Friended

by Kilby Blades

  The act of sitting back down in the seat from which he'd stood drew my attention to the startling array of hunting knives that lay before him on the table. I moved instinctively to stand behind a dining room chair, one with a high back that shielded my privates.

  "Thank you for allowing Roxy to accompany me to the concert on such short notice. It's a charity show at The Vermillion Room. I'm sure we'll be quite safe."

  He resumed sharpening a rather long knife, sporting an eerily cheerful smile as he took his time to answer. By then Roxy had stepped behind him and was mouthing another 'I'm so sorry…'

  "Well, my girl knows how to take care of herself. Don't you, Roxx?” he asked as he picked up a blood orange that he began to peel with the knife. He started at the navel and sliced perfectly roundly and lengthwise to the stem. With shocking speed, he completed the job with minimal strokes, exposing the juicy gloss of a deeply-skinned fruit.

  "And I know Jagger will take great care of you…", he looked at me then, the same pleasant smile on his face, "…won't you, son?"

  You're creeping me out, Mr. Vega.

  I shifted my eyes to Roxy for a second. She looked pretty pissed.

  "Concert starts at eight, dad—I'll be home by one," she ground out with thinly-veiled exasperation.

  He sliced into the orange with two long, precise cuts, loosening a single section that he quickly ate off of the knife.

  "Don't be late, kid," he lightly answered Roxy, though he was still watching me.

  She pulled me toward the door.

  "Good night, sir," I nodded, just as he squeezed the orange between his fist, shooting an impressive stream of juice into a small glass.

  "And Jagger?", he asked, his voice a honeyed song, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

  When he winked, I hightailed it the fuck out of there.

  Roxy

  My mortification at my dad's behavior prevented me from enjoying Jag’s hand on my back as he walked me to his car.

  "He still thinks I'm a little girl," I explained lamely as he started the engine "It's been a decade since we've seen each other for more than a couple months a year. He's still not used to the idea of me da—"

  Maybe he won’t notice that I almost just said “dating”.

  "—of me doing things on my own, and he thinks that parenting with three times the intensity will make up for all the lost years.”

  Not so graceful save, I thought as I withered a little in my seat.

  "I'd be protective of you, too, Roxy," Jagger said quietly before he pulled onto the road.

  The sun had begun to set and it was just past twilight. I had come to worship the darkness of the forest and the embrace of the trees that seemed to guard every inch of road. Jagger’s car held his own delectable scent, and the added component of leather was another embrace unto itself. Subdued by the quiet of the engine, the calm of his voice, and the sublime luxury of seat heat, I was lulled into relaxation.

  We rode silently at first, and because of the dark, I didn't immediately notice the auxiliary cord. Spotting his shiny black Nano, which I'd been dying to check out, the temptation was too great to resist. Surreptitiously darting my eyes to his face, I made sure his eyes were trained ahead. When I thought the coast was clear, I reached my hand out, to grab it. He got to it first.

  "Uh-uh," he tutted as he simultaneously drove, smirked, and scrolled through the device before returning it to the dock. My eyesight was just quick enough to see him initiate a playlist called "concert." When Ordinary World by Duran Duran came on, it was my turn to smirk. He’d have seen from stealing my Nano that I loved that song.

  "So how'd you score these tickets anyway? I thought they sold out ages ago."

  "I was given them as a gift.” He shrugged vaguely.

  "Someone gave you $1,000 a seat benefit tickets as a gift?" I didn't know what to say. "You gotta introduce me to your friends."

  He shrugged again, somewhat uncomfortably.

  "My dad's colleague's husband, Greg, writes for Rolling Stone. His editor is a friend of the band and got passes that she couldn't use. She gave them to Greg, who was going to take his wife, but her niece from Sandusky is having some last-minute wedding in Vegas. They know I love Foo Fighters, so they offered the tickets to me. It just happened on Thursday," he spilled out in a rush.

  I shook my head and bit my lip to conceal my laughter.

  "So, basically your neighbor's cousin's step-uncle is married to Dave Grohl's baby's momma's hairstylist, who just so happens to do your mother's hair, and when she found out you liked the band, she hooked it up?"

  As I watched his smile spread to warm his features, I could practically hear the ice breaking.

  "Something like that," he said with that velvet chuckle that pulled me a bit deeper each time.

  "So…unwelcome parental supervision aside, Roxy…how are you enjoying Rye?”

  "The weather's been a little tough,” I admitted. “But living with my dad…" I considered my words. “…it’s been a good thing.”

  "So, there's nothing you miss about L.A.?” He frowned a little.

  I shrugged, wondering how much I should say about my life there. The kinds of friends I knew and the kind of fun I had there was pretty much the opposite of what anyone knew, or thought, about me in Rye. “I miss my friends, for sure, but it’s not like I can go back.”

  I sensed his hesitation to probe deeper.

  "It's complicated," I explained.

  "I think I can follow.” It was an offer, not a demand.

  I realized that maybe I wanted him to know. That, maybe, someone other than Zoë and my dad should.

  "I grew up kind of fast," I said glancing over at him. “My mom always wanted to be a singer, but it was hard with a kid, you know? Even without me, it would have been tough going. That’s what it’s like in L.A.”

  He looked over briefly, letting me know he was with me, and nodded so I would go on.

  “Every small-town talent thinks they’re one audition away from their big break. Most people give up after awhile, but my mom never stopped chasing it. And when she found it, she went after it. Getting engaged and booking a spot on a major tour was really great for her….”

  “But not so great for you?” His voice had a gentle quality to it.

  “Last year she moved us to a new school district. I never saw my friends. The tour with Selfish Bliss was the nail in the coffin,” I admitted. “She was always on shorter tours on and off when I was a kid, singing backup vocals for a few second-tier bands; she even did cruise ships a few times, you know, when I spent summers with my dad. Her steadiest gig over the years was singing with a 90s nostalgia band whenever we were in L.A.…”

  “Which explains a lot about your taste in music.” He glanced over with a small smile.

  “Good taste in music is one of the better things my mom gave me.” I shrugged a little.

  “And the rest?”

  I chose my words carefully. “She would’ve been the perfect older sister. But I don’t think she was cut out to be a mom. She had me when she was eighteen. In a lot of ways, she never grew up. She’s…flighty, but kids have practical needs. So, when I was old enough to take care of myself…I did."

  He gulped, and I worried that I'd made him uncomfortable, that I'd said too much, too soon.

  "How old was old enough to 'take care of yourself'?"

  I kept my breathing even.

  "Eight."

  I noticed his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

  "I was six.” His adam’s apple bobbed before he said it an his voice got a little deep.

  When I stared at him in skeptical confusion, his crooked smile was sad.

  "It's complicated."

  It took me a moment to find my voice.

  "I think I can follow.”

  Even in the dark, I could see his eyes change as he looked ahead.

  "I had a baby brother who died when I was that age. My parents kind of…checked out."

  The sad
ness emanating from him in that moment made me want to cry.

  "What was his name?" I asked, refusing to toss out a platitude.

  "Anthony," he said in a gritty voice. “Anthony,” he said again.

  Thirteen

  Everlong

  Hello, I've waited here

  for you, everlong.

  Tonight, I throw myself into

  and out of the red.

  Out of her head, she sang…

  -Foo Fighters, Everlong

  Jagger

  It was hard to believe I'd been nervous about talking to Roxy—it seemed now that I couldn't shut up. It was like that second time we chatted on Instagram, when I lost track of time and the conversation just flowed. I'd worried that our banter, which worked so well online, wouldn't translate to hanging out, face-to-face. If anything, the pull I felt toward her was much stronger in person.

  My initial instinct had been correct: there was something different about Roxy that had nothing to do with leather jackets and comically-oversported woolen hats. Only, now I knew why that something different attracted me. God, were we alike. We fell just short of going too 'Dr Phil' on each other on the ride to Seattle, but our conversation stayed pretty deep.

  Courtship was new to me, but I was pretty sure that conversation about having to sign your own permission slips because your parents were too out of it to sign them for you wasn't typical first date shit. My compulsion to touch her had only partly to do with my hormones. Four times, I had resisted reaching my hand across the console to commiserate with her silently, maybe by smoothing her hair or by covering her hand with mine.

  "Do you like pizza?” I’d just open the door to let her out of my parked car. “My favorite place is right around here.”

  The show started in an hour, we were a few blocks from The Vermillion Room, and I wanted to make sure she ate.

  "Feeding me again, Monroe?"

  I loved seeing her blush at something I said, but fuck, it was hot when she blushed at herself. It made me wonder whether the thoughts in her pretty, covered head were anything like the forbidden ones in mine.

  We made lighter talk as I led the way down streets more crowded than what we were used to. Ft. Bragg was a small beachfront town, which meant that a lot more people than usual were there for the show. I touched her back—to guide her as far as she was concerned, but as a gesture of warning, as far as I was. I didn't like the way men's eyes stopped to appreciate her hip-hugging jeans and the fit of her nubile curves in that tight little hoodie. It was a good thing she was in front of me, chatting away, and unable to see my face as I sent clear signals to those around us.

  She. Is. Mine.

  We reached the door of the pizza place and she stopped short before walking in, looking inside the window skeptically.

  "This is your favorite pizza place?"

  I looked inside the simple restaurant and saw business as usual—ten or so partially-gone pies behind glass, customers sitting with their order numbers visible on yellow-top table-booths, a kid at the self-service soda fountain loading up on lemonade.

  "Uh, yeah…what's wrong with it?"

  "No offense, it's just…I guess I never pegged you as a 'dollar a slice' kind of guy."

  Oh, that…

  "I'm sure I could find you some more expensive pizza, if it would be more to your liking?" I joked lightly with an ease that surprised even me. Usually, it pissed me off when people judged me for having money, but with Roxy, I found I just wanted to please her.

  "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—" she stammered, and I squeezed her shoulder and laughed.

  "Just get inside, Vega."

  She ordered the same thing as me—one slice each of regular cheese and one slice of white cheese pizza—and I laughed at her again when she tried to pay. What kind of ass-backwards date did this girl think I was taking her on? We sat across from each other at the table as we waited for our slices to heat. I was taken with the way she played with her straw between taking sips of her soda—it was adorable as hell.

  "So, how'd you know I liked Skittles and Coke?"

  You drink a Coke Classic at lunch every day and hoard a secret supply of Skittles in your locker, which you only eat when you're stressed out. I was going to give it to you in Civics since you disappeared at lunch, but opportunity knocked.

  "Lucky guess…" I shrugged innocently.

  I couldn't tell whether she bought it.

  "And, how did you know I would like all those songs you added to my iPod?"

  I smiled. So she did like them.

  "Roxy…" I couldn't help leaning in toward her, "It should be abundantly clear by now that we have some kind of…"

  Soul-deep connection.

  "…synchronicity when it comes to music."

  The hue of her irises was gorgeous, as was the expression of innocent perplexity on her face. I wanted badly to lean in farther and kiss her, but I could see she hadn't even begun to fathom how deeply I felt for her. It was probably for the best that our pizza came right then. We spent the rest of our meal and our walk to The Vermillion Room gushing about how good the pizza was and one-upping each other on Gunther and Zoë's love struck displays.

  The temperature had dropped by the time we approached the venue, and there was a line forming out front. She was just wearing a baby tee under her hoodie, and when I saw her shiver a little I stepped in behind her to rub her shoulders for warmth. We kept on talking, even chatted up some other fans waiting in line. Being with her felt right. I diligently alternated rubbing her shoulders and her hands, but twenty minutes later, my girl shivered again. She leaned back toward me—subconsciously, I assumed—in search of more of my warmth.

  "Do you want my jacket, Roxy?" I asked softly, dipping my head to speak next to her ear.

  By now, her back was on my chest. My hands rubbed her upper arms, and her ear was near my shoulder. She shook her head gently.

  "I'm good right here," she whispered.

  It was all the invitation I needed to slide my hands down off of her shoulders to fold her inside my arms.

  Roxy

  Waiting outside a club on a cold Seattle night doesn't turn most people into lust-filled, quivering messes. Then again, most people in front of clubs aren't having their extremities caressed. Most people in front of clubs have had sex recently. Most people in front of clubs aren't busy being dazzled by Jagger Fucking Monroe.

  I'd lost the capacity to chat up the couple in line in front of us somewhere between the time he started rubbing my fingers and when he pulled me into his chest. I was sure I owed this brand of chivalry only to the blue of Jagger’s blood; but I quickly got over why he was doing it and resolved that I would just enjoy. And by enjoy, I meant leaning farther into him, turning my head to the side to better catch his scent, and accepting his embrace. My eyes were closed and I might have been purring, but I was too far gone to care. The self-righteous part of me murmured that he'd better feel lucky I wasn't groping or licking him yet.

  I had no sense for how much time had passed as I stood locked inside his arms. The conversations of the crowd and the sounds of traffic registered as a dull roar. I followed the rise and fall of his chest, felt the weight of his chin on my head, felt the sway of his body as he rocked us ever so slightly. It was like floating on the most perfect raft on the bluest ocean on the clearest, most sunny day.

  Roxy, love...

  Ooh, and I was having the most wonderful fantasies! Now I could hear his voice. Maybe we could—

  "Roxy…" he whispered, only this time his voice was real.

  It seemed it was time to move. If I didn't know better, I'd think he kissed the top of my head before gently nudging us forward. He kept hold of my hand and the small of my back as he ushered me into the club. The interior was not what I expected.

  "They did it in the style of the old supper clubs," Jagger murmured in appreciation, "but the place itself is relatively new."

  It was like something out of the movies—a floor-level hardwood
dance floor and stage with a bandstand set up behind it, small cocktail tables on the darkly-carpeted floor that encircled the stage, and raised booths that fanned out amphitheater style and were upholstered with fine, vermillion-colored fabric. When I'd heard the show was at a club venue, I'd pictured crowds and beer stench, black-painted walls, speakers that were too loud and filthy bathrooms. But this? This, I would never forget.

  An usher seated us in a cozy booth aligned left to the stage and on the closest level to the floor. The set-up had no room for drums, no large amps or enormous speaker sets. I knew the band preferred small venues, but I had no clue this would be such an intimate show. It didn't take long to get everyone seated, and Jagger took my hand as the lights went down.

  I was glad he did, because I needed to squeeze something when Dave Grohl walked out on stage. I didn't take my eyes off of Dave long enough to see Nate. I barely even heard him talk about LIFEbeat, the charity that had inspired the fundraiser. Though I stayed aware of Jagger’s presence, for long moments, it was impossible to fully focus on them both. Instead, I tried not to spontaneously combust from being in the combined presence of the two hottest men on earth.

  Jagger

  I tried not to stare at Roxy as she looked in wonder toward the stage. She was grinning widely, her eyes alight with an awestruck joy I had never seen. I loved that being able to see the Foo Fighters made her so happy, loved that I had the good fortune to be in a position to give her this. Plus, the way she paid attention to Dave as he talked about the charity told me she was totally into the cause.

  I suspected she was too focused on what the band was saying to notice my unwavering stare. But since I didn't want to creep her out a second time after the way I'd practically mauled her outside the club, I forced myself to look away, toward the faces of the other fans. It was a beautiful venue that had been tastefully sold out to just the right capacity. Cocktail waitresses floated comfortably among a well-portioned crowd sitting in pairs or threes in rounded booths. Speaking of crowds, I knew this was a small charity show, but shouldn't they have more security? Some of these girls and even a couple of guys looked about ready to pounce on Dave Grohl.