by A. Marie
“And why do you think you have a say? Who are you to her?”
“I-” Well, damn if Angela didn’t just hand me my own ass.
Who am I to Paige?
We had sex, amazing sex, but she hasn’t even reached out to me. Not even with a cheesy-ass text like “hey.” Or to tell me we’re out of milk. Or to buy a new shower curtain. I can afford a thousand new shower curtains but I can’t bring myself to replace the only physical evidence of what happened between us. That and the scratches decorating my back and arms right now.
That girl is under my skin in more ways than one.
I slump back in the seat. “Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, Angie. She’s fucking everywhere. She’s all I think about, all I see. She’s a fucking mess and I’m a fucking wreck. We do not go together. We shouldn’t. But-”
“But?” she urges patiently.
“But I literally can’t stop myself from wanting her. It’s like a sickness I never want the cure for.”
“How deep are you?”
“Deep? Like love?” The idea of falling in love right now makes my skin prickle. “No, I think you misunderstood what I meant. I don’t love her. I just like to-”
“Fuck her?” Angie stands, straightening her shirt. She always fidgets, not knowing what to do with her hands if they aren’t busy with something. Let’s just say Pop The Hood never runs out of freshly laundered and folded towels.
I frown at her directness. Fucking Paige then moving on doesn’t sound as appealing as I made it sound in my head. As I made it sound when I was convincing her back into my bed.
“That’s what I thought. You’re different from before and you know it. You’re just fucking around, wasting time. Grow a pair and figure out what you want, then let her know. She deserves that, especially with all the shit she’s going through. In the meantime, stop acting like the spoiled brat you are,” I finally give in and flip her off, “by marking territory that isn’t even yours.”
Snickering, I stand as well, wrapping her in a hug.
“Did you not hear me the first time? Chick rode my tongue like she was in a fucking rodeo.” She rode something else just as good, too.
Angie smacks me away with a grimace and I tell her, “That territory is definitely mine.”
“Then you better get your ass back in the ring or she might find someone else to ride.”
Uh, no. I like that idea even less.
Before we leave the office—I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking with this paperwork bullshit, plus I’ve got a project I need to finish before our new hire shows up—Angela stops, instantly serious and asks, “What if she meets someone at the festival?”
“Then I better bring two shovels.” Her eyebrows nearly collide. “One for each of us so we can bury the fucker together. We both know Coty wouldn’t last one night in jail and Marc fits the profile of a murderer a little too easily, he’d be caught immediately. You’re my only hope, neighbor girl.”
I’m promptly shoved out the door—only because I let her push me—and we return to work with a pair of matching smirks that may or may not lean on the evil side.
She knows I’m right.
CHAPTER 24
Beckett
“I love this place,” Coty says while stretching, taking in the morning light over the river, the song “Tired Of You” by Foo Fighters is playing from the Bluetooth speaker I brought along.
We arrived last night and slept like shit, or maybe that’s just me. Whatever. These glamorous tents are an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one and they’re definitely not all they’re cracked up to be. Glamping is exactly like camping but with more space, not amenities, save for the one outlet each tent gets. Yip-fucking-ee.
Thankfully we had the foresight to reserve theses tents though because they have actual beds instead of the cots provided down the hill from our site. I’d rather sleep in my Tahoe than on a fucking cot. The thick canvas walls are not soundproof by any means and Coty and Angie proved that last night. Multiple times. Goddamn, I don’t miss that part of having him as a roommate.
It didn’t help that my tent was as dead as an abandoned cemetery all night. There are plenty of chicks around this place, it’s almost too easy, but none that have caught my eye. Not that they could anyway with Paige on her way today.
“Dude, she’ll be here. Looking at your watch isn’t gonna make her appear any faster.”
“Oh, would you look at that? It’s half past fuck you.” I flip Coty the bird then quickly dodge the roll of paper towels he throws at me. I’m not picking that shit up either. Let one of these earth-loving freaks chew his ass out for littering, see how well that goes over.
Yeah, okay, I was checking the time—again. But I can’t text Paige to see when she’ll get here or she’ll end up taking a detour just to spite me. Chick lives to stick it to me. And if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind sticking it to her again, too.
I groan, sick of thinking dirty thoughts about the girl I already had in my arms less than a week ago. Why wasn’t it enough to perform all those naughty things on Paige once and for all?
Because, like Angie so snarkily pointed out, Paige is different. No, not just Paige. Me. I’m different. Sleeping with her that night should’ve ended this…infatuation, but it hasn’t. Not in the slightest. If anything, it’s intensified—tenfold.
Maybe, just maybe, we can find some time this weekend to explore our options. Like which days of the week I can sneak home for a quickie. That’s always an option, right?
Fuck, I’m not good with this shit. I’m not cut out for the domestic life either. And that’s not to say Paige would even want that. Would she?
Coty doesn’t make it look half bad but he’s got a life partner in all this. Angela’s his equal, even if she doesn’t believe it yet. Her mom cast her away like Tom Hanks in that movie. But what Angie fails to realize is Coty’s not that pathetic volleyball placating her loneliness until the next flimsy wave whisks him away for good, he’s the fucking island built to withstand the fiercest of storms. His love will outlast the harshest conditions in the support he provides her.
I’m not that. I don’t think I could ever be that. Not for Paige. Not for anyone.
I’m the palm tree that provides temporary relief when things get unbearable. But when the clouds come rolling in, what good am I? What can I really offer anyone when I’m weathering storms of my own?
Fuck.
Sitting here isn’t doing me any good and if I don’t find something to eat now, I’ll pounce on Paige as soon as she shows—whenever the fuck that is—because ever since that little face-off at the shop, I’ve been hankering for more of what I feasted on just last weekend.
* * *
A few hours later, I’m trashed out of my mind and ready to fuck or fight, both if I can find Paige—hopefully.
Marc sees me coming from across our glampsite—seriously, that’s what it’s called—and smirks. Dude’s just sitting in front of a nice little spread of dirt like it’s a roaring campfire. Open flames aren’t allowed with how dry it gets out here so a dirt pit it is. But why is he here by himself when everybody else is out mingling, having fun? And why is he looking at me like he knows something I don’t?
Oh, shit.
“Is she here?” I slur.
With a nod of his head he gestures to my tent. My hands immediately start rubbing together in anticipation. Hell yeah. She knew where she was sleeping tonight and I didn’t even have to fight to get her there.
Unfortunately, as soon as I move for the tent, my fucking tent, Marc holds up his hand to stop me.
What now?
“She’s sleeping.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I mock. Like I give a shit. I wasn’t gonna wake her. I mean, I wasn’t gonna try to wake her.
“No man, she’s…” He chances a look around, fully freaking me the fuck out. “She’s not alone.”
Oh hell no.
Dropping my head back, I look up t
o the sky, praying for a single iota of restraint because now is not the fucking time.
Coming back to reality, I scan our site, noticing Cruz’s truck.
“If Cruz is in there, you should just call my dad now and tell him to meet me at county. Imma kill this motherfucker.”
Marc meets my stare and…laughs? Like doubles over, holding his stomach, guffaws. Meanwhile, my jaw ticks out a nice little countdown. Not like a common timer either, like a bomb.
3, 2, 1.
I shove past his shaking form to rip open the pathetic excuse of a door and there in my bed is what fantasies are made of. Well, if the two hot chicks weren’t passed out, drooling all over my fucking pillow. I always bring my own pillow. I like the amount of stuffing it has. It also makes for easier clean up if I wake up bloody, which has started back up again this week.
Paige’s friend beside her flips to her side revealing it is, in fact, Cynthia. She is cute—if you’re into mouth breathers. I’m more interested in the beautiful woman next to her though. Damn if she isn’t just as captivating sleeping as she is when she’s fired up, calling my ass out.
My chest releases some of the tension that’s been there since she left me cold and alone in my bed back home. I missed her.
I miss her.
Looking back to her slumbering friend, I frown. She’s in my spot. My alcohol fueled mentality tempts me with a chance at a fight if I wake them now. Paige would never let that shit fly.
I smile as my dick twitches at the hint of confrontation but before I can test my drunken theory, Marc grips my shoulder, pulling me back outside.
“They both got off graveyard shifts and drove straight here. Don’t be a dick. Let them sleep. You can have my tent to sleep off your own shit,” his hands wave at all of me, “and see her when you’re sober.”
“Who do you think you are? The voice of treason?”
With a roll of his eyes, dude just pushes me toward his uber glammed out tent. Not. Shit’s just like mine. I go willingly though since I need the privacy anyway and with my phone already in hand, I place the call I’ve been waiting all day to make now that the coast is clear. A little liquid courage helps and the plan gets set in motion just before I drift off on a pillow that’s not mine.
Man, I want my pillow back—with the girl currently occupying it still attached.
That’s the last thought I have as I pass out.
CHAPTER 25
Paige
Millions of floating bubbles fill the sky as the sun begins to set for the day, bringing a whimsical feel to the already dream-like festival.
Cynthia grabs my hand along with Angela’s and together we spin in circles enjoying the surreal moment. Arms spread wide, we whirl around faster and faster, only stopping to dance to the beat of the indie band on stage.
Cynthia’s hair is pulled tight into two buns with glitter caked on her middle part while Angela’s is braided down both sides with purple and pink strips mixed in to create an ombre effect. Mine hangs in loose waves around my confetti-covered cheekbones and hairline. We certainly look the part of carefree partiers even if we’re not. Today though, after using Beckett’s spacious tent to get ready in, we made a pact to shed all our worries, only if just for one night.
Cynthia fist pumps in the air Jersey-style making us lose it laughing amid the sea of other gyrating concert goers.
“I can’t wait until Beckett sees you!” Angela yells over the thumping bass and I smile. It should be interesting, that’s for sure.
Upon waking up—Cynthia also pulled an all-nighter at her new job—we hit up the carnival rides before returning to the designated campsite to get ready for the night festivities.
With Beckett still sleeping off his own good time apparently, we left the boys behind.
I tried talking Marc up to Cynthia the entire ride here but as soon as she caught sight of Cruz she forgot all about my reserved roommate. Then, as I introduced the two, Cruz treated me like he’d never met me, let alone stolen coveted toppings from my pizza just days prior. I’d been planning on pulling him aside anyway to tell him things weren’t going to go any further than our pitiful parking lot lunch but he saved me the trouble by redirecting his heart eyes to Cynthia. The guy moves fast—onward and upward, I guess. I just hope Cynthia can catch him if that’s what she wants. Or have a fun little fling for the night.
And I do mean little. His tent is so much smaller than he let on. It kind of makes me wonder if he has a habit of overcompensating when it comes to size.
Jesse’s tent had a hole in it so I wasn’t able to borrow his but Angela assured us there would be room for everyone. It should be funny to see Marc and Beckett flip a coin to see who gets to be the big spoon tonight. I can’t imagine Marc losing that one. Beckett may be bigger, but Marc a little spoon? No way.
“I’m starving. Let’s check out the food trucks.”
Cynthia nods like an overzealous bobblehead as Angela agrees easily and together we hop from truck-to-truck, trying out the different offerings, joking with each other the entire time. Angela’s witty sense of humor has Cynthia and me rolling in hysterics at a nearby picnic table when one of the bigger names takes the stage.
The guys still haven’t shown up—not that I’ve been keeping an eye out or anything—so we debate whether we should wait for them or do our own thing. We decide to take our desserts to-go and make our way back to the lawn overlooking the amphitheater that’s nestled just above the river. They can find us. That I don’t doubt for a second.
We meander around for a while, taking in the breathtaking views and snapping silly pics along the way. The three of us finally claim a space in the grass that’ll fit us and the guys, whenever they show up.
I lose myself to the music and the views, just moving to a beat only my heart can feel. One my body doesn’t need to hear to know the lyrics. Having so many people around all the time during my childhood, I began to crave alone time. That’s why my own apartment meant so much to me. I took great pleasure in being by myself there. Even in my new shared apartment, I reveled in my solitude my roommates’ opposite schedules provided. But since growing closer to Beckett, and his friends, the seclusion doesn’t feel as enjoyable as it once did. It’s grown cold and unpleasant, like a day-old steak that never tastes as good as the first time around. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, and this week I’ve been lonely as all hell. Maybe even more so than when my brothers were giving me their stubborn ass cold shoulders because as lonesome as I was before, it was never like this. Never had me itching in my own skin to reach out to another. To one other.
I shake the thought away. Roommates by circumstance, friends by accident, Beckett and I are not meant to have a happily-ever-after. At this point I’d settle for a content-ever-after by myself, but even that’s a stretch without adding the 6’6” player to the mix.
I spot Coty, Marc, and Cruz in a group of what looks like a pack of salivating she-wolves, if she-wolves were half naked and so shimmery they could double as disco balls.
Tapping Angela’s shoulder, I point over to them. To my surprise, she just laughs and continues dancing unconcerned. Coty, the ultimate man candy dressed in a dark deep V-neck and jeans that hug his slim hips just right, is surrounded by ravenous girls and she laughs? Maybe this is her part of no worries tonight? We never said your dignity though. She needs to get in there and claim her man.
When I don’t so much as move, Angela stops, shaking her head. “They’re not after him. It’s been like that since we got here. It’s Beckett they’re after.” She watches me closely. “He’s been getting mobbed everywhere he goes.”
Hold on.
Why the hell would they be after Beckett? I mean, aside from how good looking he is. And how sweet he can be. And how well he washes hair.
Okay, I get it, but I don’t want to have to watch that. Especially when I’m trying to let loose and have my own good time tonight. That…doesn’t sound fun. At all. For me.
Mar
c’s eyes catch mine and his lips tip up as he scans my outfit then nudges Coty next to him, nodding my way. Coty’s face splits into a grin as he takes in my dress, too. I’m glad they think it’s funny. I’m still not sure how the big guy will take it.
“He seems to enjoy it though,” Angela adds, side-eyeing me. “Don’t you think?”
Just then the sea of bodies parts and there in the middle of the estrogen-fueled surf is my tsunami-sized roommate getting his picture taken from every angle, including selfies from a steady line of females ranging from tweens to cougars.
Something about seeing the snap-happy line bothers me. The smile stretching his face bothers me. The fact he’s using it for them bothers me more.
When my gaze finally leaves his face, I see exactly why they’re all gathered around him. The festival is named after Bigfoot himself so naturally all the ‘grammers want to snap a pic with the tallest guy at the venue, especially when he’s wearing a shirt that says Ask Me About My Bigfoot. And yes, he does seem to be enjoying himself. A little too much. Like way too much.
The more flashes go off, the more people join the throng of picture takers. They all think they’re so clever, but if everyone has the same idea, that doesn’t make you unique, it just makes you a part of the herd.
Two girls in matching thongs and bras with butterfly wings attached to the backs step up on both sides of Beckett to kiss each of his cheeks. His smile between the pair grows while vomit fills my throat.
His eyes meet mine for a split second before dropping, lingering for a beat, then snapping back to my face. The smile disappears right off his face and imagine that, I can swallow easier.
This should definitely be interesting.
I harden my stare, aiming my optic daggers at the semi-nude butterflies beside him before throwing him an unimpressed look. Turning around, I get back into the music. Whatever he chooses to do—or who—I’ll still be here, doing my thing, having the best time because I need it. God, do I need it. And I’m not going to let him, or anyone else, ruin that.