Warren Jinkins.
This was the handsome guy I’d seen getting a blow job. He was a tall, dark, foreboding presence. His gray unzipped hoodie revealed a white T-shirt that was stretched taut over his wide shoulders and muscular chest. His faded jeans—no longer around his knees—clung to his narrow hips and long legs as if stitched by some miraculous hand to accentuate them.
Only fifteen, I was too young and inexperienced for a guy who got regular blow jobs in the restroom and was accustomed to two women fawning over him at a time. But that didn’t stop me from looking and appreciating that he was a hottie, even more so up close.
I swayed as if struck by lightning a second time.
“You okay?” he asked low, grabbing my arms.
“Wh—what?” I stammered. His voice rolled over me and my reservations. It was smooth as silk and warm like a blanket that had been left beside a crackling fire. A little unbalanced, I didn’t protest when his eyes crinkled and he pulled me into his arms.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, rocking his hips against mine, his voice dropping to a shiver-inducing lower octave. “Name’s Warren. Friends call me War, but you can call me whatever the fuck you want.”
He eased back but stayed close enough that I felt his hardness as he looked me over.
Shaking his head, he said, “Damn, you’re hot, baby.”
My cheeks flamed as he intertwined our fingers. There was a connection, an electrical spark that frayed nerve endings I’d thought were numb. With his gaze on mine, I saw within his eyes a familiarity that went beyond our unforgettable encounter earlier in the day.
“We were just talking about our band with your brother.” War pointed at Dizzy with his chin. “I’m the lead singer.”
Having heard War’s voice, I could certainly understand why. Plus, there was that indefinable something about him that commanded your attention. I recalled my earlier conversation with Dizzy. If War was at center mic, he wouldn’t need to do anything but stand there to captivate an audience.
“Lace,” another voice said, deeper than I remembered.
I turned my head, falling into familiar gray-green eyes once more.
Seeming speechless for a second, Bryan finally said, “It’s good to see you.”
Every bit as good-looking, Bryan was no second place to War. The garage and porch lights made his thick brown hair shine like polished mahogany. His hair was shorter than it had been when we were kids, except on top where the layers were longer and skimmed his thoughtful brow. The pads of my fingers tingled with the urge to sift through it, and the rest of me tingled with the desire to be closer. Much closer.
My lips parted as I stared, and Bryan stared back. War held me, but it was Bryan who enthralled me. As if he could somehow hear my thoughts, his silvery emerald eyes suddenly sparkled.
Smiling, I found my voice. “Bry,” I said, taking in his hunter-green button-down shirt that barely contained the breadth of his shoulders, and his narrow hips and muscular thighs. “You grew up nice.”
“You too, Lace.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, drawing my attention to the fact that he wasn’t unaffected by me, though his expression remained neutral. I didn’t want him neutral about me.
Shifting away from him, I returned my attention to War. “A band, huh?” My smile widened, and War’s brown eyes darkened. “You’ve certainly got the arrogance to be a lead singer.”
I reached up and touched his face, tilting his chin one way and then the other. His skin was rough at the jaw where a liberal layer of dark stubble coated it. My stomach flipped.
“You’re definitely handsome enough to pull it off.” My voice lowered, registering the electrical current of our connection. With difficulty, I turned away from him and glanced at Bryan. “So, if he’s the lead, you’d be . . .”
Bryan filled in where I’d trailed off. “The guitarist.”
“Ah, Slash, I should have guessed. Just like when we were kids.”
Bryan nodded, his gaze blazing with an intensity I didn’t understand, but obviously meant he was far from neutral toward me. I ran my gaze over him again, slower this time.
“Yeah,” I said low, going for a huskiness I’d never used before. “You could totally rock the brooding guitarist role.” Feeling brave, I added, “I’d throw my panties at you.”
“Would you now?” Bryan leaned in. His gaze locking on mine, he cocked a brow.
“Uh-huh.” Wanting to sound more grown-up, I leaned in too, tilting my face up to his as I whispered the lie, “If I were wearing any.”
Bryan’s eyes flared. He reached for my arm, but War shifted, moving between us. Momentarily, I’d forgotten he was there.
“I need a beer,” War said, grabbing Bryan’s arm.
“What?” Bryan looked confused. It almost seemed as though he’d forgotten his friend during that moment too.
“You thirsty, babe?” War asked me over his shoulder.
I forced lightness into my tone, but it was bullshit. I was totally reeling from both men. “I could use a beer, Mr. McMoves.”
I’d just hold it, not drink it, but War didn’t need to know that. It was one of those behind-the-scenes details that wasn’t critical for him to know. Like how the keg had gotten here in the first place, bought by an older acquaintance of my brother’s. He’d dropped off the keg and would be asking for “donations” later, one that would give him a healthy profit for his trouble, as well as the risk in providing alcohol to a party largely attended by underage drinkers.
“All right.” War laughed. “We’ll be right back.”
War
Bryan was obviously reluctant, but he followed me. I had reluctance of my own, wanting to be right back where Lace was too. As I worked through what to say to him, I filled a cup from the keg, and glanced over to find him staring behind us.
“Bryan.” I had to nudge his arm to get his attention.
“Huh?” He looked like he’d woken from a dream.
Lace Lowell was a dream, for sure, but she wasn’t his dream. She was mine.
Giving him my most serious face, I said firmly, “I’ve gotta have her.”
“Lace?” Bryan laughed as if that dream were impossible for me. “You only just met her.”
“I’m fucking serious, man.” I ran a hand over my face while holding my beer steady in the other. “I mean it. I’ve never felt this way around a chick.”
“Come on, War.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s just fifteen. You’ll be bored with her in no time.” He scanned the crowd in the backyard. “Let me ask Dizzy if he knows anyone. Someone older, more interesting and experienced. You know, like you usually go for.”
I frowned, cocking my head as I studied him. “What’s your problem?” As tension crackled between us, I straightened, pulling into play the half inch of height I had on him. “You think Lace is too good for me?”
“No, War. Of course not. I’m not saying anything. I just don’t think she’s your type.”
“You gotta be kidding. She sure the fuck is. Bold, sassy, sexy as hell.” I raised my brows, wondering if he’d suddenly lost his mind. “How’s that not my type?”
“Okay.” He shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal and our discussion was over, but it sure as fuck wasn’t.
I’d seen how he looked at her. I’d also noted how she’d flirted with him. That would have to end.
“Bryan.” I gripped his arm. “We’ve been through a lot of shit together, haven’t we?”
He nodded.
“And I’ve always had your back, haven’t I?” I asked pointedly.
“Yeah, but I really don’t see what this has to do with—”
“Took that stint in juvie after you wrecked my old man’s car,” I said quickly, cutting him off. A possessiveness I’d never felt about any chick unfurled inside me, and I blasted him with it. “Did all that AA counseling bullshit. Still doing the community service hours.”
Looking reluctant but resigned, Bryan nodded. He knew I
’d done all that for him, and more. I did it because I loved him like a brother, but that didn’t negate the fact that he owed me.
Maybe it was a shitty move. Obviously, he had a history with Lace, and maybe a major case of the hots like I did, but he had a home, two sisters, and a mom who gave a fuck about him. I deserved dibs on this girl.
“I saw how you looked at her, man.” Because Bryan was a brother and always would be, I gave it to him real. “But I don’t want you coming between me and this chick, understand? This one’s mine.”
My final word on the matter delivered, I turned from him and went to get her.
“Hey, babe.” I put my arm around Lace.
Her brother didn’t like it. Frowning, he said in a warning voice, “War.”
“It’s okay, Diz,” she said in that insanely sexy voice of hers. “I’ve got this.” She removed my arm from her shoulder and flung it back at me. “I don’t know who you think you are, Warren Jinkins.”
“Just who you said.” My lips quirked. I liked how she threw sass and didn’t back down from me. “But most people just call me War.”
“Yes, well, I’m not your babe.” Pissed, she glared at me, her amber eyes practically glowing. “And you’re not anything to me.”
“Not yet.” Undeterred, I leaned in, capturing a silky lock of her hair and rubbing it between my fingers before brushing it over her shoulder.
“You . . . I . . .” Sputtering, she blinked fast as her gaze darkened and her nostrils flared.
She might be mad, but she was attracted to me—both now and earlier at school. I knew the signs. I knew chicks, knew how to get them to give me what I wanted, and it was going to be my mission to know this one better than any of them.
“You and me, Lacey.” I dipped my gaze to her pretty mouth, and she wet her lips. Oh, hell yeah, she was into me. “Let’s go somewhere and talk. Privately.”
“I thought we were getting ready to play some tunes.” Dizzy interrupted, smoothing out his scowl when I met his eyes. “Lace is a vocalist. She writes lyrics. She’s proficient on keyboards and guitar.”
“That’s interesting.” I gave her another scan, an approving one like my first. There were lots of reasons to keep her around besides the obvious.
“When did you take up piano?” Bryan asked Lace, rejoining our group.
“The counselor recommended it as a way to process . . . stuff.” Her features tightened as she stared at him.
What happened to require counseling? Does Bryan know?
“She’s been in lessons ever since we moved in with our uncle.” Looking more like a proud papa than a brother, Dizzy crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s an old upright inside the house. It’s not much, and it’s always out of tune. But it’s a piano, and she’s its master.”
“That’s cool,” Bryan said, turning his body into her. “You must really enjoy playing, if you’ve continued with it all these years.”
“I do, and lessons are expensive, but I have a part-time job that covers the cost. I just think better when my fingers are on the keys.” She shrugged, and my gaze dipped to her tits.
“That’s how I feel about my guitar.” Bryan’s gaze rose slowly. Totally checking her out too, he moved even closer.
“Where do you work?” I asked, insinuating myself between her and him.
“Janet’s Design,” Lace said.
“The consignment shop on the Ave.” I tilted my head. “How’s the pay?”
“It barely pays anything, but Janet gives me first pick of the clothes that come in.” Her expression brightening, Lace seemed to have shaken off whatever had bothered her before.
“So you sing, huh?” I gave her another appraising look.
“Yes, I do.” She met my gaze, and her golden eyes shone. “Probably better than you.”
My lips curved. “Doubtful.” My cock was rock hard. I enjoyed her shooting sparks like this at me.
“Wanna bet on that, Mr. Moves?”
Oh, hell yeah, I did. “Loser owes the other a favor.”
And I’d collect. No doubt about it.
“Okay.” She nodded once. “But how do we decide the winner?”
“Hey, everyone.” Projecting my voice, I took a step back from our small group and threw my arms wide. “Band’s gonna play. Lacey and I are gonna sing, and you get to decide who sings better.”
Amid approving comments—most of the partygoers had heard me sing before—I turned on my heel and headed to the garage.
“’Bout fuckin’ time,” Dizzy muttered, moving quickly to catch up to me.
“Damn straight.” I gave him an affirming nod and glanced back at his sister. She wasn’t far behind. “Hurry up, Lacey.”
“My name’s not Lacey.”
When she lifted her chin, defying me again, I grinned. I might already be halfway in love with her.
Lace
For a guy who’d just met me, War had an uncanny ability to push my buttons. Bad or good, it was like he didn’t care which—he just wanted to get a reaction out of me.
I glared at him. He was too busy talking to Bryan and my brother to notice. They congregated together like guys tended to do, leaving me the lone woman in the group on the periphery.
I went to the back of the garage where my keyboard was set up. With the appearance of War, the night had taken a turn I hadn’t expected. I told myself I was relieved to be alone so I could mull it over.
I was majorly attracted to two guys—one in a hunter-green button-down and indigo jeans, the other in a white T-shirt and faded denim, a silver wallet chain swinging low over his thigh. They both looked like rockers. Both were easy on the eyes. If War was the same age as Bryan, both were two years older than me, and I was almost sixteen.
Bryan, the thoughtful boy I’d once known, was barely recognizable beneath all the muscle. His body wasn’t all that had changed. His jaw was sharp like a blade, his eyes sharper as he caught me staring and glanced away, cutting me to the quick. It didn’t seem as though much of the sweet sensitive boy I knew remained.
What did you expect, Lace? We were friends a long time ago. We’re not children anymore.
My childhood and our friendship ended abruptly when I was eleven, the night of the Metallica concert. I knew that. Deep down, I knew. I just wanted to rewrite a different ending.
But too many years had passed since then. In Southside, weeks could change a person. Bryan had been thirteen and I’d been eleven the last time I saw him. We had years of unshared experiences between us. Not surprising that the passage of time had chiseled hardness, not softness, into both of us.
I turned my attention to War. He was as hard as the assorted silver rings he wore on every finger on both hands. Coming on like a freight train, he’d made his interest in me clear, and then some. With the cotton of his tee stretched taut over his chest, he was muscular like Bryan, but where his friend was thickly muscled, War was lean and corded. He was undeniably handsome but with a dangerous edge. Not exactly a deterrent in my mind, or in the estimation of a lot of other girls, apparently.
War caught me looking at him, but unlike Bryan, he didn’t glance away. Giving me a scan, he smirked, his eyes sparkling approvingly and temptingly with the offer to share his knowledge of intimate things I didn’t know. Things maybe I wasn’t quite ready to know.
My heart hammering, I lowered my gaze, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans and pretending to look for something. When I glanced up again, I found War standing right in front of me.
“Hey,” he said, a light teasing note in his compelling voice. “Did you lose something?”
Yeah, my sanity, apparently, for even thinking about an experienced guy who only screws seniors.
But I didn’t speak my thoughts. I just shook my head in denial.
“Come to the front of the garage to sing with me.”
Oh no, no, no. I didn’t think that was a good idea. Not when I was more than a little attracted to him, and he was undoubtably more than a little dangerous.
“I want you to share the mic with me.” His lids lowering, he swept his gaze over me. “We should do a duet for this throwdown.”
“Huh-uh. You sing your song.” I pointed to where the mic was between my brother and Bryan, then flipped my hand around and pointed to myself. “And then I’ll sing mine right back here at my keyboard.”
“You’re not going to back out, are you?” War’s deep brown eyes narrowed as if he could read my thoughts.
“No.” Glancing past him, I frowned.
The crowd that had gathered for the show were mostly girls, older girls, ones he’d probably had sex with. The odds of my winning this singing contest and the accompanying bet weren’t good.
Determined, I lifted my chin. I might lose, but I wouldn’t give up before I’d even tried. “I don’t back down from any challenge.”
“Good. Respect that.” Something flashed in War’s eyes, making me feel like I’d passed a test. “But we’re still doing this my way. C’mon.”
Turning his back to me and affording me a distracting glimpse of his backside in his low-slung, well-fitting jeans, he crooked his ringed fingers over his wide shoulder. And for some reason, I stood without hesitating and followed him.
At the front of the garage, Dizzy stood on the right of the center mic, and Bryan stood on the left. His golden eyes shining excitedly like mine, Dizzy held his favorite acoustic, a secondhand Martin with a natural finish that was scarred to hell but played well. The analogy could be made to my brother and me, in that life had left its marks on us, but we weren’t damaged beyond repair.
Or at least I hoped we weren’t.
“Hey, Lace,” Bryan said, turning his gray-green gaze on me.
“Hey.” I lifted my chin in response after I recovered from the fact that he was back to acknowledging my existence again.
Bryan lovingly cradled an acoustic, a sweet used ebony Fender that was mine. My brother had given it to me. The diamond strap lay over his muscular shoulder, and it looked good there. Ditto on the body of the black instrument where it rested low in front of his narrow hips.
SOUTHSIDE HIGH: Rockstar Enemies to Lovers Romance (Tempest World Book 1) Page 4
