Mayhem

by Jamie Shaw

  “Cody,” he says, “but they both suck ass.”

  I laugh, watching them both miss shot after shot until a waitress comes over to ask if we need any drinks. When Mike asks me what I want and tells me it’s all going on the band’s tab, I order a Long Island iced tea, desperately needing a liquid-­induced buffer between me and all the pheromones in the air.

  When a pool table opens up, I grab a stick and call to Shawn, “You ready?”

  He shakes his head, chatting up a girl standing next to him. “I suck! Play Adam!”

  Adam immediately steps away from the cluster of girls to grab a pool stick. Chalking it, he sheepishly says, “I’m really terrible at this game.”

  “You can’t be as bad as Cody and Joel,” I joke.

  “What about you?” he asks, brushing his hair from his eyes. “You any good?”

  “Not really,” I lie.

  “Then we should make this interesting.”

  I hold back a smile. It’s already getting interesting. “What do you have in mind?”

  “If I win, you have to do a body shot with me. Give or take, doesn’t matter.”

  “And if I win?”

  “What do you want?” He busies himself with racking the balls.

  I think about it for a long time, and then a smile curls my lips. “You have to get all the way through chapter seven tomorrow, even if that means studying after the show.”

  “That’s four chapters!”

  I smirk at him. “Take it or leave it.”

  He licks his lips as he thinks about it. “Can I at least break?”

  “Sure,” I say with an easy smile. Breaking or not, he’s going down.

  Adam leans over the table, aiming his shot. A confident grin lifts his eyes to mine. “You’re on.” He hits the cue ball hard and balls scatter all over the table, two immediately tumbling into pockets. His shot was so smooth, I can immediately tell he was lying about not being any good.

  “Rowan!” Shawn laughs as Adam takes his next shot. “He’s totally swindling you! Adam grew up with a pool table.”

  When Adam takes another shot and misses, I step to the cue ball and grin at Shawn. “So did I.” I lean over the table and take my shot, sending my target sailing smoothly into a corner pocket. Everyone watches the red ball roll in, and then the guys immediately break into fits of laughter. Adam looks absolutely dumbstruck as I circle around the table, lining up my next shot and taking that one just as flawlessly.

  “My dad got a pool table when I was eight,” I say, sinking my third ball. “And I’m an only child, so we played together—­a lot.” I smirk up at Adam, who still looks like he thinks he might be dreaming. “Sorry, Adam, but you never stood a chance.”

  I’m sitting at the bar with Adam later when he whines from the stool beside me, “You’re not seriously going to make me study after the show tomorrow, are you?”

  I grin down at my drink, trying to ignore the girl standing behind him massaging his shoulders. She has long pink hair—­pink, for God’s sake—­and she’s wearing a toddler-­sized halter top and a doll-­sized skirt. I’m about to reply, when she circles around him and sits on his lap. “What are you studying for?”

  “French,” he groans.

  “Oooh, I love French,” she says, playing with his hair. I somehow resist the urge to bat her fingers away. “Say something to me in French.”

  Adam thinks about it for a moment, and then with a big smile, he looks up at her and says, “Tu parles trop.”

  I bite back a snicker, raising my fingers to my mouth to keep from spitting my drink out as the girl squeals with delight and asks Adam what he said. He looks at me, the corners of his mouth twitching, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. I can’t very well tell her he said she talks too much, can I? Adam chuckles, and I realize he’s not going to answer her, which makes this situation now incredibly uncomfortable.

  “He said you’re very pretty,” I tell the girl, to fill his silence, and she blushes and plants a kiss on his cheek.

  Adam grins at me. “Tu es une . . .” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “What’s the word for ‘big fat liar’?”

  I laugh as he leans back, and the girl smiles at us, oblivious. “Menteuse,” I tell him.

  “Tu es une menteuse.” He shakes his head and clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Tsk, tsk.”

  I playfully roll my eyes at him and spin back to the bar, ordering another drink. When Shawn comes by to ask me if I’m ready for that game of pool, I follow him to the pool tables at the other side of the room, leaving Adam with a girl on his lap, a cigarette in his hand, and a drink on the counter in front of him.

  Shawn and I weave through the crowd, passing by Joel—­whose blond mohawk makes him easy to spot standing by a pillar, making out with some brunette—­and Driver, who is smoking something that smells especially suspicious. When we get to the open table, which Mike is standing by to hold for us, I pick up a stick and chalk it. “So what changed your mind?” I ask Shawn, wondering why he’s finally decided to play with me.

  “How many drinks have you had?”

  I hold up three fingers, and then I raise my eyes to the wooden ceiling as I think about it, and I slowly lift my pinky finger too. He laughs.

  “That’s why. Maybe I’ll actually stand a chance now.”

  Mike shouts back to us as he walks to the bar, “I wouldn’t count on it!”

  I laugh and nod my thanks to him as he disappears into the crowd. When Shawn finishes racking the balls, he stands back and says, “Alright, your break, Peach.”

  My eyes dart nervously to every face around us, but no one else seems to have heard or noticed. I glare at Shawn and walk over to him to line up my shot. “I’m going to kick your ass for that,” I mutter as I lean over the table.

  He laughs. “You were going to do that anyway.”

  After knocking a ball into a corner pocket on my break, I stand up and grin at him. “True story.”

  I walk to the side of the table closest to the wall to line up my second shot, which means I can see Adam across the room. There’s a new girl already in my seat chatting him up, the old one is still on his lap, and another has her hand on his shoulder. I take my shot and completely botch it, cursing under my breath.

  Shawn laughs. “Okay, or not.”

  As we play, I grow increasingly frustrated, because I am seriously sucking ass. I’m not sure if it’s because of the drinks or because of the sluts, but I can’t concentrate at all. Shawn walks over to stand next to me, staring at Adam, who is whispering in some girl’s ear. “You know, I don’t think he’d be paying any attention to them if you were still over there.”

  It irritates me that he’s observant enough to know what’s throwing me off my game. I scoff and say, “He doesn’t need to babysit me.”

  Shawn gives me a weird look. “That’s not what I meant . . .”

  “Just take your shot, Shawn.”

  He stares at me for a moment longer before shrugging and leaning over the table, sinking a ball in a side pocket.

  I win the game, but I swear it’s because he let me. He probably feels sorry for me. Glancing at Adam, who is currently laughing with his own personal harem of giggling slutbags, I’m suddenly not really feeling this bar. I gaze up at Shawn and Mike, who are chatting in front of me. “I think I’m gonna get out of here.”

  “Aw, come on,” Shawn says. “You weren’t that bad. You wiped the floor with me!”

  I force a smile. “It’s not that. I’m just tired. I can’t keep up with you guys.”

  Mike wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

  Inside the bus, he immediately sits down in front of the TV and grabs a controller from the tangle of wires in the entertainment stand. He asks me if I want to play, but I pass and head upstairs to get ready for bed. I wash my face,
brush my hair, and change into silky pajama pants and a clean tank top. When I walk back to my bunk, which someone has kindly made for me, I stare down at it with dread. I wasn’t lying when I told Shawn I was tired. I feel like I haven’t slept a wink in the past forty-­eight hours, and the long drives in the warm sun and the alcohol-­fueled nights with the band are catching up with me. Another night of Joel’s snoring might very well kill me—­and I definitely won’t be able to pull a marathon tutoring session with Adam tomorrow.

  My eyes drift to the closed door of the back room, and then, with a heavy sigh, I enter it. I move all of my things to a corner of the room and crawl under the black satin covers. The sheets are chilly, which feels amazing against my liquor-­heated skin. I bury my face in a soft plush pillow, which smells deliciously like Adam, and fall asleep wondering if he’s noticed I’ve left yet or not.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’M SLEEPING WHEN I feel the bed shift. The covers lift, and then there’s a weight behind me. It settles close, and I vaguely realize that it’s Adam. It smells like cigarettes and a stronger version of the faded cologne still lingering my pillow. Sleep has almost pulled me back under when I feel something warm press against my shoulder. Something wet.

  Adam kisses my shoulder and traces his tongue up the curve of my neck.

  “Adam,” I say quietly, still not quite awake. The four drinks I had are keeping me in a fog. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” he replies just as quietly, kissing my neck again.

  “We’re friends.”

  His soft fingers trail lightly up my arm, giving me goose bumps all over as he plants soft kisses against my sensitive skin. “Really, really good friends.”

  I giggle and roll away, onto my stomach. With my cheek smushed against the pillow, I gaze over at his gorgeous moonlit face and let out a deep breath. “I like you.”

  He props himself on his elbow and reaches over to brush the heel of his thumb sensually over my lips, freezing me in place. “I like you too,” he says, and then he drops his hand to the pillow before I find the strength to pull away from him.

  I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t stopped touching me just now . . . What would I have done? Probably something stupid. Something really, really stupid. Frowning at him, I say, “Then let’s not ruin things, okay? I don’t want to mess around with you and have to hate you in the morning.” And I mean it. Adam wouldn’t think much of hooking up with me tonight, but I would. And then he’d get over it, and I wouldn’t.

  “I don’t want that either . . .” He stares at me for a long moment. His grayish green eyes are impossible to look away from. “Okay,” he says, leaning down to kiss my shoulder one last time, even more softly than before. And then he rolls away from me. I’m not sure if I just did the right thing, but I know he did.

  “Thank you, Adam.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. There’s still a few hours ‘til sunrise and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to fall asleep now.”

  I chuckle and flip away from him, onto my side. “Sweet dreams.”

  I feel the bed shift as he rolls back toward me. Knowing he’s right behind me is bittersweet torture, but soon, his breathing gets heavy, and eventually, mine does too.

  The next morning, something is tickling my face. I smack it away, almost back asleep when it feathers across my cheek again. I crack one eye open and see Adam’s smiling face right in front of mine. His lips are stretched excitedly over his pearly teeth, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He’s crouched next to my side of the bed, looking freshly shaved and showered, his hair still damp. He smells like expensive body wash and a morning cigarette, and I bury my face in the pillow to hide the smile threatening to reveal how girly he makes me feel.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  When my cheeks are under control, I turn back to him. “Good morning.”

  “You ready?”

  “Ready for what?” I ask, hoping the answer doesn’t have anything to do with what he started last night.

  Adam stands up to sit on the edge of the bed, practically on top of me. The covers pull tight against my body, and he rests his arm on the opposite side of me. “Studying!”

  “Seriously?” I groan. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get started!” When I give him a look, he laughs and says, “It’s eight.”

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping in until . . . I don’t know, noon or something?” Shawn made it sound like Adam was a late-­riser, and after Adam threatened to punch me in my nonexistent dick for waking him up yesterday, I’m more than a little surprised to see him up so early.

  “Yes, I really should.” He shifts, his hand moving closer, squeezing my hips between his arm and the rest of him. “But there’s no way you’re going to get me to study after the show. No offense, but . . . it’s just not going to happen. So you had better tutor the hell out of me while you have the chance.”

  At least he’s being proactive. “Can I at least take a shower?”

  “Make it quick,” he says, echoing my sentiment to him yesterday morning. He winks at me. “We have four chapters to get through.”

  Adam and I are the only two ­people awake, so when I enter the hallway, I try to be as quiet as possible. I tiptoe between the bunks, but Adam makes an intentional racket, smacking at arms and legs that are hanging out of covers. He hops in bed with Shawn, snuggling his arm around him and saying “Oh SHAWN!” in a girl’s voice. I giggle at them as I quicken my step to get to the shower before all hell breaks loose. Is it possible to beat someone to death with pillows and blankets? Because I’m pretty sure Adam is about to find out . . .

  When I step into the shower, the bathroom is still hot with steam and the scent of Adam’s body wash is still permeating the air. It smells like midnight—­like loud music, hazy vision, and laser lights. Showering in here with him all around me feels kind of strange and . . . intimate. Brady’s body wash never flooded the room like Adam’s does.

  I wash up quickly and dress in red leggings, a long black top, and my black sandals. Then I put on a little makeup—­not too much—­before sliding my glasses on. I’m pulling my wet hair up into a messy bun when I walk from the bathroom and spot Adam and Shawn sitting at one of the bench-­seat tables. Shawn is sipping a coffee, scrolling through his phone, and Adam is scribbling in a pocket-­sized notebook that I’ve seen him jotting in a few times throughout the trip. When he hears me, his eyes lift and he smiles. “That was not quick.”

  “That was so quick!” I argue.

  “I don’t know,” Shawn teases. “Adam is kind of an authority on quick.”

  Adam doesn’t miss a beat. “Did your mom tell you that?”

  “Oooh!” I say, sitting down next to Adam and smiling widely at Shawn, who laughs and shakes his head at us as he goes back to scrolling through his phone.

  I grab our French textbook from the table and slide it in front of me, asking Adam if he remembers what page we stopped on, but then his hand is commandeering the book and pulling it back his way. “Not here,” he says.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re going out.”

  O . . . kay. “Where to?”

  Adam stands up, looking down at me. “Not sure yet.” He starts walking toward the door to the bus, and I glance at Shawn, who is texting with one hand and sipping his coffee with the other. His short black hair is a mess, and it looks like he slept in the same clothes he wore last night and hasn’t bothered changing into clean ones yet.

  “You coming?” I ask him.

  He looks from me to Adam and shakes his head. “Nope.” When his eyes fall back to me, he gives me a wink that Adam doesn’t see, and I know it was meant for Peach. With a quirky grin on his face, he tells me to have fun, and then he goes back to doing whatever it is he’s doing.

  I follow Adam off the bus and to his car. “So seriously, where are we going?” />
  He shrugs. “I seriously don’t know.”

  I climb into the passenger seat a second before the engine roars to life. Adam’s arm stretches behind my headrest as he backs out of the spot, and then we’re pulling onto the main drag through town. “How are we supposed to get where we’re going if you have no idea where you want to go?”

  He chuckles and randomly turns right. “We’ll manage. Stop worrying.”

  “Well, what are we trying to find?”

  “Some place to have breakfast. Some place . . . Frenchy.”

  I have to laugh at that. “Frenchy?”

  Adam grins at me, the strong breeze blowing strands of hair across his face. “Yeah. I need some inspiration if we’re going to knock that many chapters out.”

  I spot a bistro up the street to our left and point it out. “What about that place?” It’s a small brick building with a green-­and-­white striped awning and two tiny tables set up out front.

  Adam’s gaze travels the direction of my finger, and then he shakes his head. “That looks Italian.” He turns left.

  “French places probably aren’t even open this early.”

  “Then we’re going to be driving a long time.” He turns up the radio just loud enough so we can hear it, not bothering to plug his phone in, and starts scanning through the stations.

  Since it doesn’t look or sound like he’s joking, I open our textbook and start quizzing him as we drive. By the time he pulls into a parking lot and coasts into an open spot, we’re nearly finished with the first chapter.

  I look up and immediately start laughing. “IHOP?”

  Adam leans back in the seat. “Do they or do they not have French toast?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “They have the best French toast ever.”

  “Then it’s settled.” He shuts the car off, and we both get out.