by Jean Haus
So what the fuck was that?
I try blaming my behavior on the fact that she’d appeared out of nowhere. I was startled to see her below me after I’d been searching for her face in the crowd all night. Shit. It would have to be right before that song when I’d find her in the crowd.
Pounding rattles the door. “What the hell, Justin? You cuffing it after your little serenade?” Sam yells from the other side.
I grab a paper towel and wipe my face. “To a picture of your mom.”
“Shut up, you sick bastard, and hurry up. Unless you want me pissing on the floor.” After one last view of my troubled eyes, I open the door and Sam flies in toward the urinal. “I’ve had to go since we went back on, asshole.”
“Why didn’t you go out back?” I ask, reaching for my bag on the floor.
“Riley and April are out there, helping Gabe and Romeo load.”
“And…”
“And I didn’t want to hear Romeo’s shit.” He kicks the door shut, locks it, and plucks out a small ziplock baggie of white powder. “You up for a hit?”
I rub the sides of my face. After the shit I just pulled, I have to admit I’m in the mood. The invincible high of cocaine sounds appealing. But then I remember that Allie’s out there. And I remember that cocaine makes me act like a prick—or, depending on the night, more of a prick. I cannot be that guy tonight. I shake my head, yank on a new shirt, and start rolling up the sleeves.
Sam wipes the sink edge clean with a paper towel. “Are you turning into some kind of Romeo pansy?”
I shrug. “Maybe. What are you, a pusher?”
Bobbing his head, he shakes some powder on the white porcelain and starts humming that old Curtis Mayfield song “Pusherman.” It’s from the 1970s. I’m not even sure how I recognize the tune—maybe because he’s sung it before. He’s into weird seventies shit. He sings the words to himself while he makes a line with a razor.
He bends with a chuckle and I grab my backpack, knowing I need to get the hell out before the sweet high of indestructible draws me over to the sink.
“Order me a shot and a beer,” he says midsnort.
“Hit the lock,” I say, jerking the door shut behind me as I leave.
I take a step into the room still littered with our shit, and pause. Romeo and his girlfriend, Riley, are against the far wall sucking face. They pull apart and a second later Romeo is staring at me over Riley’s head, his eyes narrowed. “Why does he need to lock the door, Justin?”
I shrug.
Sam likes to party. He doesn’t do drugs daily or anything, but when he parties he mixes it up. Two hours from now, he’ll be out back smoking a joint and almost ready to call it a night. Yet Romeo acts like Sam is a hardcore druggie, and threatens to kick him out of the band every time he gets the slightest whiff that he’s been into something illegal. Maybe I need to grow up, but Romeo needs to get some perspective. One, we’re in college. Two, we live in mid-Michigan. We’re not some drugged-out band on Sunset Strip in Hollywood. Sam isn’t shooting shit into his veins or doing any crazy-ass shit. He’s just letting loose a little.
Riley steps aside and Romeo takes a step toward me, pointing his finger. “Don’t fucking shrug at me. Why did you tell him to lock the door?”
“Don’t fucking point at me like I’m one of your little boxing bitches.”
“Romeo…,” Riley says, reaching for his arm.
I shrug again, more dramatically. “Cause he was gonna take a shit.”
Fists at his side, Romeo looks like he’s going to explode.
I smirk at him. It won’t be the first or, probably, last time we’ll go at it. It’s true he can box. But I’ve been kicking ass out of the ring since middle school. Fighting was another way I tried to get my parents’ attention. It didn’t work, but once my reputation was in place as a fighter, the line to kick my ass grew to the length of a city block.
“Stop it!” Riley says, stepping between us. She’s done this a number of times. Either she doesn’t like violence or she’s worried about Romeo’s pretty face. Probably both.
The door creaks open behind us.
“What the hell?” Sam says calmly. “Why don’t you assholes just meet in the ring once a month?”
Romeo whips toward him. “What were you doing in there?”
Sam’s brows rise. “Dude, can I use the toilet without you crawling up my ass?”
While Romeo’s expression turns thunderous, I try to keep a straight face. I’m not sure if Sam overheard us or if he’s that lucky, but his answer was spot-on.
Riley edges up next to Romeo. “Let’s just finish packing up the van and go.”
He looks cynically at Sam, then at me, but finally says, “Grab something.”
To keep the peace, we follow orders, grabbing anything within reach, and head out into the alley. Back inside, done with Romeo and his shit, I toss my bag onto a chair in the narrow room behind the stage, take a deep breath, and charge into the crowd to find Allie.
The bar/club is still hopping. Instead of going straight to the bar, I walk the perimeter of the room, searching for that head of rich auburn hair. A minute in, some chicks stop me and ask for pictures. Two pose on either side of me while the third girl, a hot blonde, takes a photo with her phone. I decline the blonde’s offer to buy me a drink, explaining I’m meeting someone. I only make it a few more feet before more fans stop me. They gush. I smile. They hang on me and it takes me almost ten minutes to detangle myself. This shit is getting ridiculous. We’re a local college band, not fucking U2.
Usually I like all the attention.
Not tonight.
I’m starting to think Allie took off when I notice her, and her friend, standing at the far end of the bar. I’m hit with a wave of relief, then nervousness. Both are foreign emotions. I push up my sleeves and swagger over to them. Allie’s looking simple yet smoking in tall boots, low-rise jeans, and a tight tank top.
Over a sip of beer, her gray eyes meet mine.
“Hi,” I say stupidly, stopping a few feet from her.
She blinks and lowers the beer. “Hey.”
I almost say “hey” back, like an idiot. We stare at each other, as though there’s nobody else in the club. Her expression is a little dazed, but she doesn’t look away.
“Well hello, Justin!” The shrill voice of Allie’s friend pulls me back to reality as she wraps an arm around Allie’s shoulders. She points a finger at her swelling cleavage. “I’m Allie’s roommate, Holly.”
Giving her a smile, I nod.
“The band was freakin’ awesome. Betcha hear that all the time though.”
“Enough.” I glance at Allie, who’s now studying her beer cup like it holds the answers to life’s biggest questions.
“And your singing,” Holly says, fanning herself. “Amazeballs. What was the one song you did with the violin?” she asks innocently, but there’s a gleam in her eye. Allie tries to nudge her inconspicuously with an elbow in the ribs.
I glare at cleavage girl coolly. I’m fairly sure her tits are fake. “‘Iris’ by the Goo Dolls.”
“Yes! That’s the one! You sang it so beautifully. Emotion poured out of you.” Allie isn’t trying to keep her elbowing inconspicuous now. She’s going crazy with it. Holly lets out a little gasp and squeezes closer to Allie until the attack elbow is locked between them.
“Dude, where’s my shot? My beer?” Sam says, stepping next to me. Allie finally looks up from her cup at the newcomer.
“Well hello.…” Holly’s lips curl into a seductive smile.
“Sam,” I fill in. I hope these two hit it off so Miss Silicone Tits will back off. “This is Allie and Holly.” I point to each girl.
His eyes do a double take on Allie, probably recognizing her as the girl I sang “Iris” to, and then do a double take on Holly’s chest. He grins at her tit
s. “Hello back at ya.”
Holly unwinds her arm from Allie’s shoulders. “Did I hear shots?”
“Absolut?” Sam says.
“Lemon drops?” she replies.
They both laugh and stroll away to hit the bar.
Glancing past me at the roomful of people, Allie chews on her lip ring.
“So…,” I say, sidling up next to her and leaning on a stool. “I’m more interested in your opinion than your friend’s. What’s the verdict?”
The ring disappears into her mouth as she sucks on it. Damn that’s hot. She watches the dance floor, where a few people sway drunkenly in pairs, their bodies tightly wrapped around each other’s. “The band is really, really talented. And you’re not too bad,” she adds, her lips curving into a slight smirk.
I snort at her repeating my own words about my singing. “Guess I can live with ‘not too bad.’”
She finally looks at me. “You’re actually really, really talented.”
An “excuse me” cracks into our bubble.
We break our locked gazes to find a group of women surrounding us.
“Could we get a picture, please?” the one at the front asks.
This is getting out of hand.
“Please?”
Allie gives me a look that says, What is your problem? Just do it.
What’s my problem? I hate fucking cell phones with their fucking cameras at the fucking moment.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Of course.”
They take turns grouping around me, pressing their tits against me, and “accidentally” brushing my ass, until I’m completely pissed off. Though this is ordinarily amusing, Allie waits to the side, watching the wannabe paparazzi with a guarded expression. Not a good sign.
Once they leave, Allie has her phone out.
I slide next to her. “You want a picture too?”
Her pierced brow rises. “It’s getting late. I need to get home. Early morning.”
After all the shit I went through to get her here, along with the plans forming in my head, not the words I want to hear.
She glances around. “You see Holly?”
I give a halfhearted glance around the bar. “No.”
Allie takes a big swig of beer and sets the cup on the bar. “She’s my ride.”
My brows rise. “And she’s doing shots?”
“She’s been drinking less than me. I think.” She waves a hand. “We can get a cab, but I really need to find her. Need to go.”
I stare at her, wanting, wishing, and hoping.
“The band was really great though. You were great. Thanks for the tickets.” She gazes around uncertainly.
Glad for the excuse to touch her at least, I grab her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you find her.”
Hand in hand, we wander around the huge club. The crowd is finally thinning out. Between her slightly glazed gaze, her slow gait, and the way she’s absently leaning on me, I’m starting to realize Allie is a bit drunk. Sam and Holly are nowhere to be seen though we keep searching. I’m guessing they’re out back smoking weed, which reaffirms the thought Allie should not be riding home with her friend. I’m pissed I didn’t drive. Instead, I caught a ride with Romeo, and he took off with Riley as soon as we shut the back door of the van.
Allie is starting to get fidgety. Her hand grips mine with an edge of anxiety. We’re taking a second turn around the bar when I spot Gabe sitting in the corner with his girlfriend. Just my luck that the bastard is the only one around whom I can ask for a favor.
“Hey, come here for a second.” I lead her toward the corner, but when we’re a few tables away, I say, “Wait here. I’m going to see if I can hook you up with a ride.”
I tug at my hand so she’ll release it, because there’s no way I’m going to take her near toxic Gabe. She gives me a weak smile and finally lets go.
Of course, Gabe looks pissed when I step next to his table. His stick of a girlfriend gives me her usual sex eyes. She gives anyone in a band sex eyes. I ignore her like always. Never been adverse to trailer trash until her.
“Hey, I need to borrow your truck,” I say, getting right to the point. Being nice to this asshole isn’t going to help.
He reaches for his beer. “Screw that. My truck might be a piece of shit, but your drunk, high ass ain’t driving it.”
“Haven’t had a drink.”
The beer in his hand pauses midway to his mouth.
“Sober as your grandma.”
“My grandma drinks a bottle of Wild Irish Rose a night.” His chin lifts and he nods toward the rear exit. “You haven’t gone out back with Sam?”
“Nope, and I need to take her home.” I gesture at Allie behind me. His weasel eyes roam over her and I want to punch him.
“That the girl you were singing to?”
“Quit being a dick. Just give me your keys. I’ll put some gas in.”
He takes a swig of his beer slower than shit to piss me off. Setting it down, he says, “Full tank and I get front next time we go to Detroit.”
What is this? Fucking grade school? “Fine.”
He slides the keys across the table. “It’s parked on the left side of the block.”
I snatch the keys up without a good-bye.
Allie watches me cautiously as I step toward her. I lift and jingle the keys. “I can give you a ride home.”
She frowns at the keys. “Um…could we look for Holly one more time?”
I’m not sure if she doesn’t want a ride home from me or doesn’t want to leave Holly without telling her. Damn, I’m hoping it’s the second. “Sure,” I say, grabbing her hand for another tour around the bar. I’m hoping Sam and Holly stay in the alley out back a little longer.
Luckily for me, Holly’s nowhere in sight, and in minutes we’re outside. Allie doesn’t say anything about Gabe’s rust bucket as I open the door for her. I can’t help noticing the curve of her ass as she climbs in.
Slow down, Justin.
Inside, she gives me the directions to her apartment complex while looking straight ahead. I know where it is. I’ve been there. Two or three times. Different girls each time though.
As I drive, I try to make small talk by asking about school and the shop. She answers in a monotone, and her answers aren’t more than one or two words. Her head’s back and her eyes are almost closed. I’m racking my brain for how to save the moment. It feels like we’re already at the end of something immense that never truly started. My tat is done. I could do another one, but I need to wait a few months unless I want to appear pathetic. My other choice would be to look like a stalker as I roam around campus on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, trying to act casual while I search for a glimpse of her auburn hair or olive branch–tatted arm or that purposeful gait I’ve come to recognize.
At the huge complex, she directs me to the building where her apartment is.
I’m strangely, stupidly torn up inside the closer we get. I find a parking spot near her building. She unclasps her seat belt.
“Which one is it?”
She points to the second floor.
“Let me walk you up,” I say, unclasping my seat belt. I’m not looking for anything more than to prolong the time in her presence. I’m desperate for more.
I get around the car to find her staring up at a dark window. She wraps her arms around her waist. Sighing, she appears lost and disoriented.
“Allie?” She doesn’t look away from the window. “You okay?”
“You don’t have to walk me up.”
My hand reaches for hers. “I do. I’d go crazy all night wondering if you’d made it.”
With heavy-lidded eyes, she stares at me for a long moment. She takes in a deep breath. “All right then.”
Hand in hand again, we move across the sidewalk and up the stairs. Her steps ar
e wobbly. On the landing, she almost trips, but as I reach for her waist, she pushes me against the railing, shoves her hands into my hair, and covers my lips with hers, catching me in open-mouthed shock.
Her ring presses into my lip as her mouth moves over mine. Her attack has me against, then bending over, the rail until habit and lust take over. My hands find the small of her back and my tongue the taste of her mouth. She sucks my tongue deeper—holy hell—then pulls away with a little nervous giggle.
“Gah. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Inside a pant, I say in a low voice, “Kiss me or kiss someone on the stairs?”
Another nervous laugh escapes her. “Maybe both?” She grabs my hand and hauls me up the rest of the stairs.
Still astonished, I let her.
At her door, she surprises me again by falling forward and kissing me. Her mouth is hot and wet on mine. Her hands search under my shirt, caressing my stomach then ribs. She finds my nipple ring. Her thumb circles the metal as her tongue wraps around mine.
Holy double hell.
I grab her ass, jerk her up, and set her on my dick. Her legs wrap around me as we fall against the door. The kissing turns frantic. It sings of sex, sex, sex. Our mouths suck at each other until I pull her head back by her curls and slide my teeth along her neck. Letting out a groan, she sluggishly slides down my body, unlocks the door, and yanks on my shirt to drag me into the dark interior.
Without thinking, I put my hands on the doorframe and resist.
“You’re not coming in?” she says, her grip slackening. In the shadows of light from outside her door, her gray eyes glitter with confusion.
I want to. I want her. Bad. But I’m frozen. What the hell is wrong with me? “I can’t,” I say in a rush of air. “Need to get the truck back.”
Her fingers slowly release my shirt, and she steps back. “Oh.”
Though the living room is dark, I can read the rejection on her face. I reach for her hand and tug her closer. “I want to badly,” I say, brushing her cheek with mine and watching as her lids flutter closed. “I just…the truck,” I repeat. What I’m really thinking is that this has one-night stand written all over it, with her all buzzed up and not acting like the Allie I’m starting to know. And suddenly, even though every single part of my body is pushing me to walk through the door with her, I know I can’t. I’m not exactly sure what I want from her, but the emptiness of a one-night stand and the inevitable awkward morning isn’t it.