by C. M. Owens
“I’m curious; I’m just not ready to know, because I know it’s not going to be a good story. It could be decades before I’m ready. I’m in no hurry because it’s not affecting my life,” she says with zero emotion.
I could kill Sticks for making the topic so heavy, and for leaving Britt shifting uncomfortably.
“So, can we get a preview of the new song Sticks said you guys have been rehearsing?” Krysta asks, finally shifting the topic to something we can actually communicate.
Taylor snorts. “He doesn’t let anyone get a preview. We barely get a preview before we’re expected to play it—and kill it—the first time on stage.”
“I’ve been trying to read the music,” Britt says suddenly, causing me to grin.
“You can read music?” I ask, surprised.
“I have the notes memorized, but unless you can actually play, reading music is not as simple as memorizing notes. And my playing abilities are definitely lacking.”
“You’re self-teaching yourself music?” Krysta asks, leaning forward.
“Attempting to. I was curious about what all the notes scribbled on the walls actually are.”
“You don’t even play the songs for her?” Krysta asks me, as though I’ve committed some sort of cardinal sin.
I shift in my seat. Considering Britt’s the only person I’ve seen in a club who didn’t hear us at all while we were playing, I’m clearly not in any sort of hurry to play these songs—that I fucking love—in front of her.
“Britt’s not impressed with our playing. She tunes us out,” Sticks says, smirking over at me.
Britt’s head snaps toward me. “That’s why?”
Fortunately, Taylor is stopping for gas, so I don’t have to answer that aloud. Kissing the top of her head, I hop out, thankful to be stretching my legs already.
Sticks catches up to me, and I immediately ask, “What the hell was that back there?”
He groans as he runs a hand through his hair. “You said to make her feel more comfortable. I went for the obvious bonding mechanism…kindred spirits and all that. It was all the standard questions most people like us exchange. It’s usually more casual than that, man.”
I glance back at Britt as she smiles and talks to Krysta, though the smile is an easy one and not too forced.
He scratches his head, trying not to laugh, before saying, “We used to be better at this.”
Chapter 25
BRITT
“So what’s the deal with you two?” Krysta asks quietly as the guys laugh and start turning the back of the van into sleeping quarters for all of us. “And why can’t we get a hotel room instead of parking in a camp ground?” she goes on, whispering that part even quieter.
I’ve already started a fire, and now I’m slowly building it up. It’s almost like the concept of comfort food. Camping, that is.
“I’m not really sure what is going on with Base and I,” I tell her honestly. “They don’t like to spend money on hotel rooms when they’re trying not to live above their means and have other expenses they find more important.”
“I could pay for a hotel room,” she argues. “And are you okay with no label?”
Carrying on two conversations at once, I answer, “Camping is more efficient. I don’t want a label. I’m not ready for that.”
Leaning back against one of the logs I’ve rolled over, I take a seat beside her.
“But you think you’re ready for sex?” she muses.
Women always bond over sex. I grin, since I assume she’s making an attempt to do that by bringing this conversation up.
“Yes. I also think he’s finally warmed to the idea of being my first.”
She studies me with an indecipherable expression. “Okay then.”
“What’re you two girls talking about?” Randy asks in a mock feminine voice as he walks toward us.
“Nothing,” Krysta says, at the same time I answer, “Sex.”
His smile grows, and Krysta snorts out a laugh. “I forgot how honest you are,” she tells me.
Randy shrugs before saying, “Well, buckle up. You’re about to see something done by no man before—”
“Just because you’re the only one in our group stupid enough to do this on the regular, doesn’t mean no one else isn’t just as stupid,” Base quips as he comes to drop beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him on the ground as his arm goes around my shoulders. “Nice fire, by the way,” he adds, grinning over at me.
“I camped a lot when I finally figured out the proper way to run away,” I explain, causing his grip to tighten.
Before I can examine his reaction, Randy says, “Brave enough. Not stupid.”
I’m curious about the details of this argument, since it’s one I’ve heard a variety of scenarios about on numerous occasions. Bravery versus stupidity, that is.
Krysta’s eyes flick to Base’s hand as he starts toying with some small pieces of my hair, and she gives me a smile before returning her attention to the others.
I relax against him, feeling comforted by the outdoors around us.
Randy starts tearing into a pack of fireworks, intriguing me, since there’s something brave he’s supposed to be attempting.
“Shooting fireworks is brave?” Krysta asks him.
“No,” Randy snorts. “Shooting fireworks is for pussies.”
I glance down at my pussy, then up at him. Clearly that’s the term he prefers to use, but I have no idea what it has to do with fireworks.
“Shooting fireworks is in no way affiliated with a vagina,” I decide to point out, causing Sticks to snort and turn around as Randy gives me a look...
“Are you by chance constipated?” I ask him.
“No…just confused,” he replies in a slow, drawn out way.
Base’s body shakes with silent laughter, and he buries his face against my neck like he’s hiding. But…that is very distracting, because his lips innocently brush the column of my throat and somehow still manage to set my body on fire.
Metaphorically, of course. Yet another saying I finally understand since meeting him.
“Prepare yourselves,” Randy announces, before he…drops his pants.
Krysta shrieks and looks away, and I tilt my head, wondering why he’s putting his penis on display. What am I missing?
“For fuck’s sake, dude, you forgot boxers again,” Taylor groans, causing Base’s head to snap away from my throat as he glares at Randy’s flaccid penis.
“Shit,” Randy says, covering his penis as he shuffles his feet and turns his bare ass on us instead.
I’ve learned ass is widely more preferred over buttocks.
“Are you cold?” I ask Randy, given how very small his penis seemed, causing Base to make a strangled sound as a bit of laughter slips out.
Taylor and Sticks both double over, heaving out laughter. When I deliberately attempt to make jokes, no one ever laughs. Mostly they get constipated. Or confused.
One day I’ll master that.
“You are so giving me a complex, Red,” Randy shouts, shaking his head as he waddles around with his pants at his ankles and starts lowering himself to the ground. “I’m a grower, not a shower.”
“Don’t ask,” Krysta says when I open my mouth to do just that.
As he gets situated on the ground, pants still trapping his ankles together, he hoots into the air like someone who is very excited. Though…I’m still trying to understand what’s going on.
“Please don’t tell me he’s about to do what I think he is,” Krysta says.
“What’s he about to do?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“He’s definitely going to,” Base tells her, drawing me even closer.
“Load me up and let’s do it!” Randy shouts from the ground.
“Do what exactly?” I ask louder, wondering if my volume is the reason I continue to go unanswered.
“Paper, rock, scissors,” Sticks says to Base, which makes zero sense. “Get up here.”
&
nbsp; “My hands are touching Britt, and I’m not going to go the rest of the night without touching her. So I’m out this time. I call hall pass,” Base answers dismissively.
“This is utterly confusing. I’m not constipated,” I point out to them, wondering if maybe they’re not reading my expression right for a change.
Groaning—at Base—Sticks turns to Taylor, and the two of them, in synchronized unison, shake their fists twice. On the third shake, Taylor’s hand flattens and Sticks puts out two fingers.
I’ve seen this before…
I’ve never understood why it played a part in decision making.
I also don’t understand what decision they’re currently making.
“Snip, snip, motherfucker,” Sticks says with a broad smile as Taylor curses and stares at Randy’s ass like it might bite.
“Are they going to have sex in front of us?” I finally ask. “Because I feel like this is something I should video for the girls if they’re okay with public exhibition.”
Base laughs. Hard. And Sticks does as well.
Krysta snickers. Taylor gives me a dry look before he rolls his eyes and catches a Roman Candle that Sticks tosses him.
My eyes dart between the Roman Candle and Randy’s ass, but the math just doesn’t add up. Surely they’re not going to—
“I really fucking hate your traditions,” Taylor says to Randy as he kneels and spreads Randy’s ass cheeks with a grimace on his face.
I watch, wondering what exactly is about to happen, because I’m fairly sure he’s about to have a foreign object inserted into his anus, and they are acting as though this is an annoying, yet completely normal task. I’m unnervingly alarmed by how riveted the entire situation has left me.
Krysta chokes back a laugh when Taylor quickly places the Roman Candle inside Randy’s butt cheeks and—
“Too close to the exit hole!” Randy squeals, confusing me.
Taylor groans, nose wrinkling as he adjusts the firework, and Randy’s ass clenches, holding the stick steady as Taylor lets go and walks over to Krysta with his hands out. She squirts hand sanitizer on his hands like she received an unspoken request.
I envy how easily she adapts to confusing situations. And envy is not something I like to experience.
“Five or ten shots?” Base asks as Sticks starts flicking a lighter near the firework.
My eyes widen with realization just as Randy answers, “Five.”
The fuse sizzles when it catches fire, and Sticks jogs over to us as I watch with rapt attention.
A little whoosh happens just as the first ball of light bursts from the stick wedged in Randy’s ass, and it explodes in the air, crackling and sparking. A grin spreads over my lips when the second one happens and Randy howls in excitement.
Base chuckles, and I ask, “What’s the purpose of this?”
Another little burst of light crackles in the sky. Number three.
“We haven’t figured it out yet,” Base answers absently as number four shoots out and goes much higher than the other three before it.
As the last one darts out and crackles, Randy hoots loudly and relaxes his ass. The spent tube drops to the ground, though it’s still between his cheeks. Just as he starts to reach back and remove it, laughing like something great has happened, a sixth shot bursts out unexpectedly.
“Shit!” Randy shrieks as the shot fires into his pants at his ankles and ricochets back, slapping into his testicles.
“Fuck!” Taylor shouts, diving just as Randy leaps up, shouting, “My balls! My balls!”
Randy has his ass clenched again as he slaps at his balls, which are smoking.
As Randy screams and dances with his pants still trapping his ankles, a seventh shot fires from the tube and hits the ground. It bounces and ricochets, then charts a straight path directly toward my face.
No sound leaves my lips before I’m tackled to the ground, Base coming down on top of me as number eight fires in the background. Someone shouts for him to get it out of his ass, and someone else shouts for him to sit down.
“I’m not fucking sitting!” he shouts just as number nine fires and bounces across the ground again, this time skittering into the very wet woods.
It’s probably for the best that there was a heavy rainfall yesterday.
The tube finally drops from Randy’s butt cheeks, and he falls onto the ground when his ankle-tangling pants finally take him down. Shot number ten fires, and the tube—no longer held stable by Randy’s ass’s iron grip—is launched back. It slams into Randy’s balls as the tenth shot explodes against the side of the van and rains crackling little sparks on everyone before dissipating into smoke.
As Randy sobs and holds his abused groin, the rest of the camp goes quiet in the absence of randomly exploding fireworks.
“For fuck’s sake, Randy!” Base shouts, lifting off me and helping me to my feet. I’m still a little dazed by the madness, if I’m being honest. “You said five shots!”
“It was,” Randy groans from the ground.
Sticks grabs the open pack of Roman Candles, and he glares over at Randy. “It’s a five pack, you moron,” Sticks growls. “Which means five fucking candles. It clearly states there are ten shots each.”
“Now you tell me,” Randy whimpers as he finally starts trying to pull his pants up.
“I think he’s been punished enough,” Krysta says, seeming to struggle to control her facial features as her lips smile and go straight multiple times in a row.
“Dammit! It left a fucking mark!” Taylor shouts, staring at his van in horror.
I can’t see anything wrong with just the firelight illuminating it from a distance.
“Yeah, well, it left a mark on my fucking balls too, you insensitive prick!” Randy shouts.
Base shakes his head, looking furious at some points and looking as though he’s restraining a laugh at others, while he guides me toward the back of the van.
Taylor runs a hand through his hair, cursing as he goes toward Randy, still griping at him for his inability to properly read firework instructions.
“Get changed and we’ll call it a night,” Base says to me, kissing the top of my head before he walks off.
I’m not particularly tired anymore, considering the fact my adrenaline is working through my veins. I could jog, and I don’t even like jogging.
I have energy for sex, but nowhere to have sex and no way of successfully seducing him.
After I’m finished changing, I open the door, and Base climbs in, shutting the door behind him, grinning as he gently pushes me down to the pallets on the floor of the van.
Okay then. That was easy enough for once.
His lips find mine before I can even ask what he’s doing, and then I decide I don’t care what he’s doing as long as he keeps doing it.
Just as my fingers tangle in his hair and he gets settled comfortably between my legs, the van doors open, and he groans against my lips.
“You can’t take her virginity on the floor of the van,” Taylor states in an emotionless tone as the van jostles and he’s suddenly coming in beside us.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Base says as though he’s frustrated.
Well…now I’m confused. Hopefully, people will misinterpret it for constipation.
He moves off me, rolling to the side, and tugs me up against him as close as I can physically get without crawling on top of him. I don’t smile, but it’s because I’m actively trying not to smile.
“How are we all going to sleep back here?” I hear Krysta asking as she climbs in and moves toward the top.
“We’ve done it with more people than this,” Sticks answers as he climbs in as well.
With people lying in carefully placed positions, and me mostly pressed against Base, everyone manages to get uncomfortably crammed in. I’m not sure the quality of sleep will be great, but I’ve slept in tighter spaces than this.
Randy is the last to climb in, hobbling and hissing out pained breaths when he s
truggles to crawl to a spot.
Krysta suddenly groans. “I’m lying here, trying to go to sleep while wedged between two guys I barely know—”
“Sounds like a good start to a cheesy porno,” Sticks says suddenly.
A snort follows that from Base as his chest vibrates with suppressed laughter.
“Anyway, and I keep smelling burnt hair. I hate that smell,” she states like it needs to be said. “Especially when I know it’s burnt ball hair.”
A whimper sounds seconds before all the guys burst out laughing.
“I bet none of you fuckers would be laughing if it was your singed ball hair that was stinking up the van,” Randy grumbles.
“I’m so glad you guys took me seriously when I said I’d like to keep it classy this weekend,” Base says, even though he’s saying it through a laugh.
More laughter follows that, and I just grin against Base’s shirt that is stretched across his chest. His arm is pillowing my head, and despite the fact I’m not all that sleepy, I drift off to ball-hair, flaming-balls, and ball-busting jokes.
Chapter 26
BASE
“So…Britt Sterling. That’s one of those fancy Sterling Shore names, isn’t it?” my mother asks Britt the second Britt gets seated in the kitchen.
Britt just nods, and I shoot my mother an incredulous, what-the-fuck look. Hell, I’ve barely just made introductions.
“I like your house,” Britt states as she looks around.
“Subtle,” Mom snorts with some serious attitude.
“Sorry, did you suffer a concussion or something before we got here?” I ask her, genuinely worried, as Britt opens her mouth and closes it again.
Krysta shifts beside Britt at the table, having just sat down as well. She makes a silent whistle as she looks around the room.
“Very nice,” Krysta chimes in. “Decorate it yourself?”
“You say you won’t get sucked into Tag’s world and all the pressure that sort of goal would put on you, and you bring home two Sterlings who expect the moon. Which one are you dating? Is it the blonde? You know that’s not her natural color, right?” Mom asks, pointing a deliberate finger at Krysta.
