Things go according to plan. C.A. leaves to get ready for the game and Devon confesses he’s not going anywhere.
Not So Plain and Small sputters a time or two and Devon is genius in his planned lightbulb moment.
“Will, you can give Amber a ride, can’t you?”
I think she’s going to faint away onto the floor. I try not to take it personal.
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
My car is small. Four windows, leather seats small. And weirdly enough, I’m nervous as hell.
“So . . .” I don’t know what to say to her.
“So,” she says in return.
I loop my arm over her seatback, like I always do to reverse, and I guess it pisses her off because she says my name in a growl and tells me to quit.
“Haven’t started,” I say, then I even freaking explain I’m doing it to back down the driveway. But as I’m looking at her, I have to know. Was that afternoon a fluke because we were high? She’s looking straight ahead, her eyelashes curled up like one of my mom’s framed Victorian silhouettes and she’s so damn pretty that the next words just kind of fall out of my mouth without my damn brain having a thing to do with it. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”
As soon as the question reaches her ears, she shouts my name and shuts her lips so tight I know I’ve blown it forever. I would turn around and make Devon take her to the game, but even if I’m a moron, I still want to give her the opportunity to sing with those guys so I laugh a little and try to play it off like I was joking.
She’s silent as we drive but I don’t want to turn on any music, not yet. I want to fix this. Raindrops hit the windshield, their timing like the beat of a metronome, then slowly pick up steam. I venture speech again. “Going to be a wet night.” Good Lord, why do I always blurt stuff out like that? Such a ladies’ man you are, Will McKinney. Fortunately if she picked up on the unintended raunchiness, she ignores me, and I manage not to point out my comedic prowess.
She sighs and looks out and up toward the sky. I notice the shift of her miniskirt out of the corner of my eye.
“You think they’ll still play?” she asks, talking about the football game.
“Oh, they’ll play.”
She mumbles about not having an umbrella and I mumble about hating games in the rain and then she gives me the opening I’ve been waiting for.
“Do you think people will be hanging out somewhere else?”
It’s my moment. I pull into the parking lot of the car wash place. I’m prepared for her to say go to hell, but I’ve got to try.
“Listen, don’t say no until you hear me out.”
She glances at me, sort of turning in my direction, but at the same time watching the dude in the bay about to wash his car. She nods at me to go ahead.
“Let’s go over the state line to Erwin and see some music friends of mine for a couple of hours.”
At this she snaps her head to look at me. “Erwin? Tennessee? Tonight?” She left off the “are you fucking crazy” part but I hear it just the same. “Will, I can’t.”
It’s time to beg.
“Oh, come on, please. Erwin. Forty minutes up. An hour there. Forty minutes back. We’ll be right in time for the dance.” In case she’s worried about being seen in my company, I add, “Nobody will know. And you’ll be doing me a favor, because I want you to come with me.”
“We’ll be back for the dance?” Her eyes don’t leave the car wash bay, but there’s a hint of maybe in her voice.
“Cross my heart,” I say.
She blows out a deep breath. “Well, I guess we better get going.”
It’s a miracle.
And I don’t know, maybe it emboldens me, maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought, but I poke at the subject of us again. “So, Not So Plain and Small, have you thought about me at all?”
She stops humming to answer. “Not at all.”
I don’t know why I care. I should simply be thankful for the amazing time we had and leave it at that, but something presses me forward. “Not once?”
“Not once,” she repeats, this time crossing her arms tight across her chest.
The nervous player comes out and my voice gets cocky, but really I’m feeling pretty damn small. “I don’t believe you.” Because all I’ve done is think about her even when I’m trying not to. Think about how she must hate me. Think about the way she fit in my arms. Think about that. Yeah, I think about that a lot.
She makes a sound that’s sort of a cross between a harrumph and a laugh. “Believe what you want, Will McKinney.”
Then because she’s been so damn “yeah, whatever” about our afternoon I spew some crap about her being an enlightened woman and how we could maybe have fun hanging out if she’d just let it happen. But what I really need to be saying is that I shouldn’t have cheated on my girlfriend. But I don’t, because maybe I’m starting to wonder if slightly under four weeks and no serious make-out sessions even qualifies Amber Rose as a serious girlfriend. It’s not like she and I ever did what me and Amber Vaughn did. And I’ve known Amber Vaughn a hell of a lot longer, even if it’s only been in my brother’s cool friend capacity.
As I’m ruminating on the laws of relationships, she speaks, real quietly. “Okay. Maybe I thought about you once.”
I am Batman. I grip the steering wheel of the Honda and steer it up into the night sky. Until I fall back on nervous habits and reach over to drop the glove box open, exposing my hidden pipe and the last remnants of weed that belong to me and offer her a hit.
And the tiny light that was in her eyes flickers right out.
Guess I’m still the Joker after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A circle of friends
Plywood stage
Let the music rip
Right out of your cage
Sizz meets us at the door, hesitant like he’s worried the neighbors have sent the cops about the noise. He pulls us through, clobbering me on the shoulder in the process. It’s a rush coming up here, feeling welcomed, like I’m part of their scene.
I introduce Amber, and Sizz points us in the direction of the kitchen. I’m afraid Not So Plain and Small isn’t going to move away from the front door, so I put my hands on her hips and guide her toward a cold beverage. When we get there, I take a chance and loop one of my arms around her waist. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure,” she squeaks, and it’s adorable seeing her so nervous. It’s also pretty damn adorable that she’s not shaking off my hand because really, all I want to do is walk her backward toward that kitchen counter and kiss her till neither one of us can breathe. Which goes completely against my “don’t be a douche to Amber Rose” plan.
Nicole pops in through the doorway and says hello.
She checks out Amber. “You the girl he told us about?”
There’s confusion on Amber’s face. “No, I don’t think so.”
I quick interrupt. “Yeah, she’s the one.” Then I ripple my fingers against Amber’s waist. “I’m hoping I can convince her to sing with me.”
Amber freezes next to me. “What? What are you talking about, Will?”
She’s like a rabbit under my hand and I’m worried she might bolt. “Remember that day in the car, when I told you any band would kill to have you sing with them?”
She bolts. From two steps away, and out from my now lonely hand, she side eyes me. “Yeah?” It’s the sound of suspicion.
I talk fast, explaining that some of these guys are Flat Trucker and how I’ve been trying since I heard her sing the kind of music I love, not the crap she and Devon are always singing at the house, to get her out here. Which is a lie, because this is only my fourth or fifth time out here, but she doesn’t need to know that.
I swear she trembles, and those “suck you deep into her soul” brown eyes quiver and, damn, I want to hold her close until she stops. I didn’t know she’d get so freaked out by this.
“Will.” She hesitates and glances out into th
e living room. “I can’t. I don’t know these people and there are, like, twenty of them or something.”
Nicole takes over, her den mother personality rising like cream. She puts her arm on Amber’s shoulders. “Sure you can, honey.” She gives her the once-over again and winks. “You look amazing. Don’t you want to feel that rush of being onstage? It’s not like an audition or anything, we’re just hanging out, having a good time.”
There’s the slightest shift. A glance from Amber to Nicole, then to me, and I don’t waste the moment. “Come on.” I grab her hand. So yeah, maybe I’m taking advantage of her feeling vulnerable, but there are truths within me I’m starting to recognize. I am definitely dating the wrong Amber.
In the den, where the band is playing, things get even better for me. There is one chair left, the floor, or a spot on the couch between two camo-wearing Silent Bobs. I take the chair and give a silent prayer up to the gods of all things hot and holy that she’ll take the suggestion of my lap. After her own quick scan of the seating arrangements, Amber perches on my knee. I go for broke, wrapping my arms around her waist, and pull her close. “See,” I joke. “Isn’t this nice? You. Me. A rock-and-roll band.”
She laughs at that and turns to look at me, her face so close, I can see the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, a mother’s worst nightmare.”
I swear I stop breathing. She is right there. Those kissing lips are right there. I am fixated on those lips and how my hands are going to pull them to me and how as soon as I get home I’m breaking up with Amber Rose, because this right here, this is how it’s supposed to feel. But then the band quits and Sizz is yanking me out from under Amber Vaughn.
“Come on, man, time to put that lady power to the test. You been futzing around with that banjo, let’s get you center stage. What do you want them to play?”
No hesitation. It’s my shower song. One of my dad’s favorites. “‘Dixie Chicken.’”
“You got it, man.”
The band revs up and I step to the microphone. I am going to make Amber Vaughn want me again. That afternoon we had together won’t be a fluke. It will have been the start of something, even if the timing was slightly off.
The music starts and I growl, channeling every lead singer I’ve ever idolized. I wail. I hang on the stand. I reach out for the music. When it winds down I am breathless, and though I won’t give up my banjo, that was pretty damn fun.
I jump off and plop on the arm of our chair. “What’d ya think?” I give a tug on Amber’s short—and neck baring sexy—hair.
She grins and pokes me back. “I think you may have a music career, Will McKinney.”
And then at the worst time, my dad pops into my brain. My dad and his goals for me. The ones that have nothing to do with anything but business or law. One time, when I asked him why he quit playing, he told me, “Will, music is like a hot potato. It’ll burn you.” But to me it’s not something that’s going to burn me. It’s the thing that’s going to fill me. But the doubt settles in my head and my answer is filled with sarcasm. “Yeah, right.”
“Why not?” Her voice is so sweet.
“The judge.” It’d be nice to talk to somebody about it.
“What do you mean?” she asks. But Nicole walks up behind the chair and points to Amber and then to the stage.
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, they’re playing one just for you.” I offer my hand and she takes it. Her eyes cut nervously around the room, but then she follows me onto the plywood. I adjust the microphone down for her. The Silent Bobs aren’t so silent as they let out wolf whistles. She starts that trembling thing again and I whisper to her, “Don’t be scared. Just close your eyes and feel the music.”
She grabs me, her eyes huge and liquid like a fawn’s. “Wait, don’t go.”
Music right there. Those words.
Then she adds, “What am I singing?”
I assure her it’s a song she’ll know—I’m confident she’s sung it at church—and then point to where I’ll be standing with my banjo.
From the side of the stage, I watch her fidget, tugging at her skirt, then her shirt, looking for a place to rest her eyes. Nicole plants herself on the carpet right in front of Amber and there’s a subtle drop to her shoulders. I take that as a cue and nod to the drummer. He starts in on “I’ll Fly Away.”
That voice spills into the room and she forgets she’s in front of strangers and I feel like I’m watching a tiny bit of history in the making. Not only is her voice one in a million, but damn the girl has some serious stage presence, too, and yeah, this is crude, but I totally want to get naked with her again. I can’t take my eyes off of her. And neither can anyone else.
Amber Vaughn kills it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roar like a lion
Kiss like one, too
These complications
What’s a boy to do
No one is more surprised than me when Amber launches herself into my arms at the end of the song. She throws back her head, all exhilaration and laughter, and then she’s got her hands on my hips, walking me into the kitchen. My banjo’s lying on the stage.
“Amber, wait, what . . .”
“Shut up, Will.” She’s strong for her stature and my earlier fantasy about slinging her up against the kitchen counter is made real. But better—because it’s my back to the Formica and her mouth coming at me full force. Oh God, this is good. She kisses me intensely and my hands, safely on her back, slide down a little and then farther, and she’s got on this small skirt and screw it, I’m going for it. Her skin is soft, soft, soft and it’s way too convenient for my hand to burrow under fabric, and I can feel the hem of her underwear and I take it in my fingers, playing along the edge while she pushes all of herself against me and fuck, I can’t hide what I’m feeling because she’s making me come to life. And suddenly, music is the last thing on my mind and I’m wondering if I can get her out to my car, because my other hand just made contact under the shirt and this is not a graze but a full-on feel of some seriously amazing girl parts. She’s breathing heavy and I’m breathing heavy and I’m wondering how far exactly we’re going to take this in Sizz and Nicole’s kitchen when a twangy voice cuts across the room.
“Well, look what we have here.”
We both stop moving. I bring my hands back out in the open and look toward the source of the interruption. Unbelievable. It’s the dumbass drug dealer who got me busted. Sammy. But he’s not staring at me. He’s staring at Amber.
“Your mama know you’re here?”
She steps all the way away from me, which makes him laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He comes closer and claps me on the shoulder. One of those hits that’s just hard enough you know the dude is sending you a warning. He grins like a piranha. “What’s up, judge’s boy?”
I ignore him and stare at Amber. “You know him?”
Sammy drapes his skinny redneck arm over my shoulders. “Of course she knows me. I’m her big brother.” The last he says in this creepy sort of stalker purr.
“Brother-in-law.” Amber crosses her arm across her chest and looks away from both of us.
I knock his arm off my shoulders, a sad substitute for knocking his creepy inbred face, which is what I really want to do.
“Come on now, man, you’re not still mad at me, are you?” Sammy shakes his hand like maybe I put a tiny bit of hurt on him. A boy can wish.
I’d run into him at the gas station right after Dad grounded me over the pill bottle. He pulled up to the pump as I was getting ready to leave but when I saw him, I jumped back out of my car and started lecturing him, Judge McKinney–style. Obviously my in-his-face, “you’re a stupid delinquent moron” speech hadn’t made an impression except that I was pissed. It sure hadn’t changed his ways.
Now it’s Amber’s turn. “You know Sammy?” She’s looking at me like I just revealed I’m secretly a warlock or something.
Sammy chuckles, obviously enjoying this bit of drama
he’s unleashing. “Of course he knows me. We did a little business and he’s still pouting because his name got mixed up with mine.” Sammy cracks open a beer and pushes out his lip, his voice coming out all exaggerated and childlike. “Scared his daddy would take away his toys.”
I probably shouldn’t have told him my dad had threatened to take away my car when I got into the gas pump fracas with him. Especially now that he’s throwing it in my face.
He slugs the beer and zeros in on Amber. “So, little sister, first practice is this Wednesday at five o’clock. Bring that other fella of yours.”
Wait, what’s he talking about? Another fella. Is he talking about Devon? Or . . . my mind flashes back to her in the cafeteria with Kush’s cousin, Sean. Could that be why she hasn’t given me the time of day?
And Sammy is Amber Vaughn’s brother-in-law. Her sister lives at her house, which means . . . Damn. This is messed up. I’m not supposed to have any contact with this dude.
After he leaves the kitchen, I step toward Amber but she steps away. “We need to go.” Her gaze won’t settle anywhere near my face.
“Okay.” I draw it out and wait to see if she’s going to give me some kind of explanation but she’s tight-lipped and her eyes are anger/fear strobe lights switching with each blink.
“Let me get my banjo.” As I walk away from her into the living room all kinds of shit thoughts come flying at me. One. I totally just cheated on Amber Rose again and I’m meeting her parents tomorrow. Two. The dude my dad expressly ordered me to stay away from is related to Amber Vaughn. And three. Amber has another “fella.” If this wasn’t complicated and messed up before, it sure as hell is now.
In the car, she’s still fuming, staring out the window and I don’t know what to say so I turn the music up loud enough that conversation would be awkward.
A few miles from the high school she turns down the volume. “Did I do something wrong? Is it because I kissed you?”
She thinks I’m the one stewing? Okay, maybe I am. Her brother-in-law opened Pandora’s ugly box back there and she’s not offered word one of what he meant. After that kiss in Sizz’s kitchen, I imagined breaking it off with Amber Rose before dinner tomorrow night. But shit. If Amber Vaughn has another boyfriend . . .
Will's Story Page 3