Amped

by Teagan Kade

I roll my own and pick up the tumbler. I haven’t had a Jack and Coke since I was back in college, haven’t had drunk sex since those halcyon days either. Something tells me sex with Deacon is always great regardless of his state of inebriation—dirty, rough, primal pounding. My core tightens with the thought. Careful now, Lux. You’ll wet more than your panties thinking like that.

  The funny thing is, the Deacon I’ve come to know is so far removed from the asshole surfer I first encountered at Shipstern Bluff when I arrived. He thinks, he feels. He fucks.

  God, I shouldn’t be thinking this way at all, and guys like Deacon? You can dress them up and comb their hair all you want, but that’s never going to stop them being bad. Trouble’s in their DNA.

  The bus driver enters and cups his hands around his mouth, announcing the bus is back in order. There’s a boisterous cheer from the football players. They head out in a pack cheering and singing, no doubt the entire town of Finke awake by now.

  I look down at my watch. Midnight on the dot.

  Another glass smashes. I flinch.

  I look around. The place is trashed.

  Deacon grabs a broom from under the counter. “Come on.”

  It’s certainly easier with two people. Before long the place is looking good as new save for the sweat-and-beer odor that seems to permeate every surface.

  Deacon locks the front door and sits up on the bar, patting the spot next to himself.

  I jump up, legs kicking in the open air, hands gripping the edge of the bar. “Quite a night.”

  He swings himself backwards and runs his finger along the kaleidoscope of bottles at the rear of the bar. “What’s your poison? Sex on the beach? Fuzzy fuck shot? Blow job? Pink Wink? Kiss On The Lips?”

  I choke, coughing. “Excuse me?”

  “Cocktails. What’s your fancy, or do you prefer something a little more bespoke for that refined palate of yours?”

  “It’s midnight, I’m exhausted and you want to make me a cocktail?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  I’m too tired to argue. Thanks to training my arms feel like they’re lead, my legs just wrecking balls swinging back and forth. “Fine. Surprise me.”

  I bring a leg underneath myself on the top of the bar and watch him work. I think he was downplaying the fact he used to bartend. The guy’s Tom Cruise in Cocktail, flaring bottles, tossing them behind his back and up in the air.

  He turns, holding a shot glass out.

  I take it, holding it up to the light. “And what, do tell, is this called?”

  He leans against the back of the bar with arms crossed, biceps thick, his shirt struggling to contain their girth. “Dick in the dirt.”

  “Charming.”

  “Bacardi, Schnapps, Jager, Turkey and grenadine. It’ll put hair on your chest, that’s for sure.”

  “Can’t say you’re making it any more appealing.”

  “Just take the damn shot, will you.”

  I kick the shot back and slam the glass down, coughing and spluttering. “Whoa. Quite a kick.”

  He finishes pouring another, handing it over. “A wet pussy, to wash it down.”

  I’m shaking my head as I take it off his hand. “You’re not going to join me?”

  He picks up a similarly colored shot of his own, clinking it against my glass. “To first times.”

  I laugh. “To first times.”

  The ‘wet pussy’ is a little more manageable, but by the time we’ve worked our way through a G-spot and Junk in Da Trunk, I’m well on my way to full drunk, tipsy in the extreme.

  We both stand facing each other behind the bar, the lighting dim and Deacon somehow looking better and better by the second.

  Any filter I had is lost. “Sarah is going to kick your ass when she finds all her shit gone,” I slur.

  Deacon leans close. I don’t think the shots are having any effect on him. He takes out another hundred and opens the till, tucking it in.”

  I pick up another shot, bright yellow, and down it. “You never told me where all this mystery money is coming from, big boy?”

  “Big boy?” he laughs, “and here thinking girls didn’t care about size”.

  “Shut up and answer the question, cowboy.”

  He smiles, close to cracking up. “Okay. We inherited it.”

  I throw my hands around, the shot glass that was in my hand collecting the wall somewhere to the right. “From who? Scrooge McDuck-a-Luck?”

  Good one, Luxy.

  I really laugh at this. It’s hilarious.

  “Our parents,” Deacon continues. “Remember how I said they were super rich? When they passed, everything fell to me, including the responsibility of looking after Dumb and Dumber.”

  I roll my eyes, the lights above swinging back and forth, the two Deacons staring back at me too serious for this time of night. “Way to kill the mood.”

  “The mood?”

  “You’re giving me all sexy eyes and big arms. Don’t you deny it, baby.”

  He takes my flailing arms and places them by my sides, his fingers hot around my wrists and his body so close I can scent his masculinity, the soap and sandalwood, salt and Sex Wax. “How about we ease up on the cocktails.”

  I swing my head forward and manage to head butt him somehow. “Ow.”

  He rubs his forehead laughing before his eyes lock with mine.

  I freeze. Oh oh. He’s giving you the sexy Jesus eyes again. Powers of resistance slipping.

  We’ve slept together, countless times now, so why does this feel so strange, like a first kiss all over again?

  I spread my legs a little if only to ease up on the sudden tension and heat building between them.

  He releases my wrists and places one hand on the swell of my hip, using the other to push an escaped strand of hair over the back of my ear, his face closer and closer, so so close. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know.”

  “You’re not yourself bad.” Did that even come out right?

  He smiles again, the bad boy James Dean show broken for a second. “You really think so?”

  I look around. The whole place is lurching and rolling. “Can we get off this ship soon?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You want to get off, do you? I suppose I can help with that.”

  I stumble forward, hands fanning out on his marble chest. I flick my eyes up to his, my lips parted and open, my breathing coming in short pants and my pussy turned into the Pacific below. One of my hands slides down his chest, keeps going until it tucks into his trousers, my fingers fishing for his cock and finding it hard and ready. He watches me carefully.

  I run my hand down until I’m cupping his balls. “So soft.”

  “That’s not how I’d describe it.”

  His hands run down the back of my jeans, cupping my ass. He lifts me onto the bar, our eyes level and wanton.

  Holy fuck. I’ve never been so horny. I lightly pump his cock in his pants, love the silky way it twitches hot in my grip.

  I lean forward, eyes closed, the kiss imminent, but just when I expect to feel his lips in mine, gravity begins to disappear. I’ve tried to kiss his face, but it seems I’ve ended up about six inches to the right, nothing but air.

  He catches me before I fall off the bar completely, hoisting me over his shoulder. Dimly, I hear him speak. “Let’s find a bed before you wind up with facial injuries.”

  I’m too busy checking out his ass. I bring my hand up and swat it, the spanking sound it makes highly satisfying. I really want to do it again, but the ship’s turning and sleep’s beckoning.

  I look down at the way his ass cheeks roll together under his jeans, his boots scuffing in the gravel outside.

  Sleep, my concrete head commands, so I submit. The last thing I see as I lift my head is the pub growing smaller and smaller, a black smudge in the night.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DEACON

  Caught in the morning light, her hair fanned out on my pillow, she’s beyond beautiful. She’s going
to have a killer headache when she wakes up, though. Note to self: Lightweight drinker.

  I’m watching her when my eyes lift to the photos on the wall, to one in particular—to her.

  I look at the picture, at the woman there who could almost double for Lux. The woman that was almost my wife until she was taken from me, and what could you do about it? Fucking nothing. That’s what.

  Doubt begins to creep back into my head. What are you doing, my friend? You’ve had your fun. Let her go.

  I can’t, but the voice grows louder in my head, the picture damning.

  What if you lose her too? Would you be able to forgive yourself?

  Like I said, people will come, people who want to hurt me and anyone close to me. What the fuck am I going to do then, if she does get hurt, killed, because her association to me?

  Fuck.

  I look between her and the picture and the voice grows, louder and louder and louder until there’s only one way out.

  You have to let her go, push her away.

  I don’t know if I can do it. We’ve grown so close. I think of life without her and…

  You have to. It really is true. If you love something, you have to let it go.

  Love—It’s always been such an abstract fucking concept to me. I’ve only felt it twice, only believed it then and now, which is why it has to happen.

  If I strip away the emotion, my head’s right. She will never be safe with me. I can’t have her death on my conscience too.

  I take a deep breath and exhale.

  Today.

  Today we break up.

  *

  An ugly wave rises from the back of the set, a definite close-out.

  “Go,” I command.

  Lux looks to me, dubious. “Are you sure?”

  “Fucking go!” I yell.

  She turns and paddles hard, but the wave is buckling before it even gets going. I see her go down from the very top, a slab of water hammering her into the reef.

  I watch the wash and plead. Surface. Surface.

  She does, spluttering and coughing, thankfully no coming waves to take her out again.

  She paddles over clearly furious. “Why did you make me take that?”

  “You need to know what it’s like to wipe out, what it’s like to call a dud.”

  “I almost got dragged across the reef. Is that what you want? Me, bloody and broken?”

  “Maybe.”

  She shakes her head. “What the hell is going on with you today? Is it because of last night? I’m sorry. I don’t drink much.”

  I laugh. “You think I’m pissed off because we didn’t fuck?”

  “I don’t want to do it drunk, Deacon. I have sex with you with all senses firing, special, like always.”

  “Special,” I scoff, the lie burning my lips. “I’m out of here.” I turn and paddle into the first wave of the next set, dropping to the bottom of it fast and riding it out of the impact zone.

  I’m starting my way up the beach when I hear her behind me.

  “Wait. Talk to me. Deacon!” she shouts over the din, running up the beach to catch me.

  I turn fast, almost hitting her with my board. “What? What the fuck is it?” The anger in my voice is strong, physical.

  She takes a step back and for the first time I see fear in her eyes, but that’s good. She needs to fear me. It’s the only way. “I don’t understand. We were fine, incredible, and now you’re flipping out, completely someone else? It doesn’t make any sense. What happened?”

  I stab my finger at her. “I’m simply seeing clearly.”

  “And what do you see?”

  I don’t want to say it, but my mouth is moving and soon the words have left my lips. “A talentless Playboy bunny who’s better off back in Cali-fucking-fornia.”

  The hurt’s all over her face, but she doesn’t buy it. “What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t you at all.”

  I jump towards her. “How the fuck would you know what I am? You think just because we screwed a couple of times we’re somehow soulmates, that we’re going to go home and get married, start a family and buy an SUV to cart them around in. If that’s what you’re thinking, you’re delusional. If that’s what you’re thinking, you don’t know me at all.”

  Keep going.

  I shake my head, the water fanning out but the action does nothing to relive the sudden migraine crushing my skull. “Jason, your cop friend? Why did you have him look into us?”

  That gets her. “How did you…?”

  I laugh, looking up to a murky sky. “Does it matter? I have contacts too, you know.”

  “You don’t even have the internet.”

  “I don’t need it to know you’re sticking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong, dangerous fucking places.”

  She throws her arms wide, drops her board and walks closer, the rain whipping across her face, her hair stuck to her cheeks in flaxen tendrils. “How many times do I have to say it? I. Can. Handle. Myself. I called a friend, yes. I had him run your names to be on the safe side, to get an idea of who these guys I’m staying with are, and you know what? You’re ghosts. You don’t exist.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  She replies “Yes,” but she doesn’t sound sure.

  “We’re ghosts for a reason.”

  “So tell me?” she pleads, pounding against my chest with her hand. “Tell me so I can help, understand, fucking something?”

  I let the blows fall. “I can’t and, frankly, I don’t want to.”

  Lux wipes away tears, rain, the ocean, ten types of water and all of it salty. “I thought you trusted me.”

  It’s killing me to do this to her, but it has to be done.

  “I barely know you.” The words are poison in my mouth, acidic.

  She looks to the ground, sniffs back more tears. Even when she’s sad she’s adorable. “Is this really what it’s come to? I told you the first time we met and I’m getting really, really fucking sick of saying it over and over and over again—I can handle myself. Whatever you’re mixed up in, we can face it together, right?”

  No.

  I’m not going to put someone I love in danger, even if it means kissing happiness goodbye forever. If Lux got hurt, killed, because of me I could never forgive myself. Enough people have paid for my crimes already. “You have no idea. You think we have something special, a connection?” A pause, don’t even know if I can do, but I’m in too deep now. “Honestly? You’re just another fuck, another pussy.”

  She slaps me in the face. I want her to do it again. I fucking welcome the pain right now. “You’re a fucking bastard,” she spits. She stands back. “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do.” It doesn’t sound very convincing.

  She steps back up to me, locks eyes. “Tell me it meant nothing, truthfully, and I’ll leave.”

  Fucking hell. I take a deep breath. “It meant nothing. You… mean nothing to me.”

  I think she’s going to slap me again, but she turns and walks past me calmly, board under her arm. “I’ll be gone by morning,” she says, quiet.

  I want to beg her to come back, to tell her everything, but this is the way it has to be. It’s going to hurt at first, fuck it is, but I’ll get over it and move on.

  I always do.

  *

  Fucks knows how I managed to fall asleep, but I wake up restless, drained. I walk out to the smell of shitty coffee, Razor and Bo sitting at the table waiting for me. I keep walking past them. “Who made you assholes the parentals?” I notice she’s missing. “Where’s Lux?”

  Razor stands, hands on the table shaking his head. “Gone.”

  I try to act surprised. “Oh?”

  “Taxi came past early this morning and picked her up. Saw it out the window. She didn’t even say goodbye, man.”

  “What the fuck did you do?” Bo continues. “I know you said no girlfriends, no relationships, but I thought you two…”

  “You thought we what?” I
shout back.

  He puts his hands up. “Fuck, calm down.”

  I take a mug off the shelf and place it on the bench, can almost picture Lux in front of me with her legs spread and her nipples tenting out one of my tees. “It’s for the best.”

  Bo stands fast, the chair he was sitting on screeching back. “Fuck that, bro. You had a good thing going there. You don’t just drop a girl like that, just snap and dump her. She was a fucking dream girl, man, once-in-a-lifetime material.”

  “Like Abbey, you mean?”

  “Don’t you—”

  Razor goes to say ‘Fuck Abbey,’ but he pauses before speaking again. “Why? Tell us. We have a right to know.”

  I pour the coffee. It looks like fucking dirt in a cup. “Why the fuck should I? Who I date, who I fuck is my own business. You don’t get a say.”

  Bo shakes his head. “You are the one who dragged us down here, remember? I was going places back home. I had a life.”

  I laugh, picking up the mug. “You had eight jobs in two years. I hardly think you were ‘going places’.”

  “Fuck you, bro.”

  Razor comes around the bench, takes the mug out of my hand. “Fucking tell us.”

  I give in. “Fine. You think she’s safe here with us?”

  The two exchange a glance, confused. “Sure.”

  I lean against the bench. “They are going to come. That guy, the one with the neck tatts? He spooked me. If something were to happen to her because of my shit, I…”

  Razor leans against the bench with his hands. “You were there for her, remember? Hell, she’s only alive now because of you, and maybe she has her own shit. Has that ever crossed your mind? Nothing is going to happen. No one is going to find us. I mean, fuck, you finally had a smile on your face. The old Deacon was back, not this mopey, melancholy excuse for a human being. Finke’s fucking dreary enough without your doom and gloom.”

  I place my hands on the counter. “I looked at that picture of Abbey, I looked at her, and I knew what had to be done. My happiness isn’t worth her life. Imagine if they found out about her. They could use it as leverage, and what do I have to give them? Fuck all. That’s what.”

  The two of them consider it.

  “It’s a mistake,” says Razor. “You can’t live your whole life like this, man, treading on eggshells. Sooner or later you’ve got to open up, no matter how painful it may be.”