Sometimes I really miss those days.
I don’t know for sure what I’m feeling right now. The only thing I’m sure of is I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Lucy since she walked through the door. I don’t know if it’s her—her innocent charm, her rocking body, her lack of interest in the other guys having the same issue as me… Or maybe it’s because she’s forbidden. Whatever it is about her, it’s been painful to look and know I’m unable to touch.
I drop the mic to my side and look at the guys. “Hurts So Good,” I say.
They nod and the drums start the bom bom tsk, bom bom tsk, bom bom tsk. I follow the guitar in and skim the audience for her face again. My eyes burn into her as I belt the lyrics.
I have no idea what I’m trying to tell her. I don’t know where I got the balls to do this in front of Jessie. But I realize I don’t give a shit. I watch Lucy’s lips part in appreciation when I tell her to sink her teeth right through my bones and decide it’s worth Jessie’s wrath.
She knows as well as I do it’s not just a song as she moves her body to the beat of the music. Fuck. It’s like having sex without ever touching. Lucy sways her hips as I caress her with my voice. Our eyes lock and I can see that passion glowing inside her. I drop my voice low, never breaking our gaze, and plunge to my knees. The girls in the crowd scream as I lean back until my shoulders graze the stage. “Come on baby,” I growl into the mic before springing back up. She’s stopped moving now, watching me with an intensity that makes me want to cut the set short and take her home right now. She definitely knows I’m not just performing.
And so does the rest of the audience. Heads start turning to see who I’m singing so intently to. Her cheeks blaze with embarrassment, so I turn to a girl closer to the stage and serenade her for awhile, but I make sure Lucy gets the last line.
I try to be careful after that. I stick to the playlist and make minimal eye contact with her. I catch Jessie’s scowl a few times, but I ignore him. There are fifty people between us. I think it’s safe to say I’ve kept a no-touching distance.
I end the last song and thank the audience. Usually I jump off the front of the stage, choose a girl to get drunk with, and have her take me home.
Not tonight.
I step backstage and slip out the side door for fresh air. I lower myself to a crate and rest my back against the cool brick wall.
The door swings open a moment later, but I don’t look to see who’s joining me. “Hiding?” Guy’s voice asks from the darkness.
I smirk as I stare up at the stars. “Nah. I’m not scared of you. Just needed some air.” And then I pry a cigarette from my pack with a chuckle. I shield the flame from the wind and light up.
“Your voice won’t last if you keep that up.” He sinks down beside me. He was always saying shit like that back in the day. The band was huge to him. He pushed us to be great. He was always on my ass, encouraging me to quit smoking. Quit drinking.
He hasn’t tried to encourage me in a long time. Probably since about the time I quit our band and formed a new one.
“It’s all right. I’m sure I’ll die before my voice gives out.” I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him.
We’re both quiet for awhile. I wait for him to call me on that one or say what he came here to say. He seems to be waiting for me to talk. I don’t give in.
“She’s home.”
Two words make me flinch. “How long?” I croak as I look sideways at him.
“A month. She wants to see you.”
I expel my hit and laugh. She wants to see me. Life lesson number 6: You don’t always get what you want. In fact, it’s pretty fucking rare.
“Is he with her?”
“Yes.”
Of course he is.
I flick my cigarette into the darkness and stand up. “I’ll think about it.”
I’m lying and he knows it. I have no intentions of seeing her. If I never see her face again it’ll still be too soon. Besides, I’m sure I’ll spend eternity in Hell beside Hope Love.
I go back inside, grab hold of the first girl that says my name, and a bottle of Jack. I plop down and pull the girl into my lap. “What’s your name?” I ask her.
I don’t know why I ask. I won’t remember in an hour.
***
I wake up wet. I shake my head and instantly begin puking. Soft hands turn my head then proceed to push me onto my side.
“You have to roll over, Park,” Lucy groans. “Come…on…” She’s panting and I want to see what she looks like right now, but I can’t keep my eyes open. I also can’t seem to stop vomiting.
I try to help. At least I think I do. My limbs are numb. I think I feel her shirt under my palms.
“Park. Can you hear me?”
I nod and that forces more vomit up. I hear footsteps moving away from me. I guess she got tired of my shit already. That’s quicker than most. Guess I set another record.
Ugh. I can’t stop spinning. Life lesson number 7: Something about drinking less. I’ll figure it out later.
“Bree, come help me get him inside before Jessie sees him.”
“Holy shit,” Bree whispers. “Is he alive?”
I moan as another wave of nausea hits me. Nothing comes up this time, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from convulsing. I cough and open my eyes. I don’t feel like I should be alive.
Lucy’s bent over me, her hand resting on my arm. “You need to come inside. Can you walk?” If I could laugh, I would.
I close my eyes. I can’t even focus. I guess I could crawl. Using my legs, I push myself to the side and flip over. My face rests in my puke and I realize how fucked up this situation is.
“Ew,” Bree mutters. “Gross, Park.”
“Just help me carry him,” Lucy hisses.
“I’m not touching him. He has puke all over him—is that a French fry? Uh, God.” She makes a strangled noise. “Nu-huh, Lu. He’s disgusting. Plus, there’s no way we can pick him up.”
“Ugh.” I open my eyes again as Lucy’s hands wrap around my waist. I lift my head and feel the warm moisture run down my face. It fucking reeks. I reek. And it is a French fry. That is disgusting. Real life people—it isn’t pretty. That’s life lesson…? Fuck, I can’t remember. Just add it to the list.
“Almost up,” Lucy grinds out. I can tell her voice is strained so I double my efforts and somehow make it to my feet. I sway and she squeezes me to her side. I shouldn’t like it.
But I do.
I think I black out because the next thing I know, I’m in the bathtub, Lucy’s kneeling between my legs, and cold water is pelting my face.
“Oh, my God. Don’t do that to me again.”
I look up at her. She’s pale, but her cheeks are red from exertion. She’s drenched, her hair’s plastered to her, and her eyes shine with tears. Her shirt is covered with my puke. I lift my hand, cupping her cheek in my palm. I want to tell her I’m sorry. That this is part of the reason she needs to stay away from me. That I’m no good.
But nothing comes out.
She turns her head away, making my hand fall to my lap. “You fell over and wouldn’t wake up. You hit your head. There’s blood.” She’s talking too quickly. I’m having a hard time keeping up. “I think I should call an ambulance.”
“No,” I croak. “Be fine.”
She shakes her head and grabs the hem of my shirt. She fights it until it’s over my head and she throws it behind her. When her hands go to work on my jeans, a shot of adrenaline gets my heart pumping. “This isn’t how I pictured this,” she murmurs.
“You pitcher…?”
That didn’t come out right, but she understands what I’m asking. “Yes. No. Just shut up, Park.” My jeans finally slip past my hips, taking my boxers along. She stops and forces my underwear to where it should be and I try to help because I know she shouldn’t be responsible for me. Nobody should have to deal with this.
Smacking my hands
away, she hisses, “Just stop. You’re making it harder.”
I blackout again.
The scent of honey suckle and mint brings me to. Fuck. Lucy’s washing me. She’s fucking washing me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Her hands pause in my hair and she meets my gaze. “I’m sorry I’m such a loser.”
“You’re not a loser, Park. You’re just reckless.”
I laugh. It hurts my throat. She has no idea how reckless I am. Her hands massage the shampoo into my scalp and it feels so good. I sigh.
“And you have bad breath,” she adds, titling her chin up so her nose isn’t so close to my mouth.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing or I will definitely take you to the hospital.”
I laugh again. Wow. My head is really pounding. “You’re kind of funny, Lucy.” She fills a cup with water and tips my head back. She’s careful to keep the soapy water out of my eyes. “You’re nice, too.”
That makes her laugh. “I tried to tell you.”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes. When I open them again, she’s pulling her shirt off. She tosses it on top of mine. I watch as she lathers up all that hair. As she tilts her head to rinse, I run my eyes over her neck, her chest, her stomach. My eyes pause on the belly button piercing. How did I miss that? She sheds her jeans next and she’s in front of me in her bra and panties. After everything she’s done for me, I shouldn’t be such an asshole, sleaze ball, but I’m getting turned on witnessing her half naked, dripping wet, and soaping up her body.
She’s oblivious to my perusal and that just makes me feel shittier. I’m a fucking creep. Worse yet, I have to fight my hands from reaching for her. I want to pull her against me and help her wash her body. I want to trace my fingers over her curves and feel her pulse under my mouth, hammering in her throat. I doubt she wants my vomit mouth anywhere near her.
She shuts the water off and looks down at me. Our eyes lock. “Fucking gorgeous,” I whisper. She feels around blindly for a towel, as if refusing to look away. Maybe she’s as unable to tear her eyes off me as I am her. When she finds it, she sinks to her knees, patting me dry.
Fuck. I want to touch her so bad.
“Can you make it to my bed?”
I swallow loudly. “Your bed?”
“I want to keep an eye on you. My bed’s big enough for both of us.” She holds out her hand and I take it, letting her pull me up and guide me to her room. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me.
“You should probably take those off,” she states flatly, gesturing to my boxers. “They’re all wet.” She turns around and I can’t help but chuckle. I’m not shy, but she obviously is. I shove them down and kick them off. I lose my balance and fall onto her bed.
She takes clothes out of her dresser as I cover myself up and I watch her disappear out the door.
***
I wake up pressed against a warm body, smooth legs tangled with mine. I blink a few times, trying to remember who the hell I went home with last night. I glance around the room, not recognizing my surroundings. The Grandmaster Flash poster next to the Credence Clearwater fabric scroll throws me off. There are different sized, silk butterflies hanging from the ceiling at varying heights and it makes me dizzy.
Mother of God, my head hurts like a bitch and my mouth tastes like shit. The girl shifts, a soft sigh leaving her lips, and I try to get a look at her. Long, golden hair lies across the pillow and I freeze.
I know that hair. I’ve spent many nights imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.
Lucy rolls, burying her face in my chest. The scent of her shampoo hits me and images flash through my mind.
Oh, my God.
I was coming after her last night. I ditched the girl that was ready and willing. I couldn’t get Lucy’s face out of my head, no matter how much I drank. I wanted her and was done letting Jessie control me. I was drunk enough to not care about being fucking homeless. I had full intentions of telling her this. Hell. I wanted inside her so fucking bad I had full intentions of telling her all sorts of shit.
And then…Lucy took care of my drunk ass. She cleaned up my puke and watched over me. She told me I wasn’t a loser.
I let my hand skim over her hair. It’s softer than I envisioned and I like it way more than I ever should. I think I kind of like everything about this hippie chick.
This can’t be good for either of us.
9
Lucy
I shift my leg, snuggling closer to the solid warmth beneath me. My inner thigh rests on something that feels suspiciously like a… Oh, my… Holy shit. I slowly open my eyes. Yes, that’s Park’s naked chest under my face, so that means my leg is definitely on an ever hardening penis. Park’s ever hardening penis.
How did we end up under the same blanket? I was so careful to use my own separate cover since he was drunk and naked.
Park Reed is naked, in my bed, with my thigh on top of his goods. I feel his chest vibrate under my heated cheek and I know he’s awake—and he’s laughing at me. Probably because my body went completely rigid with the realization that I’m touching him intimately.
“That had better be nothing more than morning wood you’re sporting there, buddy,” I say. I mean to say it bravely, as if I am completely unaffected by his—him, but my voice is thick from sleep and it sounds kind of sultry and sexy. I feel him go fully erect under me and I turn to stone. Okay, that has nothing to do with a morning reflex.
“I need you to move away from me right now, Lucy,” he breathes and I’m not sure if I can. My body is screaming at me, begging me to move closer. This is not me. This is not who I am. I do not just hook up with guys. Even if they are undeniably gorgeous.
“Lucy,” he pleads, and I roll away, tucking the comforter in between us.
“Sorry. We had our own blankets last night. I didn’t mean to lay on you.” I close my eyes and fight to even out my breathing.
The definition of lust is: an intense sexual desire or illicit appetite.
I know. I looked it up.
My appetite is intensely, and illicitly, desiring sex with Park right now.
Lust is a bitch.
I wish I didn’t like him. I wish I could think of him as the dog Jessie insists he is. That would probably—though admittedly, not entirely—help this attraction. I take a long, even breath. I will not be another notch on his bedpost.
The bed moves and I tip toward him. I open my eyes and he’s propped on his elbow looking down at me. Maybe it’s because he just woke up, or the massive hangover I’m sure he has, but his eyes are that warm brown from the first time we met. Not the cold, shadowy eyes I’ve gotten used to lately. All his features are soft, open, and it makes me want to crawl back on top of him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For helping me last night. You didn’t have to do that.” He shakes his head. “Most people wouldn’t have. So, thanks.”
I nod my head. “You were really drunk. How’s your head?”
He shrugs. “I’ll live.”
I bite my lip and sit up. “You hit it when you fell. It wouldn’t stop bleeding.” I take another deep breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He prods his head with the tips of his fingers, searching for the wound. I place my hand over his and guide his fingers to the large bump on the back of his skull. He hisses when he makes contact. “Ah. Okay.” I drop my hand and he offers a half smile. “Sorry for scaring you.”
“Did you drive like that?”
Park winces. “No,” he states adamantly. “I don’t drive when I drink.” The way he says it makes me wonder if there might be a story there, but I don’t ask.
“I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but you…might want to think about cutting down. You were passed out on your back. You could’ve choked and died if I hadn’t found you out there.” I cringe with the memory, but he seems unattached, as if I’m talking about someone he doesn’t know.
“I’ll die w
hen I die, Lucy. We all have an expiration date.”
I throw the blanket off my legs and get up. I don’t know why his blasé attitude irks me so much, but it does. Maybe he doesn’t comprehend how bad it was, but I was there. I remember.
“Okay, well, I have to get ready for work, so…” I cross my arms and wait for him to get the hint. I actually have awhile before my shift, but he’s irritating me. He cocks his head to the side and stares at me.
“You’re pissed.” It’s a statement, not a question, and absolutely no inflection whatsoever.
I breathe out a surprised laugh. “Go home, Park, and do whatever it is that you do while waiting for your time to expire.”
He sits up, careful to keep his lower half covered. “It’s been awhile since someone was pissed at me about what I did to myself instead of what I did to them.”
His honesty catches me off guard. And then his words slam into me. Everybody should have someone that cares. Someone that doesn’t give up on them. Someone to always care what they’re doing. Right at this moment, I make it my goal to be that someone for Park.
“I’ll go get you some clothes. You go take a shower. There’s Ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. And when you’re done, I’m going to check your head, and make you breakfast.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve done enough. I should just go.”
I head to the door without looking back. “Go take a shower, Park. You still smell like alcohol. I think it’s coming out of your pores. And there should be an extra toothbrush in the top drawer. Please use it.”
I hear him chuckle as I shut the door behind me.
***
It’s been almost a week since I had breakfast with Park. In that time, he’s made a point of trying to repay me. On Sunday, he was on the fire escape smoking a cigarette when I came home from grocery shopping. He scaled the railing and bounced down the steps in his hurry to help me carry the bags up to my apartment. On Monday, he helped me clean his bathroom, singing to me the entire time. It was fun until we got into a Comet fight and he used the back of his hand to wipe the green powder from my nose. He paused, his eyes meeting mine, his Adam’s apple bulging in his throat as he swallowed tightly. I started breathing heavily and he closed his eyes, backing away from me. The sexual tension wound around us, growing hot and unmanageable.
On Wednesday, I found him in the laundry room. He kept me company while our clothes washed and we talked about music. It should have been a safe subject, but he got really excited and passionate about it, which just made me that much more attracted to him. Especially when I realized he has great taste. I got uncomfortable due to my rising desire and made an excuse to get away, even though my clothes were still drying. I don’t think he bought my generic explanation, but he made no mention of it. Instead, he insisted on bringing my basket up to my apartment for me—with everything folded.
Now it’s Friday. I’m working the midnight shift. And guess who comes sauntering in with all his gloriousness. Yep. Park plops down, alone, in the back booth that I’ve come to think of as his, and pulls out a book. He’s fresh from a show and his hair glistens with the sweat he worked up performing for all the screaming college girls.