Naked Edge

by Charli Webb

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rowdy

  I feel like a dick for not kissing Sky goodnight, but she’s the one that wants to take things slow. If I withhold what she wants, it might motivate her to speed things up a bit. Yep, I’m definitely a dick.

  Skylar’s always looked at the world through rainbow-colored glasses. She needs to see me as I really am. Not as the kid I used to be. That boy died when my mother did.

  I head to the bathroom for another shower. This will be the third one today, but if I don’t rub one out, I’ll wake up with a bad case of blue balls in the morning. Or end up having a wet dream in Boone’s spare bed. I doubt he’d appreciate that.

  My earlier shower dissipated the light scent of Skylar’s organic body wash. It reminds me of apples, but that’s not quite it. There’s also a hint of something earthy and green. Whatever it is, my dick sure as fuck likes it. I check the label. It’s chamomile. I should have taken care of business the first time I was in here, but I didn’t want to act like a perv, jerking off with her in the next room. Nothing’s changed, except the intensity of my desperation.

  I put Boone’s bloodstained t-shirt in the sink to soak then step into the tub and pull the shower curtain closed. Skylar’s shampoo, conditioner and body wash are tucked into the back corner. I pop open the cap of her body wash and take a whiff. My eyes roll into the back of my head. Fuuuck.

  I’m tempted to squirt a tiny amount into my palm, but that’s crossing a line too pervy even for me. I grab the bar of goat milk soap off the wire rack hanging from the shower head and lather up. I take my throbbing dick with my right hand and press my left fist against my mouth to stifle the groans, but change my mind when my mouth explodes in pain.

  I’ll just have to try to control myself and hope Skylar and Boone can’t hear me over the rush of water. I force my eyes open so I can stay aware of my surroundings and remember to be quiet. But even with my eyes open, I still see Skylar’s face…the flush on her skin…the lust in her eyes. I still feel the way her body trembles against mine. I still hear her desperate whimpers. I still smell the delicious scent of her dark brown hair.

  My body shudders as I spasm, coming harder than I have in a long time.

  A quiet knock on the door startles me. I cut off the shower.

  “Rowdy?” Skylar sounds worried. “Are you okay?”

  Guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought. “I’m fine.”

  “It sounds like you’re in a lot of pain. Do you need some Tylonal or Advil for your tooth?”

  “I’m just a little sore.” I brace one hand against the tile wall and cringe. Could I sound any more pathetic?

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

  I grab the same damp towel I used earlier today and rub it over my body. “Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I wait until I hear her door creak shut before heading back to Boone’s room. He’s in bed, but not asleep.

  “So. What’s going on with you and Skylar?”

  “We’re taking things slow.”

  “Anna didn’t seem to think so.”

  “You heard that, huh?” Boone was in the family room with the TV on when Anna arrived. His ears must be better than mine.

  “Dude. I’m pretty sure the entire town heard. That girl’s a whack job.”

  “Hey.”

  “Just saying.”

  “You don’t know her like I do. She had a really rough childhood.”

  “So did you, but I don’t see you blowing up and attacking people for no reason.”

  “I almost punched Wade Summers in the jaw tonight.”

  “What!” Boone rolls onto his side and props his head up with his elbow. “Why?”

  “He was trying to keep me away from Skylar.” I can’t believe I’m spilling my guts to Boone. We used to be as close as brothers, but that changed when I started fucking around with girls and drinking. Boone’s no boy scout. He’s had his share of one-night stands and if the recycle bin in the kitchen is any indicator, he’s going through at least a six-pack a day of Coors. But he doesn’t think I’m good enough for his cousin. I’m not, but it still pisses me off.

  Boone’s voice drops. “I told Wade to ask Skylar out.”

  I take a deep, calming breath before I open my mouth and say something I’ll regret. “Why?”

  “Skylar’s stuck in the past. She still believes the two of you have a shot at making it work.”

  “And you don’t?” Anger simmers under my skin, itching and burning like poison ivy.

  Boone sits up and tucks a pillow under his broken foot. “Wade is more like you were four years ago than you are. He and Skylar make more sense than the two of you. If you’re ready to settle down and try to have a real relationship with one girl, you should consider Anna.”

  “God, Boone. She’s my sister.” I’ll never settle down with just one girl. Unless it’s Skylar. That realization sucker punches me in the gut.

  “Anna’s just your step-sister. There’s no reason you two can’t hook up.”

  “Anna and I have no interest in hooking up with each other.”

  “Are you blind? Anna’s been drooling over you for years.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Anna wants you and she’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of the competition.”

  “Anna knows how hard it was for me to get over Skylar. She doesn’t want to see me get hurt again. That’s all.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Over Skylar?”

  I want to say hell yeah, but Boone’s got some sort of internal bullshit detector. He can always tell when someone is lying. “I thought I was.”

  “You remember what I said about hurting her?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “I meant every word.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Skylar

  After tossing and turning most of the night, I wake up a little after six. My skin feels too tight for my body and it has nothing to do with the dry climate.

  I’m a little irritated with Rowdy for not kissing me goodnight. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m not irritated. I’m flat-out pissed. What was that all about anyway? Is he punishing me because I won’t have sex with him? Does he think I’m enjoying this?

  If people could die from sexual frustration, I’d be dead. I’m twenty years old and have never had an orgasm. Something I never should have confessed to Ethan. I was trying to make him feel better about not ‘meeting my needs,’ but instead he became obsessed with the idea of being my ‘first.’

  I think I’ve been close a couple of times. When Rowdy and I used to make out, I’d get this intense feeling deep inside my lower belly. But Rowdy always stopped and asked if I was okay.

  Ugh. Just thinking about it is making me horny. I’m tempted to try to take care of it myself, but that’s never worked either. All it does is frustrate me. I need to get out of this house. A long run up the canyon might help.

  I take my morning dose of Advair then head for the bathroom. Boone’s door creaks open. I know it’s not Boone. It’s too early.

  “Morning.” Rowdy’s voice is deeper, huskier and sexier than it was last night. He’s wearing the same sweats he had on yesterday, but no shirt. The V cut of his sculpted abs draws my gaze lower.

  “Sorry.” I lick my lips and swallow, trying not to drool. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “You didn’t wake me up.” He yawns and stretches, expanding his already broad chest. “I’m still an early riser.”

  I can’t keep from grinning. It may seem insignificant, but it’s one more thing I can add to my small list of things about Rowdy that haven’t changed.

  “Do you want to go out for breakfast?” Rowdy runs a hand over his tousled hair, creating even more disarray.

  “Actually, I was thinking about going for a run.”

  “Do you want some company?”

  Running with Rowdy won’t do much for my sexual frustration sit
uation. Just the thought of his bare chest, gleaming with sweat, makes me squeeze my thighs together. But I’m a glutton for punishment. “Sure.”

  After hitting the bathroom, I duck back into my room and throw on a pair of sweatpants, a sports bra and a tank top. If I were going by myself, I’d wear my skimpy, little running shorts, but I don’t want to make things harder for Rowdy. I snicker at the unintentional innuendo and decide to go with the shorts anyway. He deserves a little torture for teasing me last night.

  I grab my rescue inhaler and my running shoes. Rowdy’s already outside, leaning against Boone’s car. His eyes darken as his gaze roams over my body.

  I fold my arms across my chest to hide my puckered nipples.

  Rowdy smirks as if he believes he won this round. “Do you mind if we jog down to my house so I can grab a pair of shorts?”

  “Whatever.” Game on, buster.

  He pushes off the car. “In fact, go grab a swimsuit. We can cool off in the pool after our run.”

  I roll my one-piece racing suit up in a towel and stuff it inside my day pack, along with my wallet, a bottle of sunscreen and a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm.

  Rowdy’s house is less than a mile from Boone’s and it’s downhill all the way, but I’m sweating like a pig and wheezing before we’re halfway there. I’m also praying that Anna’s already left for work.

  Rowdy—who doesn’t have so much as a drop of sweat on his honey-hued skin—stops and insists I use my inhaler before we go any further. At this rate, I’m going to run out of Albuterol before the month is up. It’s not as expensive as Advair, but it’s not cheap.

  Rowdy’s house is tiny. I’m surprised that four people can live together in such a small space without killing each other. Instead of going to the front door, Rowdy stops next to the detached garage. “Do you want to come in or wait out here?”

  “You live in the garage?”

  He shakes his head and grins. “Above it. It’s actually the best room in the whole house. Except for the sun in summer and no running water. But it’s nice and cozy in the winter. And it’s private.”

  My great mood burns away like morning dew as I picture a giant bed, red lights and a mirrored ceiling. “I’ll come up.”

  I follow him around to the back of the garage and up a steep flight of stairs. Rowdy opens the door without unlocking it. Trusting soul. Or maybe he just has so many sluts coming and going that a locked door is too big of a hassle.

  He holds the door open for me. “It’s not much, but it suits my needs.”

  I mumble, “I bet it does,” under my breath. All he needs is a horizontal surface and a box of condoms.

  Rowdy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  My mouth falls open when I step inside. His twin-sized bed is small, but neatly made with a navy blue comforter and a single white pillow. A huge flat screen television takes up most of the wall over a small, uncluttered desk. A mountain bike, a snowboard and three pairs of skis are mounted on the wall next to the stairs. An acoustic guitar sits in the corner next to his bed.

  Boys and their toys. “This is nice.”

  Rowdy’s frown softens, but his expression remains guarded.

  My eyes are drawn back to the bed. “That looks like it might be a little crowded when you have company.”

  “You’re the first girl that’s ever been up here. Except for Anna.”

  My face burns. I turn around and drag a finger across the strings on his guitar. I’d rather he have a dozen different girls in his bed than her.

  Cherri had her hands all over Rowdy, and she’s absolutely gorgeous with big, perky boobs and long shapely legs, but she’s nice. I can see us becoming friends. As long as she keeps her hands off Rowdy in the future.

  But Anna? No way. That girl gives me the creeps. “It wasn’t too crowded for Anna?”

  “God, Skylar. Anna’s my sister.”

  “Stepsister.”

  “She’s never been in my bed and I’ve never been in hers.” Rowdy scrunches his nose and shudders. “We aren’t blood relatives, but we might as well be. Okay?”

  Rowdy’s only kidding himself if he thinks Anna doesn’t have a thing for him. But the idea obviously creeps him out as much as it does me, so I drop it.

  He holds up the bike shorts. “If you don’t want a show, close your eyes.”

  “We’re going for a run, not a bike ride.”

  “These are tri-shorts. They work for biking, swimming and running.” Rowdy tosses them on the bed then drops his hands to the drawstring on the sweats he borrowed from Boone.

  I turn my back and squeeze my eyes shut as an extra precaution to be sure I don’t give in to temptation and sneak a peek. “You’re a triathlete?”

  “Nah. I just do ‘em for fun.”

  “Fun?” What have I gotten myself into? “Keep in mind that I’m not used to the high altitude.”

  “You can turn around now.”

  Holy hell. Those shorts should be illegal. They look as if they’re painted on, leaving very little to the imagination.

  “See something you like?”

  Busted. I jerk my eyes up to his.

  The corners of his mouth twitch, but at least he isn’t blatantly smirking at me. Not yet.

  I pick up the guitar and sit on the bed. “Do you actually play this thing, or is it just part of your decor?”

  He frowns and takes it out of my hands. “I’m a man. I don’t do ‘decor.’”

  “When did you start playing guitar?”

  Rowdy’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “About a month after you left.”

  He sits beside me on the bed and strums the guitar with the edge of his thumb. It sounds fine to me. But he tilts his head to the side, bringing his ear closer to the instrument. He alternates between twisting the little tuning pegs at the top and plucking the strings. And then the magic happens.

  His fingers dance over the strings, filling the room with music. I don’t recognize the melody, but it’s so poignant and haunting it brings tears to my eyes.

  Rowdy’s lips move silently as he plays. I wait for him to finish then ask him to sing the words for me.

  He smiles and shakes his head.

  “Why not? You have a great voice.” The stereo in Old Blue was broken when Rowdy bought it so he and I would sing every song we knew when we were driving around. He always had perfect pitch and an amazing range. Me, not so much. “Please?”

  “Maybe some other time.” He puts the guitar back on the stand then turns sideways to look at me. “I’m still working on it. It needs another verse.”

  “Wait. You wrote that?”

  He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “It’s therapeutic.”

  “Music therapy, huh?”

  Another shrug. “When the Harris’s took me in, Lori insisted I take up a creative hobby to help me deal with shit. I suck at glass work. Oil paint fumes make me puke. I didn’t have much luck with pottery either. But when I found this old guitar at a garage sale, it was love at first sight.”

  “You lived with Aunt Lori and Uncle Will?”

  “I had my eighteenth birthday in jail so I wasn’t eligible for foster care. I wasn’t ready to deal with the real world either. Will and Lori insisted I stay with them until I got my shit together. It took about a year. Boone didn’t tell you?”

  I’ve only been back for a few days. Boone and I still have a lot of catching up to do, but not telling me that Rowdy lived with his family is a huge omission. “Why did you move out?”

  Rowdy stands up then takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. “If we don’t get started, it’s going to be too hot to go for a run.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rowdy

  I can’t believe I played that song for Skylar. I can’t read music so I just started messing around, creating my own. At first it was all angry music while I worked through my desire for Keith to die a horrible, bloody death. I still hate that motherfucker but I take solace in th
e fact that he’ll be getting fucked in prison for the rest of life.

  After a few months, I started writing sappy love songs. And then sad love songs. When I finally realized that Skylar was gone for good, I came full circle and started writing angry songs again. I wrote The Naked Edge right after Lori and Will’s funeral. It’s a jumbled up, bi-polar mess of sad and angry. I’d hoped it was a sign that I was finally moving on. But here she is, again. Sitting in my bed. Gazing at me with those expressive hazel eyes of hers.

  “Please?” She clasps her hands under her chin and blinks.

  I know that look. She’s not going to give up until I give in. I guess I can play one of the sappy love songs. “If I sing you a song, you have to make me a batch of chocolate chili cookies.”

  Her smile lights up the room. “Deal.”

  “I wrote this a long time ago so it’s pretty simple.”

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

  I close my eyes and let the music take me back to the time before I gave up on Skylar. “It’s called Where You Are.”

  I open my eyes when the last note fades.

  Skylar’s voice cracks. “You wrote that because of me, didn’t you?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” I try to lighten the mood by making a joke out of it, but there’s nothing funny about the way Skylar’s eyes are filling with tears.

  I set my guitar back in the stand then take her hands. “It was a long time ago and...”

  She stares at our interlocked fingers and nods. “And you don’t feel that way anymore.”

  “I’ve been doing everything in my power to not feel anything at all for so long, I have no idea what I feel now.” Other than terrified.

  “Thanks for singing it for me.” She pulls one hand free then swipes at her cheeks with her fingertips. “It’s a beautiful song.”

  I want to get us both back to a happier place so I do the only thing I can think of. I tug her hand, pulling her in closer to kiss her, but she turns her head so my mouth lands on her cheek.

  The ‘kiss dodge’ is one of my tricks, but I can’t believe how much her rejection hurts. I let go of her hand and stand up. “We’ve screwed around here too long. I say we skip the run and head straight to the pool. Okay?”