“I’m not discouraged.” My fingers fall to the keyboard. “I just need a break. I’m bored.”
“You’re bored. Wow, that’s a first.” She comes up behind me and places her hands on my shoulders, digging her fingertips into my shirt, massaging my muscles. I tense from her touch, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as her scent immerses me. “You’re usually so uptight. You need to relax, dude.” She rests her chin on my head as she keeps rubbing, driving my body into a confusion infused frenzy.
“What’s up with the constant dude remark?” I ask as I click off the computer screen. “You’re always calling me that.”
“That’s because you’re my dude, buddy, bro.” She laughs then kisses the top of my head. “Now get up. If you want a break, I’m totally going to give you a break.”
“Where are we going to go?” I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, hyper aware that her eyes wander to the bottom of my shirt when it rides up, checking me out.
I feel slightly better about the whole dress thing, but at the same time guilty. And afraid. So fucking afraid all the time, like I have no clue what to do with my emotions for her.
She bites her bottom lip before blinking up at me. “Hmm . . . let me think. Somewhere adventurous, of course.” She taps her finger to her bottom lip. “How about the Silver Box? I haven’t been there in forever, and I heard there was a few cool bands playing tonight.”
“But what if it’s noisy and crowded?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.” Her bottom lip pops out as she peers up at me through her eyelashes, using the move she recently learned that gets her way. “Pretty please, come with me.”
Sighing, I retrieve my hoodie from the back of the computer chair. “Fine, but I need to talk to Lila about my brother first.”
She scoops up her leather jacket from the bedpost. “Why? You’re not letting her in on our plan, are you?”
I slip my arms through the sleeves then zip up the jacket. “No. But he turns eighteen in a couple of days, and she said it might be easier to find him then.”
“I hope so.” She slides her jacket on and opens the bedroom door. “Now, let’s get this party on the road.”
She links arms with me and we head down to the kitchen. When we stroll in, Kale and Everson are sitting at the kitchen table, eating fruit and arguing about sports.
Everson is more reserved, like me, but freaks out over anything that has to do with football, like now as he talks animatedly about some touchdown by the Minnesota Vikings, one of his favorite teams.
Kale seems mildly interested, but still argues with him. He’s always kind of marched to the beat of his own drum, wearing a lot of comic book inspired attire, but thankfully, after he turned fifteen a couple of months ago, he stopped with the capes.
“Hey, have you two seen your mom and dad?” Lyric asks, stealing an apple from the fruit basket on the table.
Everson scowls at her. “Jesus, make yourself at home, Lyric. You can’t just come eat our food and interrupt our conversation.”
Kale, who’s usually a talker, freezes mid-bite of his orange slice, and stares at Lyric with his jaw hanging open as she bites into the apple. I have a theory that the poor kid might have a crush on her, since the mouth agape trait is a common thing when Lyric’s in his sight.
“Sorry, Everson,” Lyric says, stifling a smile as she wipes a trail of juice from her chin.
“We were talking football,” Everson tells her, like it explains his rude behavior.
“Okay. Chillax. I just asked a question, which you never did answer.” Lyric skims back and forth between the two of them. “Do either of you know where your mom and dad are?”
Annoyed, Everson points over his shoulder toward the living room. “They’re in there, whispering secrets about Ayden. They think they’re being sneaky about it, but we heard them when we walked by.”
I trade a puzzled look with Lyric, and then we simultaneously duck out of the room and make a beeline for the living room. I’m about to walk right in, but Lyric throws out her arm and pushes me back behind the wall. Then, she places her finger to her lips, shushing me as she huddles against me, leaning to the side to eavesdrop.
I sigh, torn between letting Lyric listen, and not feeling guilty about doing so myself.
“I’m worried the therapy isn’t helping,” Lila says concernedly. “He’s still saying he can’t remember anything. And he’s been pretty adamant about searching for his brother and sister.”
“Baby, I know you want to fix everything, including the world,” Ethan tells her, “but you might just have to accept that he may not ever remember. Maybe it’s good for him, too. Maybe whatever happened to him is best left in the dark.”
“Yeah, but what about finding his brother and sister? What am I supposed to do about that?”
“You try to find them,” Ethan replies simply. “If he wants to find them, then he’ll find them whether you help him out or not.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She pauses. “I worry about him, though. There’s still so much he doesn’t know—that no one knows.”
A stretch of silence goes by, and then they start chatting about Kale and his problems at school. I don’t even realize I’ve gripped onto Lyric’s hand until her thumb grazes the inside of my wrist.
What Lila and Ethan were talking about is nothing I don’t already know, but hearing the worry in their voices makes me concerned that I might be more messed up than I thought.
“Hey, are you okay?” Lyric asks, searching my eyes with apprehension.
I nod, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I free her hand from my death grip and walk into the living room, cleaning off my damp palms on the front of my jeans.
They’re both sitting on the sectional, the television is on, but the volume is down, and a lamp is on. There are stacks of papers and receipts piled on the table, armrests, floor, everywhere really, probably for Ethan’s outdoor touring business, or Lila’s part-time catering business she runs on the weekends.
“Oh, hey, sweetie.” Lila and Ethan appear uneasy at my appearance. She has a bright pink mug in her hand that matches her shirt. When she notes Lyric and I are wearing our jackets, she sets the mug down on the coffee table. “I thought you two were hanging out in your room tonight?”
“We were.” I exchange a glance with Lyric. “But we got bored and were wondering if we could go to the Silver Box for a while.”
Lila looks at Ethan for his input, but he just shrugs. Her gaze glides to the window across the room. “It’s pretty late for a school night.”
“We won’t stay out for too long,” Lyric steps in. “There’s supposed to be some really cool bands playing tonight.”
Ethan straightens up at this. “Yeah, I actually heard that, too.”
Lyric’s green eyes start to sparkle, and I know she’s already conjuring up a plan. “Hey, here’s an idea. How about you and my dad go with us? That could be fun.”
Ethan rubs his jawline, musing over the idea. “That actually could be fun.” He drops the papers he was holding down onto the couch cushion and turns to Lila. “What do you think?”
Lila sighs as she collects her mug, reclines back in the sofa, and crosses her legs. “Go have fun. Just don’t keep them out too late.”
When Ethan hurries upstairs to get ready, Lyric faces me. “I probably should go make sure my dad is down. Meet you at my garage in like ten?”
I nod.
She gives me a pressing look before walking out of the room. I know her well enough by now to understand that the only reason she left was to give me an opportunity to speak with Lila. I’m just not sure what I want to say anymore, so I end up sticking to my original plan.
“Um, I kind of wanted to ask you something else.” I lower myself onto the edge of the coffee table and pick at a hole in my jeans. “I was wondering if we could start looking for my brother again, since his eighteenth birthday is in a few days.”
&n
bsp; “I was actually expecting you to ask that sooner, and was planning on visiting social services next week.” She smiles as she raises the brim of the mug to her lips, but beneath the mask of happiness is uneasiness.
I’m just not sure what the uneasiness is over. Finding my brother? Or me?
I didn’t understand why Lyric was so easygoing about bringing her father and Ethan with us to a club, but I quickly find out once I arrive at her house. After some persuading, she convinces Mr. Scott to drive his Chevelle and to let us drive her mother’s GTO so we can race to the club. It’s a fairly easy win, though, since Mr. Scott seems to go easy on her.
When we arrive at the building secured in the heart of the town, I learn another reason why Lyric was so enthusiastic over taking the parentals. Mr. Scott is a well enough known musician that he gets easy access through the entrance. We stroll right up to the rope where the bouncer waves us in.
A crowd is already forming around the stage, even though we’re here early. The air is hot, suffocating, along with the bodies pressed up against me. The mob is thickening at such a rapid rate that we end up losing track of Mr. Scott and Ethan. I just about get split apart from Lyric, too, but fortunately she presses her back against my chest, grabs hold of my hands, and then wraps them around her waist.
I momentarily seize up by her nearness, but then I realize the alternative—let her go and get eaten up by the throng. I grip onto her and hold on for dear life.
Her hair smells amazing, like strawberries with a hint of perfume. The strands tickle my cheeks, causing my eyelashes to lower.
“Are you okay?” she asks over her shoulder as she stares at the stage where the band members have started to set up.
I force my eyelids open. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
Her shoulders lift as she shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after what we heard.”
My stomach knots as I remember Lila’s suggestion to Ethan about my memories. “I promise I’m fine.” But I’m not sure I am.
“Okay.” She pulls me tighter against her and remains silent, leaving me to wonder what’s going on in her head. I’m about to be daring and ask her, but then she says, “Man, I’m so going to date a drummer one day.”
Okay, maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on in her head.
“You say that now, but next week it’ll be the guy from Danny’s Stop and Go,” I tease. “Then it’ll be the quarterback.”
She peers over her shoulder at me, the florescent lighting reflecting in her green eyes. “Are you saying I’m flaky?” Her brow arches, challenging me.
“You do change your mind a lot.”
“That’s because there’s too many opportunities roaming around in the world. It’s hard to focus on just one.” She rotates back around toward the stage and raises her voice as the drummer starts bashing on the symbols. “You know what we should do!” she shouts as the crowd goes wild. “We should join a band! There’s these two guys from school, Nolan and Sage, who are looking for band members!”
“I’m not that great at the guitar yet!” I holler as I get bumped from every angle. Breathe. Just breathe. “And what about your issue with stage fright?”
“I’m going to conquer that fear one day!” She lifts her arms in the air and screams as the singer belts sultry lyrics through the microphone. “And you rock at the guitar! It’s mad crazy how fast you caught on in just a month’s time!”
“Ethan’s a good teacher!” I shout, but my voice gets swallowed up by the screams, the singing, the bass, the entire scene of being a rock star.
Lyric gets lost in the rhythm, rocking and bobbing her head. Our bodies are perfectly aligned so every time she sways her hips, her ass rubs against my cock. The sensation is so intense that by the third song, I almost consider bailing.
But the way she moves.
Is breathtaking.
Consuming.
She owns me.
Makes me feel
so alive.
So petrified.
I can’t breathe.
Dizzy.
Spinning out of control.
Reckless and wild.
I want.
Want. Want.
Something so
terrifying.
In the middle of my stream of thoughts, Lyric twirls around. Her eyes are large and glazed over, high on the music. I open my mouth to ask her what’s up, but she glides her palms up my chest then wraps her arms around my neck. My muscles wind tight as she presses her breasts against me. Then, she stands on her tiptoes and places her lips against my ear.
“Strip me bare, peel me apart, layer by layer, steal my heart,” she sings the lyrics of the song playing. Her voice is soft, not to her full potential, yet it’s the most incredible sound that’s ever graced my ears. I can only imagine what it would sound like if she really sang—striking enough to stop my heart probably. “Let me stand naked in front of you, and pour my secrets out. Unravel me slowly, savoring each part.” She rolls her body against mine and her fingers trace the nape of my neck. “Then let me do the same thing to you. Strip you apart.”
I start to move with her, even though I have no clue what I’m doing. No fucking idea. All I know is I’m left wanting, wanting, wanting.
Wanting her.
Wanting more.
But I’m too afraid to take it.
I’M A SPORADIC PERSON. THAT’S been a given since I first learned how to talk. So when I declare my love for someone, it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise. Yet, it always seems to be with everyone. My parents especially. Whenever I proclaim my love for someone new, they seem shocked, like they half expected me to say someone else.
Ayden should know better by now, though, since he understands my little quirks better than anyone.
“I think I’m in love,” I announce to him as I stroll into his bedroom.
He’s situated on the bed, fiddling with the guitar Ethan bought him for his birthday a few months ago. After a little bit of practice, he’s gotten pretty good at it, enough that he joined a band per my suggestion, and now he’s living out my lifelong dream. But it’s my own damn fault for letting my fear control me.
He glances up from his guitar as I shut the door, his fingers continuing to pluck the strings. “Who is it this time? The drummer from that concert?” He seems more annoyed than usual.
Rolling up the paper I brought over with me, I narrow my eyes at him as I flop down onto the mattress on my stomach. “No, not him. And what do you mean ‘this time’?” I prop up on my elbows as the sunlight hits my face through the window. “Are you mocking me, Ayden Gregory, about my frequency in love declarations?”
He rolls his eyes, lays the guitar aside on the mattress, and brushes strands of his black hair out of his eyes as he relaxes back on the bed. “This is the third time in the last four months you’ve barged into my room and said the exact same thing to me.” I pout out my lip, and he sighs, gathering a guitar pick from the pillow. “Fine, who are you in love with?” He fiddles around with the pick, sketching the tip up and down the scars on the back of his hand.
I still don’t know where the scars came from. I want to ask him, but any time I even mention Ayden’s life before the Gregorys, he gets squeamish, which makes me question how he’s going to handle the papers I brought over with me. I have to tell him, though. After spending the last few months searching for his siblings, I finally stumbled across something, not about his siblings, but about his past.
I kneel up on the bed in front of him. “It’s William Stephington.”
His face squishes in disgust. “Ew, that jock, steroid freak?”
“Hey.” I swat his arm. “He’s not a steroid freak.”
“That’s not what I heard.” He frowns, staring at me undecidedly. “Lyric, I know you might not want to hear this, but I think you should stay away from that guy. And I really think you should talk to him for more than ten minutes before you decide you’re in love with him.”
“I�
�ve talked to him quite a few times at school. And besides, I agreed to go out with him tonight.”
His frown deepens. “Lyric, the guy’s got a reputation for being a . . .” He deliberates his word choice while staring at a Pink Floyd poster on the ceiling that I gave him for his birthday. “A manwhore douche.”
“Manwhore douche? Wow, those are some colorful words.”
“Well, he is.”
I scrape at my blue fingernail polish, choosing my next words carefully. “Even if he is, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not a douche or a whore. I haven’t even kissed a guy yet.” I hop off the bed. “But that’s going to change tonight.”
He pulls a face, clearly irritated, which isn’t typical for him. Usually, Ayden is the most agreeable person in the world, always trying to please everyone. “Don’t waste your first kiss on that asshole.”
“Hey, I’ve been saving my first kiss for over seventeen years now, so trust me when I say that when it happens, it’s not going to be something I do with an asshole.”
“He’s not the guy who’s going to change your soul, Lyric. Or make you write any better. He’s not the life experience you’re searching for.”
I sternly point a finger at him. “Hey, I told you all that stuff in confidence.”
His gaze scans the vacant room with his hands spread out. “Am I telling anyone else? No, I’m just reminding you what you told me—that this isn’t what you want. You’re saving your first kiss for a guy that will make you be able to pour your soul out onto paper, give you something to write about. And I don’t believe that that’s going to be William Stephington.” His face twists with disgust again.
I fold my arms across my chest, and his gaze flicks to the papers in my hand. “Well, even if he isn’t, maybe it’s time to get this whole kissing thing over with. I mean, I’m seventeen years old, for God’s sake. No one is a virgin kisser at that age. Jesus, Maggie kissed her first guy when she was like fourteen. I had my chance, too, but no, I had to hold on to this crazy idea that kisses were supposed to be all romantic and planned.”
Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set Page 7
