by J. Daniels
“Right? No way. I’m not telling him. And I made CJ swear he won’t say anything.”
“What about Richard? Are you two—”
My eyes double in size. “I’m not telling him either! Are you nuts?”
“That’s not what I was going to ask,” she argues, scooping up the pieces of shredded napkin off the bar and disposing of them into the receptacle she’s next to. “You already told me you weren’t telling him, and I get that too.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, handing over the remaining bits of napkin I’m clutching when she holds her hand out. “You do? Really?”
“Really.”
I release a slow breath while Beth tosses out my mess.
“I just don’t want to hurt Richard, you know?” I say. “I never meant for it to happen.”
“I know. That’s why I get it.” Beth motions at a guy at the end of the bar who calls out for a refill, signaling for him to hold on. Then she looks at me. Her eyes are tender. “I just want to make sure you’re happy with Richard. That this is really what you want.”
“It is,” I quickly answer, following her eyes to my phone and then meeting them when she lifts her gaze. “Really. I’m happy with him. Right now it’s just hard with him struggling to find a job, but as soon as he finds one we’ll be happy like we were. So happy. I just know it.”
I know it.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she says, smiling a little. “And I’m sure he’ll find a job soon.”
“Yeah.” I smile back, mine as weak as hers.
We stare at each other while silence lingers, that uncomfortable silence filled with unspoken words and unshared fears, and when I can’t take it anymore I check the time on my phone.
“I gotta go. We have that concert tonight. The Killers. Richard bought us tickets a few months back.” I stand from my stool and slip my phone away.
“Oh, that’s right. Hey.” Beth reaches into the front pocket of her apron and pulls out some cash. She holds it over the bar. “Can you get me a shirt? I don’t have one of theirs.”
I wave off her offer. “I got it. You know, since we’re family now.”
She grins, laughing lightly. “You just love saying that, don’t you?” she says, bringing back my words from earlier as she tucks her money away.
“Maybe a little,” I reply. “I’ll give it to you on Sunday. Sound good?”
“Yep.”
“And thanks for listening. Really. I’m so glad I have you to talk to about stuff like this. About everything.”
“Anytime, little sis,” she says, amusement in her voice as she makes her way to the man waiting on his refill. She lifts her hand and waves.
I wave back, doing this grinning because I have a sister now and she’s awesome, and also because she gets what I’m doing. She understands.
Meaning I’m doing the right thing.
“I’m home!” I announce after stepping inside the house and shutting the door behind me.
I toss my book bag against the wall in the hallway and dart upstairs, knowing that’s where Richard has been spending most of his time as of late, and find him in the office.
He’s slouched back in the comfy desk chair we purchased months ago, still in the clothes he slept in last night, unshaved, looking exhausted and possibly irritated, I can’t tell. The two seem to go hand in hand these days. Head tipped toward the ceiling, eyes unfocused, a bottle in his hand. Whiskey, by the looks of it. While two empty beer cans lay scattered on the desk amongst my school papers, laptop, and the bills I’m waiting to pay.
“Hey.” I lean against the doorframe and wrap my hand around my forearm. “How’d it go today? Any luck?”
Richard doesn’t turn his head or acknowledge me, meaning he’s not possibly irritated. He’s absolutely irritated.
He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a swig of the amber colored liquid.
“Well, you know, that’s okay. Tomorrow’s another day, right?” I step into the room. “I bet you’ll find something tomorrow.”
“You know how annoying you’re being right now?” He slowly turns his head.
I stop a foot away from the desk when our eyes lock. I see the anger in his.
“Quit with the positivity bullshit, Ri,” he snaps. “I’m sick of hearing it.”
I shrug. “Sorry. I’m just—”
“You’re just making it worse, all right?” he interrupts. “I don’t need you telling me I’m gonna find a job and shoving down my fucking throat how qualified I am and then saying shit about how people are crazy if they don’t hire me, and how you would hire me. What the fuck? You think that shit helps?” He takes another swig from the bottle, then jerks forward and slams the laptop closed. “There’s no fucking jobs available right now,” he spits. “There’s nothing. How many times do I gotta tell you that? I can’t get hired if I can’t fucking apply to anything.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Just . . .” I step closer until I’m standing beside the desk. “Please be careful with that,” I request, pointing at the laptop. “I need it for school.”
He sets the bottle on the desk and rakes his hands down his face. “Right,” he murmurs before slamming back in the chair. He tilts his head up and glares at me. “Looks like you’re the one who’ll be providing for us so I guess I should be careful with the shit I bought you, back when I was working.”
I feel my mouth grow tight.
Is Richard being rude and taking his frustrations out on me?
Absolutely.
Do I understand his frustration and know he really doesn’t mean what he’s saying?
Yes. This isn’t him.
This is our bump.
Which is why I relax my mouth into a smile and let him see it before climbing onto his lap.
He doesn’t reach out for me or draw me closer. He keeps his arms on the armrests.
“I think tonight will be good for you,” I tell him, pulling my knees up, kissing his scratchy jaw and then resting my head on his shoulder while my fingers play in the frayed edges of his sleeve. “It’ll get your mind off everything. Let you relax a little. You need it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks.
“The concert.” I angle my head up and meet his eyes. “Remember? We’ve got tickets to see The Killers.”
Richard stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You think I’m going to that shit after the day I’ve had?” He bumps my chest with his, signaling for me to climb off.
I twist in his lap, sitting tall so I can see him better. I do not climb off.
His arms stay on the armrests.
“Why wouldn’t you go? You love them.”
“No, I don’t,” he bites out. “You love them. When have you ever heard me listening to their music?”
“But, you got us tickets.”
“Yeah, so you could take one of your friends. I never planned on going.”
I look at him, my brow furrowing.
He never told me that. I would’ve said I wanted to go with him. I know I would’ve.
I relax my face and push my fingers through his dark hair until he yanks back, pulling out of reach, then I drop my hand to his shoulder. “I want to go with you,” I tell him. “I don’t want to go with a friend.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles coldly.
“Please?”
His face hardens.
“Jesus, Ri. No. What—”
“Please,” I repeat, my voice shaking and stress filled as I resort to begging. “Please go with me. I want us to do something together. Something out of this house. We stay in all the time now. We don’t do anything. You’re job hunting and I’m watching you job hunt, and I feel like we need this. You’re so stressed, Richard. It’ll be good to get out. And look, we don’t have to stay the whole time. We can leave whenever you’re ready. I promise. And you can continue drinking. I don’t mind. I’ll drive. Just go with me.” I hold his face with both of my hands and force him to look at
me when his eyes start sliding away. “We used to do stuff together like this all the time. I miss it. Don’t you?”
“Shit’s different now. I can’t afford stuff like this.”
“Tickets are already paid for. There’s free parking on the street. And you can sneak in your own booze. People do that, I think.”
He inhales a slow, deep breath.
It’s tense and tight and I think he’s going to tell me no, and I don’t know why, it’s a stupid concert, it’s nothing, but my lip starts trembling.
I duck my chin so he can’t see it.
What’s wrong with me? Why is this so important?
I’m worried. I’m stressed out and sick with worry.
“Fine,” he grunts after several seconds, huffing out all the air in his lungs.
I lift my chin and look into his eyes.
“But I’m drinking. You’re driving. And when I say it’s time to go, it’s fucking time to go. You give me shit about me wanting to leave and we’re gonna have problems.”
“I won’t!” I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. Relief floods my veins and warms my skin all over. “I won’t give you shit! I promise! And it’ll be fun, you’ll see. We’ll have so much fun.”
“All right. Get off me.”
“Hold me back first,” I request.
I need it, I whisper inside my mind. We need it.
A light touch grazes my hip.
I shake my head against his, then smile into the crook of his neck when he draws both arms around me and holds on, just like he used to.
I hold on too, closing my eyes.
Yes.
We are getting over this bump.
“YOU TULLY?”
I jerk my chin at the guy standing at the security booth after he speaks, then throw a look of appreciation at the bouncer who led me over here before he steps away.
“Name’s Mark. I’m running things tonight. It’s good to have you,” the guy says.
We shake hands.
“Yeah. Don’t mention it,” I reply.
He looks around the venue and gestures. “Packed joint tonight. Shouldn’t get too crazy with this band and the crowd it’s bringing out, but we never wanna risk it. It’s good having backup.”
“How many of us you got?” I ask him over the music when the band starts playing, leaning closer to hear his response.
“You and another guy who’s already here. He's hanging out up by the stage. Plus, a bunch of our guys.” He hooks his thumb at the floor to ceiling windows along the front of the building, adding, “I got some uniforms on the street keeping that shit under control in case people get tossed out.”
I nod, liking what I’m hearing.
The Red Door isn't the biggest venue I've worked security on, but it's big enough. Managing this shit alone can present a challenge. And by the looks of it, it's a sold out show.
The more eyes we got on the crowd, the better.
“You run into any problems yet?” I ask.
The guy shakes his head. “Nah. Just normal shit. People trying to sneak in their own booze,” he replies, glancing at the door where everyone is filing in. “Confiscated it. No issues. Everything else seems to be running smooth.”
“Good,” I say when I meet his eyes. “I'll keep near the back since the other guy's covering the front.”
“Sounds good, man.”
We exchange another handshake, then I step away and move through the crowd.
I stop near the center of the room and stay to the back like I said so I can have full view of the floor that's packed with bodies, some keeping position and others moving away from me, pushing to get closer to the stage.
Bringing my arms across my chest, I stand tall and do a sweep of the place. I’ve been here before so I know the layout.
There's a bar to the right of where I'm standing, stretching the length of the wall. Restrooms are behind me. Other than the hallway leading to the rooms behind the stage where bands hang out, there isn't much that isn’t visible. Plus, it’s one level, standing room only, so I don’t gotta worry about another floor I need to cover.
Should be an easy gig.
I do shit like this on the side for the extra cash. Venues hosting concerts are always looking for cops who are willing to come out and beef up security. We stay in civilian clothes so we blend in, and unless I’m having to act on something, I typically get out without anyone knowing I’m a cop.
Easy money. Nothing wrong with that.
I look back to the dance floor.
The lights are dimmed. Red and blue strobe lights positioned on the ceiling illuminate the crowd, along with the bright, white lights shining from the stage. Visibility is good.
Another plus. I worked a few of these where it wasn’t and that only presented problems.
But here, I can see faces. Can see other shit going on too if someone’s dumb enough to try something.
I anticipate it. Events like this always bring out some of the stupidest motherfuckers. Which is exactly why they like having us work these things.
Security can only do so much.
I’m three songs into the set when the beat picks up. The bass vibrates along the floor. I feel it pulsing in my feet.
The faster rhythm stirs the crowd and shifts them around. More bodies gather and move closer to the stage, jumping up with their fists in the air and belting out lyrics, drawing people away from the bar. Others stay toward the back where there’s room to dance.
That’s where I’m looking, and that’s where I see her.
Blonde.
I blink. My eyes refocus. Then I stare at waves the color of sand flowing down the back of a tiny thing swaying to the music.
Shirt tied off at the waist. Lower back showing. Hips shaking in some tight as shit black jeans. Ass looking fucking incredible.
Damn.
She reaches above her, bends her elbows and rakes her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck as her body keeps moving in ways I feel straight in my cock, then after letting her arms drop, she looks toward the bar with eyes searching, giving me full view of her profile.
My chest grows motherfucking tight.
I blink again, thinking I’m seeing things.
Riley Tennyson wets her lips.
Fuck.
I’m not seeing things.
Jesus Christ. This is just what I need.
Working this shit, needing to stay focused and eyes alert to all bodies in this room and now I know for damn sure that’s not going to be happening, meaning this gig just went from easy to really fucking complicated.
There’s only one body I’m interested in keeping eyes on, and it’s the one making my dick hard.
Motherfucker.
Riley Tennyson is going to fucking kill me.
I pull in a deep breath, watching that sweet face get ripped out of view when Riley looks toward the stage again.
She keeps dancing. Keeps shaking that perfect ass and swaying those perfect hips, fingers curling in and lifting those long waves again, also perfect.
Every part of her. Every fucking inch.
Perfection.
And I’m not even considering what she’s got going on in the front. Shouldn’t even be considering it—we’re friends, she’s taken, and I’m not a fucking asshole—but that didn’t stop me all day when I couldn’t keep those spectacular tits off my mind, even going a step further into crazy when I shared that with her through a text.
I need to quit now. Stop this shit.
I can avoid it. I got options.
Switch with the guy hanging up by the stage, hoping Riley keeps her location. Or fuck it. Just pull out of this gig all together. Make up some excuse. I don’t need the cash.
I don’t need to be staring.
I sure as fuck don’t need to be getting hard right now.
I got options. Just need to pick one.
Simple.
Yeah . . .
Real fucking simple.
&nbs
p; I breathe in deep again, letting it out slowly. And I do this staring at her.
Only at her.
And the more staring I do the more I start to notice, like how she seems to be out there dancing alone, not with another person or a group of friends she came with. People around her are keeping to themselves or appearing to be together, throwing their arms around each other or sharing looks. Acting friendly. Just not with her.
Riley isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. She’s not trying to talk to anyone. She’s in her own little world.
She’s here alone.
He made her come to this shit alone.
Anger fills me. My jaw flexes while the muscles in my arms and shoulders start locking up.
My choice of options just grew by one.
Instead of charging through the crowd, which, no lie, is exactly what I want to be doing right now, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out my phone. I shoot out a quick text.
Me: Tell me he’s here.
Lifting my eyes, I watch as Riley pauses mid ass-shake, slaps her back pocket, tugs out her phone and brings it in front of her. Her head tilts down, then a second later it’s lifting and she’s searching all around where she’s standing, peering around people and standing taller. She finds me when she finally twists around, head first and then body following.
Her lips part. Her blue eyes go round, flames burning me up like they always do.
Riley starts moving my way and my eyes lower, first to her mouth, watching the slow smile twist across it and take shape.
She looks happy to see me. I shouldn’t put stock into that, but I do. It’s what I want.
Then my eyes keep dropping and I get full view of her tits. Her full, heavy, perfect fucking tits. Sitting high behind her tight white shirt and bouncing with her steps.
Jesus Christ.
My new friend has tits like that. And by the looks of it, she didn’t bother putting on a bra either.
What the fuck did I do in a previous life to deserve this kind of torture?
“Hey. I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Riley says, all sweet sounding when she reaches me. Sweat gathers on her brow and in the hollow dip in her throat. She shoves her phone away and questions, “Why are you standing all the way back here? Don’t you want to get closer so you can see the band?”