by Amy Daws
I sneer at his nasty statement. Rider is still just as big of a prick as ever. But I’m no better. I let him sucker me into his bed. We had such a great time talking and flirting all night—sex was just a natural step to keep the momentum of the evening going. I’m the typical cliché though. I believed him when he said he’d call—he didn’t.
“It’s not a shame for him. We’re really good actually. Amazing even.”
He laughs, meanly. “I would have remembered amazing.” His buddies snicker from behind him, barely looking up from their phones. I love how his lackeys are laughing at his joke, without even caring who it’s directed toward.
“Who’s amazing?” Brody’s voice cuts through the awkward tension between Rider and me. Brody’s scent fills my senses, and I instantly relax now that he’s standing next to me.
“You’re amazing.” I kiss him chastely on the lips, and he scowls at me.
Rider hoots obnoxiously and Brody cuts him a mean glare. Brody may not be a football player but he’s still taller than Rider. However, what Rider lacks in height, he makes up for in muscle.
“Something funny?” Brody pulls the words out slowly, menacingly.
“Brody, don’t,” I defend. I’m not particularly happy with Rider’s ridiculous comments, but I’m coherent enough to not let it get to me. The last thing Brody should be doing is picking a fight with a psycho like Rider Grayson. Rider is the type of guy that has absolutely nothing going for himself after college. He has nothing to lose.
Brody’s eyes glance over to me, telling me to buzz off. I grab his arm and haul him away from Rider, and away from a potential police situation. “Let’s go. You’re going to end up in jail,” I say, pulling him down the sidewalk with me toward the place Angela and I bought our costumes. He jerks his arm out of my hand and glares at me. The red, orange, and green glow of the multicolored bulbs around the window cast strange shadows across his face.
“Overcompensating much?” Brody reprimands, looking hard into my eyes.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my face screwed up in confusion.
“With that…calling me amazing shit. I felt like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him.”
“Are you high?” I ask, and he continues staring at me, stonily. “Seriously! I’m asking. Did you walk down the strip, smoke a joint and then come back up here and that’s why you’re saying crazy shit?”
“It’s not crazy, Finley. You fucked him! You told me!”
“Yeah! And I fucked other guys before him! Who gives a shit?”
He scoffs, turns, and walks across the street packed with people, to join Mark and Angela on the other side. This jealousy shit is getting really old. I was willing to throw him a bone when I was dancing on the coffee table, but right now, he’s acting like a child.
I stomp over to join them and overhear Angela and Mark inform Brody of an afterhours party happening at a house right behind the Wildwood complex.
“Sounds fun!” I offer brightly, my smile saccharinely sweet. Brody doesn’t even look at me, but nods his agreement. Normally, I would push the Rider incident, and demand Brody apologize, but I’m too damn annoyed. Rather than say something I’ll regret—I figure staying out with our friends is the wiser alternative.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The house is a small duplex, and packed wall to wall with people when we arrive. The tension radiating from Brody is palpable. He’s upset—and hopefully kicking himself right about now. I refuse to baby him about this again. We’ve been here before and he has to realize that I will talk to other men from time to time. Granted, past one-night stands aren’t prime pickings, but I need him to know I’m not ever going anywhere.
Desperate for a moment of peace and quiet, I head down a narrow hallway in search of a bathroom. I see a bedroom door open and step inside. It’s empty, so I go in and shut the door. My ears are instantly thankful for the break. The room is tiny with a twin mattress. The door doesn’t even open all of the way because of the dresser situated right behind it. It looks more like a small office. I actually can’t believe anyone even lives in here, but the mess of clothes and toiletry items beg to differ.
I sit down on the mattress and exhale a heavy sigh. A small reading lamp on the bedside table illuminates a soft yellow glow. It’s soothing. I need soothing right now. I need to think. I love us so much, but I really need to get Brody to relax with me when we’re at these parties. We’re so good together when it’s just us. But I hate all the macho caveman stuff he thinks is perfectly okay.
I look up when I hear someone struggling with the doorknob, and am about to get up to investigate, when the person swings the door wide open. I freeze momentarily, because I’d know that silhouette anywhere.
“Finley,” he says. He stumbles over to the bed, and falls down in a heap.
“Jake, what do you want?” I ask, feeling tired and not in the mood. I haven’t spoken to Jake in weeks. He barely looks at me in class, and we never run into each other at Chaz’s anymore. It’s been nice.
“You’re just gone all the time now. I mean…yer here, but yer not really here. Do you know what I mean?” he slurs, heavily, and looks at me through half-glazed eyes.
“You’re drunk,” I say, and try to get up, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back down.
“I am. I’m not gonna lie. But I just wanna talk to you for a bit,” he slurs, his southern drawl more pronounced with the alcohol.
“It’s not a good idea,” I say, shaking my head sadly.
“Just for tonight, Finley, please. Just for tonight, let me actually talk to you. Like truly talk. ‘Cause it feels like I never…get to. Not anymore anyway.”
“You’re too drunk, Jake. You can talk to me when you’re sober.”
“No! No,” he says, and shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “You won’t talk to me later, cuz you got that new guy, who’s all like…oooo, look at me. I hate that guy, Finley.”
“Jake, stop.” I feel suddenly uncomfortable sitting here with him. Especially if he’s going to speak poorly about Brody.
“I gotta say this ‘cause it’s important, an’ you never lemme talk to you in class.” I look at him expectantly, assuming that letting him say his piece will get me out of this room faster.
“See, Finley...I’m supposed to end up with a certain someone. My family makes it feel that way. My Dad…” His eyes bug out slightly. “My Dad is like...” he makes an explosive noise and gestures his hands out wide.
“Jake, I’m leaving.”
“My family is all alike, and it’s all they talk about.” He looks at me, seriously. “I have plans for my life, Finley. I have to be with…with…an athleeee.”
“A what?” I ask, having difficultly following his slurred speech.
“An athlete,” he repeats, perfectly clear this time. “I wanna end up with an athlete. I wanna have athletic children. I want…I want professional sports to stay in the family. I wannnt. I neeeed more than…”
“More than me,” I state. I’m reading him loud and clear and my mind is blown as the final puzzle piece is put into place. I feel sick to my stomach at the disgusting shallowness of it all.
“No, Finley, you just don’t understand. The pressure. The pressure of my family. They are all athletes.”
“God, Jake. I couldn’t care less about what you’re telling me right now. I mean, honest to God. The fact that you’re saying any of this to me right now is just so incredibly pointless.” I feel a moment of pride swell in my chest at the truth behind my words. What a freeing feeling.
“It’s not pointless, Finley!” he says, turning his dark eyes on me seriously. They are rimmed red around the edges and drooping.
“It is pointless!” I move to get up.
“It’s not!” he says, and grabs both my arms with his large broad hands to stop me from moving. I instantly feel uncomfortable at the intimate hold. These hands used to be so comforting and exciting to me. Now they just feel like stranger’s hands. �
��You’re fricken’…you’re all…you’re someone, Finley.” He pauses, and his eyes glance down to my lips.
“Jake…”
Before I can finish my thought, he slams his lips onto mine. I’m stunned by the pain of his sudden kiss, our teeth actually clinked together. The smell of alcohol permeates strongly from his mouth and nose. This. This right here is the kiss I’d been longing for, for weeks. All that time I wasted pining for a guy that meant nothing. Less than nothing. All that energy I used wishing Jake would see me as more than a friend. It doesn’t even compare to what I have with Brody.
Suddenly light blasts into the room.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
I pull away from Jake and swerve around to see Brody. My eyes bug out of my head at the sheer horror of this situation. I shudder at the homicidal look in his eyes. It’s scary.
“Brody, just…” I stand up and hold my hands out, defensively attempting to defuse the situation.
“Just what, Finley? Just let you fucking kiss this dick-fuck in a bedroom, while I’m out there trying to get my shit together and be a better guy for you?” He barks out a laugh, incredulously. Manically, like he’s one second away from going completely berserk.
“Hey, man,” Jake starts.
“I wouldn’t…even…consider…” Brody swallows hard and his face contorts like he’s in physical pain. “…it,” he says, slowly, paying special attention to every syllable.
Jake stands up and I feel Brody next to me actually grow taller. The anger radiating off of him is palpable.
“Sit the fuck down, Jake!” I shout, and shove him backwards onto the bed. I have to get control of this situation. This is nothing. This is less than nothing. I need him to see that. “Brody, don’t even worry about him. He is nothing. He’s drunk and I’m an idiot for giving him the sixty seconds I gave him.”
“You kissed him for sixty seconds?” he roars, and I flinch at the loud volume.
“No! He said he had something to say. I shot down everything he said, Brody! He kissed me for less than five seconds, at most. He’s just…just…a dick!”
My words don’t placate him at all. He turns around suddenly, and punches the wall next to the door in one fail swoop. I wince in response to the frightening cracking sound of the sheet rock breaking.
He swerves back around and turns a steely gaze on me. “He’s a dick, I’m a dick. And you keep letting us all kiss you—and fuck you. Why do you keep attracting dicks, Finley?” His words are mean and menacing. Without waiting for my answer, he storms out of the little room. I begin violently shaking my head back and forth, stunned by the words he just threw at me.
“You okay, Finley?” Angela’s concerned face enters my blurred vision, where I remain frozen while Jake attempts to get himself up off the bed behind me. “What the hell did you do, dick face?” she hollers in Jake’s direction.
“Huh?” Jake mumbles.
“I have no clue what the hell he just meant, but I’m sure as shit going to find out,” I grind out, finally finding my voice and reeling.
I storm past Angela, out of the small room and squeeze through the masses of people. I don’t see Brody anywhere, so I head outside. I catch a glimpse of his tall frame storming through the narrow alley back to Wildwood, so I follow.
“Brody!” I shout down the alley, tottering after him in my ankle-heeled boots, barely noticing or caring about the cold, misty rain. “Brody!” I repeat. “What the hell did that all just mean? What do you mean about me attracting dicks? So now I’m the problem?”
He stops, looks at me approaching, and shakes his head without speaking. The dark parking lot has one single security light casting angry shadows over his face.
“I’m not messing around right now, Brody. What the hell did you mean by that?” I cross my arms over my chest, attempting to warm myself from the cold, damp air.
He sneers at me. “Just seems like you sure know how to pick ‘em, Fin.” He glances briefly up at the sky, the light rain-beads dotting his facial features. “And I…” he laughs, “I thought I was different. I thought I was better. That I was the guy for you. That I could change and be worthy or some shit. Worthy to be the guy to make all the dicks you’ve met be forgotten. I’m not though. I’m just as big of a dick. And I’m just as big of a chump as I’ve always been.” He swipes at the rain collecting across his face.
“Just stop, Brody. Just stop!” I cry, but he continues anyway, clearly on a roll.
“I tried so hard, Fin. I tried to make you want me more than any other guy. I tried to make myself feel like I was enough, like you’d never want to cheat. But seeing you...” he pauses, breathing heavily, and a faint ghost of smoke puffs out of his mouth with his hot breath in the cold, wet air. “Seeing you kiss that guy makes me feel like I’ll never be enough. I’ll never be enough for you.”
“You’re wrong, Brody!” I yell, stomping up to him and punching my finger as hard as I can into his chest. He flinches. “That shit with Jake was nothing. Less than nothing. If you can’t see that…if you don’t see more in me than that bullshit you walked in on…then maybe you’re right!” I pull away from him and hug myself again, trying to stop the pain from slicing through me right now—and prevent freezing from the cold rain collecting on my clothes.
He huffs hard and turns to continue walking away. I let him this time. I’m hurting just as much as he is right now. My heart is ripping in two at him thinking so little of me and not trusting me.
Suddenly, he stops about ten feet away, twirls back toward me, throwing his arms out wide, and says, “I feel like loving us is just going to waste, Finley! It’s wasted, because we’re too fucked up to appreciate any of it. To cherish it, to keep it safe! I’m sitting here feeling like I’ve got this amazing thing that no one else can ever even understand. Us…our love…it’s special but it’s slipping right out of my damn hands!”
“It’s not, Brody! Not even close!” I fight back, despite myself. No matter how angry I get, I know something will always bring me back to him. I’ll still fight for us.
“I don’t know how I can be the guy for you, Finley,” he says, looking sad and pained.
“You already are, Brody! Don’t you get that?” I ask, my voice cracking as the tears fill my eyes. “You are the guy for me.”
“I want you forever, Fin. I want you in my forever. I want…God, fuck it. I want kids with you! I want a life with you! I want to know your family and for you to know mine. I want more than this college bullshit. This cheating. I can’t stand this! I hate being this dick!” he growls, and turns away from me.
Feeling everything he said all at once, I rush over and shove him hard from behind. He turns around and scowls accusingly at me. “I didn’t cheat!” I scream and use all my might and shove him again, right in his chest. He captures my hands and holds them against himself for a second as we both breathe heavily.
One second, we’re both reeling with anger, and in the next we’re grabbing each other’s faces. Our lips slam together so quickly, there’s a painful bite to my teeth hitting the inside of my lip. But I don’t care—I welcome it. It’s a despondent, aching kiss. The pain of our forceful encounter further emphasizes our desperation for each other. We explore each other’s mouths and find new areas of pain and sorrow. The kiss hurts my heart, but I can’t stop it. I can’t break it. It’s angry, and bruising, and punishing, and everything we both can’t say with words.
It’s the kiss. The kiss to change us. The kiss to fix us. The kiss to keep us. Becoming us wasn’t wasted. Fuck that. I don’t accept that.
Our clothes feel damp and heavy from rain. Arousal takes over and our bodies are pressed tightly against each other. I lift my leg up onto his hip and he digs his fingers into my thigh in response. His grip is hard and punishing. His other hand ventures up to my cheek and our kiss ignites even further. Our lips rub together, like two pieces of silk, with centripetal force powered by undeniable desire.
I break away suddenly,
and stare down at his raw, swollen lips. “You are not a dick, Brody. You are mine.” I moan and connect our wet lips again. He responds by grabbing my other leg and pulling it up his hip to pick me up off the ground. He moves us swiftly across the rest of the parking lot, my skirt bunched up around my waist.
He breaks our kiss briefly, pressing me up against the door to my apartment and fumbling awkwardly with the locked door. “Keys?” he asks, his eyes looking frantic and desperate.
I dig into the front pocket of my skirt, and in seconds the door flies open. He deposits me on our kitchen countertop. With his hands free now, he grasps my face between his two hands and kisses me so hard my legs squeeze him into my center in response.
“Finley,” he says, against my lips.
“What?” I reply, my voice scratchy and uneasy.
“Say it again.”
“What?” I ask, in a slight moan, as my ache reaches an unbearable level.
“Tell me I’m yours,” he growls against the side of my neck while attempting to pull off my tank top. His whiskers on my neck are sharp, and make me cringe. But his voice sounds pained and angry. I need to fix this. I need to reassure him.
I look at him seriously, and he stops what he’s doing, lifting his denim-blue eyes to mine. “Who else’s would I be?” I ask, my eyes dance desperately around his face, and I long to see understanding, but I still only see fear, of what I’m still unsure.
He bites his lip and strokes his trembling fingers down the side of my face. He cups my jaw and kisses me softly, stopping only to pull my tank top over my head.
“I love us, Finley,” he whispers, so faint, I hardly hear it. I reach down and cup his firmness with my hands.
“I love us more. Forever, Brody. Always.”
“Dammit, why did you wear tights?” he asks, looking frustrated.
Feeling frantic, I snip out, “Rip ‘em!”
“What?” he asks, his brow furrowed.
“Grab ‘em and rip them. Now Brody, just do it!” I groan out the last bit, feeling overwhelmed with the anticipation of him inside of me. I shift my hips toward him in permission.