter. Days like this are little treasures that demand to be stored up before the cold keeps me from the outdoors. The pool needs to be closed up soon, but I have no idea how. My father always took care of the pool and bought the chemicals. Between Google and the salesman at the pool store, I hope to figure it out.
Beyond the circle of benches and down the circle of cement steps, a dark blonde head amid the many people out enjoying the weather catches my eye. Justin sits on the edge of the wall circling the fountain. The black ink on his arms gleams in the bright sun. A girl with long strawberry blond hair sits next to him. Actually, she’s almost in his lap.
I let out a laugh and the person sitting on the bench across from me gives me an odd look. I shrug and glance back at Justin. So much for me being his parachute. Looks like he found another string to tug. Any guilt I had for using him to piss off Romeo then rejecting his advances with laughter fade as I watch him flirt.
Strangely, Justin’s womanizing ways don’t bother me. It’s not like he has a girlfriend, and it’s obvious he’s a player. But then Romeo and Sam are too. However, Romeo—hot jerkface cheater—is the one with the girlfriend.
Suddenly, Marcus plops down next to me and breaks me from my thoughts of Romeo. I give him a smile. Perfect timing.
He grabs my iPod from my lap and looks at the song playing while I pull out my earbuds.
“Do you ever listen to anything slow?” he asks with a smirk.
I shrug. When it comes to music, I love the drums. For some people it’s the riff of the guitar or the vibration of the bass. For most it’s the words of the song and the vocals. But the drums speak to me. They boom into my chest and spread to my fingers and toes. Maybe it’s because I play them, but that doesn’t matter. Music speaks to me through the beat of the drums. “Slow usually means less drums.”
He shakes his head and stands. “Come on. I’ll buy. I’m starving.”
While we walk to the cafeteria and go through the line, he asks me about my mom and Jamie. I tell them they’re fine. I ask him about the marching band. He tells me it’s great. I feel a twinge of jealousy. The marching band can’t be anything like the drama of being in Luminescent Juliet. But then being on stage in front of a wild crowd is a rush performing on a football field can’t compete with.
We find a table near the window in the corner. The seating area is nearly empty compared to when I’m here near noon with Kendra.
He’s dousing his hamburger with ketchup and I’m cutting the chicken of my salad when I say, “I have something important to ask you.”
His brows lower and his face tilts defensively. “Then why don’t you just ask?”
The set of his chin throws me for a second until I realize he must think this is about Chloe. “I really need to borrow your drum set.”
“My set?” he asks as confusion changes his guarde
d expression.
“Please? Besides paying for the rented kit, yours is better,” I simply say instead of telling him the way Romeo tried to get me to quit with a different tactic.
“Sure. Of course you can use them.” He reaches for his burger and waves a hand. “It’s not like I’m home much.”
Well that was way easier than I thought it would be.
“Thanks,” I say relieved. Two summers of lawn cutting went into those drums. “Saturday should be cool. We’re doing a full line up at The Razor.” He frowns while chewing. “You’re coming right? Saturday’s are eighteen and over.”
He shakes his head and swallows. “We have an away game. It doesn’t start until four and it’s almost two hours away. Shouldn’t be back until after midnight.”
I drop my fork loaded with chicken and salad. “Well that sucks. Chloe’s not going to be there either. She’s got a date,” I say before I can stop myself.
Marcus pauses reaching for his burger. I’m trying to determine if that means anything, but he breaks my concentration by asking, “Why doesn’t Super Tramp bring her date to watch you?”
My head snaps up. I’m very tempted to admit I know about him and Chloe. “Don’t call her that.”
He shrugs. “If the condom fits…”
This is an argument we’ve had several times. The first was sophomore year when he tried to warn me about my reputation if I kept hanging around with her. As if I had a reputation. And like her dating two guys from the football team one month apart was that big of deal. Though I’m sure their mouths made it sound like a huge deal. “Tell me something, do you think the guys in the band, especially Justin, are slutty? Because Justin doesn’t have a flavor of the month. More like a flavor of the night.”
“Well he’s a g—”
“Don’t even say it,” I warn and raise my bag of croutons but pause. Marcus never talks about other girls—girls more promiscuous than Chloe—like this, which has me wondering why.
He smirks. “Or you’ll kill me with croutons?”
I lower the bag slowly. “Her first date shouldn’t be in some loud bar. He wants to take her to some fancy restaurant.”
Marcus scowls. “Then the backseat of his car?”
I’m about to chuck the croutons at his forehead, but the sight of the group coming in the cafeteria has the bag falling from my fingertips. Romeo leads a group of what looks like twelve-year-old boys to the chalkboard menu. He points at the first item. “What group do burgers fall into?” he asks loudly.
Several boys tell out, “Protein!”
“Good job,” he replies.
“What’s he doing?” I ask, gesturing toward Romeo with my fork.
Marcus glances over his shoulder and watches before turning around. “I know he gives private boxing lessons or sessions or whatever it’s called as a part time job.” He shrugs. “Must be doing it as class.”
“Boxing?” I ask incredulously while remembering his gentle fingers dancing over the fiddle then my skin. However, I have noticed the impression of dominance he silently exudes. What girl wouldn’t?
Marcus nods and speaks through a mouth of food. “He won states twice. As a kid then during his senior year. Was on the team here freshman year but quit to do the band thing.” He takes a gulp of his chocolate milk. “How do you not know any of this? You’re with those guys all the time.”
Romeo points to pizza and several boys yell out carbohydrate. Others yell out protein.
I pull my eyes from Romeo dressed in a university t-shirt and gym shorts. Unsurprisingly, he has nice legs. Very muscled. The last thing I want is Marcus noticing me salivating over him. “I’m kind of busy at home. I just go to practice, play, and leave right away.”
He raises a brow.
“The house needs to be cleaned. The lawn cut. Jamie has homework now. And there’s always laundry.” I sigh. “I hate laundry. It multiplies like rabbits or something. But I’m getting good at cooking.”
An onion ring drops from his fingers. “Shit Riley, I know your mom’s working full time, but so do lots of women.”
“She’s depressed.”
“So that makes you the mom, dad, and cleaning lady?”
I shrug. “It’s just hard for her to…do things sometimes.”
“You’re enabling her depression.”
Sadly, I’m aware of this, but my hand slaps the table. “What am I supposed to do? Let the house fall down around me? Let my sister take care of herself?”
Romeo and his group are now on the dessert section.
“Your mom needs to step up.”
“She’s working full time. She’s trying to adjust after twenty years of marriage.”
“They may be getting divorced, but your dad should help more.”
I’m not going to explain my mother won’t let him because of the girlfriend. It’s none of his business. “He’s busy.”
“Never thought your dad would become a dead beat.”
My chest tightens. My gaze finds the zigzagged pattern on the carpet. Part of me, the part that spent eighteen years with my father before he left, wants to defend my him. The other part is starting to agree with my friend. My father’s financial support isn’t enough, but he gives in to my mother’s demands too easily. “Just drop it, Marcus.” I look up to find the boys scribbling on scrapes of paper and Romeo watching me. Our gazes lock before I spear a clump of chicken and salad. Suddenly, I’m very interested in lunch.
“One more thing,” Marcus says.
“I said to drop it,” I say lowly.
“I don’t think Mags is aware she’s using you, Riley. But she is.”
“Marcus—”
Suddenly Romeo is standing over us. “Hey, Marcus,” he says then looks to me. “Riley. You two doing okay?” He leans over the plants on the half wall next to our table. His tone is casual, but his gaze narrows on Marcus, who looks confused.
“We’re fine,” I say lightly. “Everything’s fine. You coach boxing?” I gesture to the boys still scribbling to get his attention away from Marcus, who looks like he might pee his pants or something soon under Romeo’s gaze.
He nods. “More like train, but yes.”
I tilt my head as if in thought. “Does working with kids wear you down? Is that why you’re such an uptight asshole?”
Marcus’s mouth drops open.
Laughing, Romeo pushes off the wall and biceps bunch. “Nope. Someone else tends to make me that way.” He gives me a pointed look before glancing at Marcus. “See you two later.” He stalks his tight ass back over to the group of boys.
When Romeo is out of earshot, Marcus asks, “What was that about?”
I should have kept my big mouth shut, but so used to arguing with him at practice, my snide questions just came out. “Obviously we’re not too fond of one another.”
“Really? You’re one of the least confrontational people I know. And it didn’t seem like he disliked you. In fact, it seemed like he was worried about you. Eyeballing me, like he was pissed I was upsetting you or...” Marcus’s expression becomes pensive as he studies me.
I have a sick feeling he’s remembering my backwards shirt and putting two and two together. “Trust me. We don’t get along. He wants me to quit the band.”
Marcus’s eyes grow huge. “What? Why?”
Once again, I should have kept my big mouth shut but I’m sure Marcus was thinking I was with Romeo that night. Unfortunately, things tend to grow bigger the more people know about them. I wave my hand. “Don’t you remember tryouts? He wanted another drummer.”
“Then he’s an idiot.”
I give Marcus a wide smile. “My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter 15
The first set went perfect. It ended with Bullet In My Hand by Redlight King. With the build then drum explosion, I love playing that song. The next set will start with two of our originals, Blood on Snow and Trace. Energy from playing for almost an hour buzzes inside of me while I gulp down water. The club isn’t huge
, but it’s packed. I’ve been here with Chloe before. Two days after she turned eighteen. People usually come here to grind against one another on the dance floor. This Saturday night they’re here to listen to us.
Surrounded by jars of olives, maraschino cherries, and boxes, we take a quick break in the stock room. There’s no area behind the small stage here. High energy music—I’m guessing Pong—echoes from the main club. Justin and Sam are drinking a quick beer. Romeo’s talking to some guy about adjusting the lighting. I’m leaning against the wall and trying to catch my breath. Drumming for almost an hour is a workout.
Reaching in my bag for another water, I notice my phone flashing with a message probably from Chloe giving me an update on her date. I reach for the phone wondering if it’s going to read awesome or douchebag. But the message isn’t from Chloe. It’s from my dad and when I read it—your mother’s in the hospital—my heart drops.
I ignore all the voicemails he left, step farther into the stock room past shelves of cocktail napkins, and hit his speed dial number with a shaky finger.
He answers on the second ring. “Riley—”
“What’s going on?” I ask in a frantic tone.
“Settle down. Maggie’s doing better. She’s in stable condition.”
His words don’t kill my panic. “Why is she there?”
I hear him sigh and imagine him running his hand through his gray hair. “Apparently she over dosed on sleeping pills.”
“What?” If I thought my heart dropped before, right now it’s on the concrete floor.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said. But did she…do it on purpose?” The question comes out in a whisper as fear threatens to explode and turn me into a raving lunatic.
“At this point, they don’t know.”
Air rushes out of me. Deflating, I slide down the metal shelves and land with a plop on the floor. “Where’s Jamie?”