Punk 57
Page 80
But good things are still around me, despite what I’ve done to keep them at arm’s length. They’ve been around me the whole time.
Ten pulls away and picks up the bottle again, grabbing the shaker and turning around to look at me. He studies me up and down, twisting his lips to the side.
“What?” I ask.
He jerks his chin at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Spread your legs.”
Huh?
“Come on,” he teases, shaking the salt. “I want to see what you taste like.”
I snort, widening my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Pleeeease?”
“No!” I burst out, nearly laughing at his sad face.
No way in hell! I am not doing that.
Not a chance.
Malcolm beats through the fill, the kick drum vibrating under my feet, and Dane eases in, playing the transition while I keep time on the guitar, backed up by Lotus.
Belting out the lyrics, I feel a high hit me as I close my eyes.
Bookmark it, says the cheerleader
I promise we’ll come back to this spot.
I have shit to do first. You won’t wait a lot.
I can’t make her stay,
and I can’t watch her go.
I’ll keep her hellfire heart,
And bookmark it ‘fore it goes cold.
Malcolm is razor, keeping the energy up, and sweat glides down my back as I savor the rush of playing again. Sticks, a favorite Thunder Bay hangout, has been closed for renovations for over a month, but the owners are still great about letting us use the space when we need to practice without an audience.
Dane’s guitar whines as he cuts off the note and stops playing. “Alright, stop, stop, stop!” he interrupts. “I think we should break it up at the point, add a riff.” He points to Malcolm at the drums. “You back me up with something creative, before we dive back in with vocals.”
“Keep it high-energy,” I say.
But he just sneers at me, like duh. “Yeah, I know what you like.”
“Alright, count it off,” Lotus calls out, but I hold up my hand, pulling the guitar strap over my head.
“I need a drink.”
I step off the stage and walk to one of the tables, taking a swig out of the water bottle.
A girl stands behind the bar—one of the owner’s daughters, I think—her chin resting on her hand as she looks at me. She’s about my age. Maybe a year younger.
She looks like Annie. Blonde hair, pert nose, slender shoulders… Annie never listened to me play, though. She wasn’t unsupportive. She was just too busy to take an interest. Of course, I could say the same thing about myself and her hobbies. The only reason I attended as many girls’ volleyball games as I did was because she asked me to be there. She needed people to be proud of her, and I knew why.
The girl smiles at me, and I smile back and then quickly look away.
There was a time when she might’ve been my type. Cute, soft, sweet. But just the memory of Ryen’s nervous breath across my lips before she kissed me that first time in the truck has my body stirring. She’s a complicated, temperamental little mess, but she gets me going.
I pick up my phone and check to see if I have any messages. I’m hoping for anything. A rant. Insults. A bitchy text, telling me to fuck off.
But nothing. I know I should leave her alone and give her space. There are just so many things yet to say, so much she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her before she pushes me away for good.
Maybe she’ll meet me. Tomorrow at my house, and I can tell her everything. I don’t want to ambush her, but maybe she’ll give me a chance if I open myself up and lay everything on the line.
Clicking my Facebook app, I type in her name and go to her profile, deciding I’ll just send her a message and leave the ball in her court. I have to try. If she doesn’t go for it, then I’ll wait for as long as I need to.
But when her profile pops up, I see a video she’s tagged in, and I hesitate. Without giving myself time to think, I click on it, noticing it was only posted a few minutes ago.
Ryen is standing by a pool, surrounded by people drinking and dancing, with one of her thighs turned out as some guy kneels between her legs.
What the fuck?
I watch as he dives in, licking a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, as she breaks into laughter and everyone cheers.
The asshole has his back to the camera, tips back a shot as the crowd eggs him on, and Ryen laughs, sticking a lemon wedge in her mouth and inviting him in to suck it from her.
The music is blaring, and Ryen wraps her arms around him, their mouths touching before she breaks away and starts shaking her body to the music.
“Son of a bitch.” I squeeze the phone in my hand, scrolling the comments to see the party is at Trey’s house. She’s at his house?
And people are sharing this video of some guy licking her, too.
“What’s up?” Dane asks.
I grab my keys off the table and stuff the cell in my pocket. How the fuck is she at a party at that asshole’s house, and who the hell is she screwing off with?
“Let’s go,” I bark at the guys.
“Where?”
“I’ll explain in the truck.”
I head through the pool hall, hearing them put their instruments down and run after me. Once outside, I hop in the cab. Dane climbs in the passenger side, and Lotus and Malcolm jump in the bed behind us.
Firing up the engine, I speed away from Sticks and hop onto the highway. I lay on the gas, determined to make the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes. Is she actually drinking at his house? She has to know how stupid that is.
Ten pulls away and picks up the bottle again, grabbing the shaker and turning around to look at me. He studies me up and down, twisting his lips to the side.
“What?” I ask.
He jerks his chin at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Spread your legs.”
Huh?
“Come on,” he teases, shaking the salt. “I want to see what you taste like.”
I snort, widening my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Pleeeease?”
“No!” I burst out, nearly laughing at his sad face.
No way in hell! I am not doing that.
Not a chance.
Malcolm beats through the fill, the kick drum vibrating under my feet, and Dane eases in, playing the transition while I keep time on the guitar, backed up by Lotus.
Belting out the lyrics, I feel a high hit me as I close my eyes.
Bookmark it, says the cheerleader
I promise we’ll come back to this spot.
I have shit to do first. You won’t wait a lot.
I can’t make her stay,
and I can’t watch her go.
I’ll keep her hellfire heart,
And bookmark it ‘fore it goes cold.
Malcolm is razor, keeping the energy up, and sweat glides down my back as I savor the rush of playing again. Sticks, a favorite Thunder Bay hangout, has been closed for renovations for over a month, but the owners are still great about letting us use the space when we need to practice without an audience.
Dane’s guitar whines as he cuts off the note and stops playing. “Alright, stop, stop, stop!” he interrupts. “I think we should break it up at the point, add a riff.” He points to Malcolm at the drums. “You back me up with something creative, before we dive back in with vocals.”
“Keep it high-energy,” I say.
But he just sneers at me, like duh. “Yeah, I know what you like.”
“Alright, count it off,” Lotus calls out, but I hold up my hand, pulling the guitar strap over my head.
“I need a drink.”
I step off the stage and walk to one of the tables, taking a swig out of the water bottle.
A girl stands behind the bar—one of the owner’s daughters, I think—her chin resting on her hand as she looks at me. She’s about my age. Maybe a year younger.
She looks like Annie. Blonde hair, pert nose, slender shoulders… Annie never listened to me play, though. She wasn’t unsupportive. She was just too busy to take an interest. Of course, I could say the same thing about myself and her hobbies. The only reason I attended as many girls’ volleyball games as I did was because she asked me to be there. She needed people to be proud of her, and I knew why.
The girl smiles at me, and I smile back and then quickly look away.
There was a time when she might’ve been my type. Cute, soft, sweet. But just the memory of Ryen’s nervous breath across my lips before she kissed me that first time in the truck has my body stirring. She’s a complicated, temperamental little mess, but she gets me going.
I pick up my phone and check to see if I have any messages. I’m hoping for anything. A rant. Insults. A bitchy text, telling me to fuck off.
But nothing. I know I should leave her alone and give her space. There are just so many things yet to say, so much she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her before she pushes me away for good.
Maybe she’ll meet me. Tomorrow at my house, and I can tell her everything. I don’t want to ambush her, but maybe she’ll give me a chance if I open myself up and lay everything on the line.
Clicking my Facebook app, I type in her name and go to her profile, deciding I’ll just send her a message and leave the ball in her court. I have to try. If she doesn’t go for it, then I’ll wait for as long as I need to.
But when her profile pops up, I see a video she’s tagged in, and I hesitate. Without giving myself time to think, I click on it, noticing it was only posted a few minutes ago.
Ryen is standing by a pool, surrounded by people drinking and dancing, with one of her thighs turned out as some guy kneels between her legs.
What the fuck?
I watch as he dives in, licking a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, as she breaks into laughter and everyone cheers.
The asshole has his back to the camera, tips back a shot as the crowd eggs him on, and Ryen laughs, sticking a lemon wedge in her mouth and inviting him in to suck it from her.
The music is blaring, and Ryen wraps her arms around him, their mouths touching before she breaks away and starts shaking her body to the music.
“Son of a bitch.” I squeeze the phone in my hand, scrolling the comments to see the party is at Trey’s house. She’s at his house?
And people are sharing this video of some guy licking her, too.
“What’s up?” Dane asks.
I grab my keys off the table and stuff the cell in my pocket. How the fuck is she at a party at that asshole’s house, and who the hell is she screwing off with?
“Let’s go,” I bark at the guys.
“Where?”
“I’ll explain in the truck.”
I head through the pool hall, hearing them put their instruments down and run after me. Once outside, I hop in the cab. Dane climbs in the passenger side, and Lotus and Malcolm jump in the bed behind us.
Firing up the engine, I speed away from Sticks and hop onto the highway. I lay on the gas, determined to make the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes. Is she actually drinking at his house? She has to know how stupid that is.
