by A. E. Murphy
“Fuck no, she’s not.”
A sadness seeps from them both, so I leave them to it and practice my dance by myself. This isn’t for me to situate myself into.
“She’s not coming home this time.”
My heart aches for him, despite the fact we don’t like each other, I know what it’s like to lose a mother. Though mine was never a good one whereas his probably is.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I say to him when they both take their places. I wonder how he can dance with a face so painfully swollen. It must be throbbing.
“You don’t know shit about anything,” he retorts aggressively, “I don’t want your pity.”
Normally I’d come back with something nasty or cruel. I’d use his mom against him, his sister, his dad… I’d do something to make him shake with anger. But I don’t feel like it. I don’t want to poke the bear because I’ve been where he’s at. I recognize that madness in his eyes. It’s the hidden desperation of a kid just wanting a normal, happy life.
It’s the most frustrating thing in the world, wanting something you know you can never have, watching other people have it and take it for granted.
“And I’m sorry I hit you the other day,” I add softly, keeping my voice and words kind. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
His façade falters for a second but then the angry mask slips back into place and he shakes his head.
“I’ll go get you an ice pack.”
“I can do it myself,” he grunts and Carter follows him out of the studio, looking back at me once with a sadness of his own.
“Guess it’s just you and me,” Hammond sighs, coming to stand beside me. “Let’s work on more of the routine together, we can show it to them tomorrow.”
Great.
“Why do you get all the hot guys?” Alice asks through the shower curtain as I wash myself.
“Huh?” I ask, rubbing my body with shower gel. “What hot guys?”
“Carter and Presley, mostly Carter though… no, Presley… no, Carter… fuck, they’re both so dreamy. And now Mr. Hammond is giving you private dance lessons, rubbing himself all up on your body.”
“You can have any of them. Please. Take them all.”
“Are you implying they’d all fit at once? Because we both know out of the two of us who is the loooosey gooooosey.”
“You astound me with your weirdness.” I laugh and it echoes off the walls.
We stop when we hear the sound of other girls coming into the locker rooms.
“Pass me my clothes, Alice,” I hiss.
“What the fuck do you pack of hairless rats want?” Alice asks, no small amount of vehemence in her tone.
“Looky here, I thought I smelled a couple of lems,” Asher calls over the sound of the shower.
I quickly rinse myself off.
“Step aside, brace face.”
“Not a fucking chance,” Alice replies and I quickly wrap my towel around my dripping body.
“Clothes, Alice,” I hiss.
I fucking hate school.
“Give those back now, you skanky-ass bitch,” Alice yells and the girls who accompanied Asher start laughing. I hear my bag being tossed around between them.
“Nah, I think I’ll keep them.”
I step out of the shower with nothing but my plush white towel wrapped around my body lengthwise. It’s secure for now but not so secure that I can start scrapping and not have to worry about being naked.
“You know…” I glare at Asher. “You think you’re getting one back by being this much of a bitch, but trust this, I am twice as smart as you, twice as strong as you, twice sexier than you, and ten times more devious.” I step towards her and the three girls around her. “You’re brave and bold now in your little clique, but you won’t always have them.”
“Exactly,” Alice replies, her eyes blazing. “Give her back her shit.”
“We’ll call a truce.”
Asher laughs like I’m hilarious. “Bitch, please, I could put your lily-white ass down with both hands tied behind my back.” The others grin, loving the altercation and drama. One pulls her phone out.
“Fine,” I relent, smiling softly. “Let’s go, Alice.”
“What?” Alice asks, blinking. “You want to leave here in a towel?”
“Yep. Let’s go home, get me something to wear, come back here and see if she can really put me on my ass with both hands tied behind her back.”
The girls stop laughing and Asher’s smile fades.
“Or you could give me my clothes now,” I say with a shrug, “and we could have this out here. Or are you too chicken?”
“Bock bock,” Alice jests and this time it’s us who laugh.
“I’m not scared of you,” Asher says, glancing sideways at her girls but her bravado is fading.
“Come on, Ash, we both know I did two years inside; you really think I haven’t taken on scarier girls than you?”
She opens and closes her mouth, struggling to find a retort.
“Or… you can stop conforming to society and how it perceives women, you can give me back my clothes and maybe we can start again? Who knows? We might actually become friends.”
Nervously laughing, she flips her black hair over her shoulder. “You really think I want to be friends with you?”
“I think so, yeah. I think you’d rather be my friend than my enemy.”
“You fucked up my relationship.”
“No, sweetie,” Alice puts in, her tone patronizing and I fucking love it. “You fucked up your relationship. On a desk. In school. With a guy nowhere near as hot as Melvin, nor smart.”
We tap our forefingers together and sizzle, because we are one now.
“Your choice, pick one of three. One, get your ass beat later. Two, get your ass beat now, I’ll do that shit naked, I don’t care. Three, start again, let’s be friends without the slut shaming and the hate.”
She lets out a noise that I think was supposed to be a laugh but turned into a choke. She side-eyes the girls again and they are all waiting for her to make a move.
“They aren’t looking for blood either, Asher. They’re here because they think they should be.”
“Don’t speak for me,” one of them snaps, blinking so rapidly it kind of creeps me out.
“Make your choice, Asher,” I insist, ignoring Blinky, and comb my fingers through my damp hair ends. I tried to not get it wet but it’s difficult. I pull it back up into a twist as Asher takes her sweet time deciding what to do here.
“Do you bitch if your friend takes too long in a store?” she asks randomly and her friends’ heads all turn so suddenly both Alice and I jolt back. Bunch of fucked-up owly teens. That was creepy as hell.
“Never been to the mall with a friend to know for sure.”
“I bitch,” Alice says, raising her hand. “I mean… I sit and tell a girl she’s hot… but I bitch. If I’m not doing the trying, I’m doing the crying.”
Asher throws my bag back to me. “Fine. Option three. Friends. You’re right. I’m constantly bitching about how women aren’t taken seriously, and causing shit with a sister because of a bunch of boys isn’t doing us any favors.”
“You’re kidding,” the blinky one asks but all the others seem relieved. “You’re not going to kick her naked ass?”
“Nope.” Asher grins like she wasn’t just seething moments ago. “We’re all friends here now. A much better ending.”
“I can’t decide if she’s saying this because she’s terrified of you, or if she actually just had an epiphany that changed her views in a second,” Alice mumbles through the corner of her mouth.
“I can hear you,” Asher states.
Alice shakes her head. “No you can’t.”
I laugh and dig my clothes out of my bag. “I’m getting dressed.”
Asher nods and turns on her heel. Her friends follow, but when we exit the locker room, she’s alone on our way out.
“So, mall? I still haven’t found my dre
ss for the Christmas dance.” She pulls out her phone and shows me the kind of thing she’s looking for, except it’s a collage of six different dress styles.
“And then there were three,” Alice declares and links her arms through mine and Asher’s. “Isn’t this exciting?” She stops us all and looks at our new black-haired friend. “Just so you know, I’m her number one best friend, okay? Don’t be trying to take that spot.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper and she continues dragging us along, through the crowded hall of students who have no fucking idea what is going on.
“SCANDAL!” Lane’s voice carries loudly up the stairs where I’m sitting on the soft fur rug in my room, leaning on Curlyfry while reading a magazine that Asher insisted I read.
“YEAH?” I call back.
“Your friend is here!”
Friend? I’m not expecting anyone.
I stand, stretch, place the magazine on my bed, and exit my room wearing nothing but fleece, waist-high hot pants and a matching hooded sweater. They’re pajamas that Asher insisted I needed at the mall and they are so comfy. She bought them for me as an apology for everything. They say candy apple on the ass. I’m not sure Stanley and Lane will approve.
Alice still thinks I terrified her. I’m not so sure. I think she just needed somebody to call her out on her shit.
“Who is it?” I ask, quietly racing down the stairs while twisting my hair into a messy knot atop my head.
My jaw hits the floor when I see Carter standing in the hall, thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets, hair mussed and pushed to the side.
I fiddle with my lip ring with my tongue, unable to form words.
“Thank you, Mrs. Oaks,” he says to Lane and then smiles at me but I can see it’s forced. His eyes trail down my body and my bare legs, to my fluffy sock-clad feet. “Can I have a word, Scandal?”
Lane looks between us both, trying to stifle her smile, and heads into the kitchen. I pull Carter into the den with my hand gripping his arm.
“Nice PJs,” he comments, smirking now, eyes glued to my ass.
“Shut up.” I drop his arm and turn to face him with my hands on my hips. “What do you want?”
“Those shorts you’re wearing in my mouth.”
My belly flutters but I don’t show it. “Seriously? Do you want Stanley to get his shotgun out?”
His smirk becomes a smile. “I’m just kidding, Scandal. Don’t be such a priss.” He moves to the mantlepiece and looks at the photos of Lane and Stanley and their family. “I actually came to see if we can practice that dance out of school.”
“Why?”
“Because I actually want to win this thing and I don’t think Presley is going to be doing it with us.”
“He’s dropping out?”
“He doesn’t have a choice. His mom is sick and his dad just lost his job. He’s got no way to pay for this school’s tuition fees, let alone college on top of his mother’s medical bills. Somebody has to look after his kid sister and his dad is a—” He stops talking and let’s his head hang between his arms as he grips the mantel. “It’s not my place to say. I just want to know if you’d still consider dancing with me without Presley.”
“Will you be nicer?”
“Got no reason to be rude anymore,” he mutters, turning to face me again. His face is so perfect. “Will you or not?”
I nod. “Fine. I guess there are worse dance partners in the world.”
“That’s the exact same thing I said to myself before biking over here.” He nods for me to follow. “You coming?”
“Right now?”
“It’s only eight. Let’s go.”
“I need to get dressed.”
“Just slip on your shoes, you look fine.” He marches from the room in large strides and waits by the front door.
“I’ll be back soon,” I call to Lane, and then Stanley appears in the doorway to the kitchen, thundering eyes on Carter who immediately goes to shake his hand. Stanley stares at it, and then at him, an intimidating beast of a man.
I pull on my jacket and tug my black boots over my fluffy socks.
“I’ll have her back by eleven,” Carter says, looking only slightly intimidated.
I pat Stanley on the chest and I laugh when he hands me my mace spray which I tuck into the front pocket of his shirt. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ten,” Stanley snaps looking me up and down. He doesn’t know I’m in my pajamas because of my jacket. I imagine he’d tell me to get dressed otherwise.
“Ten thirty,” Carter haggles and I can’t believe he did that. Neither can Stanley whose thundering gaze only gets scarier. “Okay, ten. I promise.”
Stanley nods and I tense when he tugs on my twisted hair and utters a gruff, “Stay out of trouble, kid.”
Carter leads me from the house and to his bike.
“When you said bike, I thought you meant a motorbike. Where’s your car?” I look at the bicycle and press my lips together.
“Funnily enough, it’s in Stanley’s body shop for a tune up and new tires.”
“Right,” I breathe and continue staring at the matte black frame. “I don’t have one, so I can’t ride with you.”
“That’s fine, you can hop on the handlebars.”
“What?”
He grins and swings his leg over the seat. “I need the exercise; the extra weight will help. Get on, you can trust me.”
“If we crash or fall, I will kill you.” I have no idea how to do this.
Somehow, with his help, I maneuver my ass onto the bar of the handles and hold tight with a panicked squeak. He laughs and starts to move along the bumpy driveway, kicking the ground first for speed.
We start off a bit wobbly, but when he gains pace, we level out and I start to breathe again.
“This is insane,” I yell, cheering with glee when we go downhill. My cheer becomes a scream and his laughter gets louder in my ear. My back presses against his chest and between his strong arms as his legs pedal and push us onwards. The wind whips across my face, making my eyes water, and his smooth cheek rests against my own. It’s the only way he can see where he’s going.
His breath comes out in sharp blasts, it’s minty and sweet. Like he’s been chewing gum or Mentos.
“This is fun,” I call out, “but it’s starting to bruise my butt. Are we nearly there?”
“Nearly,” he takes a sharp turn down a secluded road and my heart starts to race.
“Wait,” I say and he slows slightly. “Where are we going?”
“To my place,” he answers, smiling against my cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I have a studio in our old barn. Hasn’t had livestock since my granddaddy’s last cow Betsy made her way to his dinner table. My pa went into computers, so we had no need for it.”
“That’s so sad. Poor Betsy.”
He chuckles in my ear and we finally come to a clearing where a large A-frame house sits in the middle of a vast expanse, lit up like the Fourth of July.
“Are you going to introduce me to your family?”
“They’re not in. They just leave the lights on in case of burglars.”
“That’s smart,” I admit as he bikes towards a dark barn.
We get off the bike, scale the fence, though he leaves his bike on the other side. Then we pull open the large doors and he flicks on the light. He was right when he said this is a basic dance studio now. The barn walls are like any typical wooden barn, but the place is well lit, there are large mirrors on the left and right side, and the floor is solid but padded with blue like the one in school. There’s a mini fridge, too, full of water I soon learn when he twists the cap off a bottle and drains half of it in a few gulps.
“Fuck, that was a rush,” he breathes, pouring the rest of the water over his face and shoulders.
Then he starts to strip, removing his jeans and shirt so he’s only in his boxer briefs and wife-beater. “I can’t train in denim and I can’t be bothered to go and get my joggers.”
“Di
d you not consider that before coming for me?” I murmur, but truth be told, he is really nice to look at. Alice was right when she said his dick is huge. Just his bulge is intimidating. I wonder what it’s like hard. Then I shake that thought loose and think of other things.
“I wasn’t home when I decided to come for you, I was with Presley.” He yanks on my collar. “Take off your jacket.”
I do as I’m told and drop it by his clothes.
He stretches, bending forward until his face touches his shins. He’s so flexible, like me, maybe even more so. It’s incredibly sexy and surprisingly a lot more masculine than people usually think. The strength of his body is evident in every groove of every muscle that’s visible, and trust me when I say all of his muscles are visible and defined.
I kick off my boots and sit on the ground. He presses his feet against the space below my ankles and spreads our legs.
I glare at him when he leans to the side to try and see past the apex of my shorts.
“Don’t be a dick.”
Chuckling, he grabs my hands and pulls me forward as he leans back, until my chest is touching the mat. I do the same for him after placing my feet against his shins and then try not to think about his head being so close to my crotch.
“No time like the present.” He climbs to his feet and offers me a hand, then connects his phone to a small Bluetooth speaker on top of the dusty, white mini fridge. He mutters a curse under his breath when it doesn’t immediately connect and goes over to fiddle with it while I practice my turns in the mirror.
I keep going until he fixes the music and stands behind me, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“You’re going to die from heat in this fleece,” he says quietly and smooths his hands over the fabric covering me to my wrists. “Are you wearing anything under it?”
“My sports bra,” I reply meekly, suddenly feeling way too hot under this material.
“So it’s basically the same thing you wore to dance this morning, without the sheer top over it?”
I nod and jerk back when he reaches for the bottom of it.
“Relax.” His tone is so soft and comforting. When he reaches for the hem of my pajama top again, I let him peel it over my head.
