* * *
I shut the door to my tiny dorm room behind me and placed my books on my desk. I sat down in the chair and finally muttered hi to Charlotte. She was lying on her bed reading and didn’t move her eyes from her book to mumble hi back.
I decided I should make an effort to get along with her. If I had to spend an entire school year with her, I needed to talk to her once in a while and make the effort to connect. So, when she set her book down on her bed with a bored look on her face, I told her about the guy in my history class and how I had decided to sit by him in the next class period. Her response was “So what?”
No, my jaw didn’t drop and keep in mind I was young. I should have realized that maybe I needed to make a few attempts to get on her good side. Instead, I felt my ire stir a little. I figured she was unimpressed because here I was, Virginal Valerie, a girl who’d primly dated the occasional boy, and there was Charlotte, sexually wise beyond her years, bringing a different boy to her bed every weekend. She probably thought I was stupid (not true), naïve (yeah, that was right on), and not worth her time. I didn’t think, though, that it gave her the right to be rude and offensive, especially when I was trying to make nice. But, no matter what I thought, I did at least try to continue to be nice, even though overtones of anger and impatience surely showed through it. “So what? He’s cute!”
Charlotte’s voice was clipped. “You said that before.” She threw her books off her bed with a sweep of her forearm onto the floor. Then she crawled under the covers and snuggled up with her pillow. “I really don’t care.”
I was angry. Yeah, I know…I should have just blown her off and figured good riddance, but what can I say? I was young and idealistic. I don’t know—maybe I thought my words could help her see the world wasn’t such a bad place. Maybe I could help her see the error of her ways and she’d realize I was just trying to make a connection. Of course, the words I said wouldn’t necessarily help out with that. She was getting on my nerves, and I’m afraid I was getting emotional. “You wouldn’t. All you really care about is sleeping.” And…that wasn’t entirely untrue. The girl was in bed more than not.
She acted offended. “Sleeping?”
“What are you getting ready to do right now?”
Charlotte glared through her dark eyes. “You’re just upset because I don’t care about this guy you’re lusting after, and I don’t want to listen.” She rolled over on her side so I didn’t have to look at her.
“I’m not upset. I’m angry. Whenever you like a guy, I hear about him all the time until you find the next one.” She bolted upright. “But when I like a guy, I say two sentences and—”
“Valerie, you’re a—”
“Shut up.” I slammed the door behind me as I left the room. Now, more than ever, I was determined to meet this guy. Then Charlotte would become curious. And when she asked questions, I wouldn’t answer her.
As my blood pressure cooled storming down the hall, I realized how childish that was. And stupid. Of course, Charlotte wouldn’t instantly become interested if I started dating someone just because I was dating him. I had hoped, though, to prove to my roommate that a girl could date a guy without sleeping with him.
A few days later, I was in my history class again, this time sitting on the cute guy’s side of the room, ready to put my plan into action. I thought I’d come up with a good conversation starter. I hoped it would work.
He sat on the left side of the room, about the third row, so I sat in the desk directly behind him. Gently, I tapped on his shoulder. He turned around and took out the earbuds that were attached to a hidden iPod. I started getting nervous but tried to hide it.
I took a deep breath, flashed the sweetest smile I could, and asked, “Sorry to bother you, but did you take good notes during the last class period?”
He grinned back at me through his full, sensuous lips. Oh, yeah…I would love to kiss them. I tried not to be distracted by them. He said, “Not really. This class is so boring, I hardly take notes.” He glanced to the side as though to make sure the prof wasn’t nearby to overhear him. “I hope reading the book will help me pass the midterm.”
I nodded. “I hope you’re right. I was having a hard time concentrating last class.” Yeah…watching this cute guy. I wasn’t going to mention that.
“I wasn’t concentrating either.”
Perfect time for an introduction, I thought. “I’m Valerie Quinn.”
“Ethan Richards.” I allowed his name to flow through my head several times because I didn’t want to forget it. He leaned toward me with a conspiratorial air. “So…do you suppose we’ll take shitty notes again this period?”
I giggled. “Probably.” I pointed toward his earbuds. “So what are listening to on your headphones?”
He shrugged. “Just some metal.”
He acted like he didn’t expect that I would be interested. So when I said, “Who?” he smiled and handed me one of the earbuds. He hadn’t paused the music when he’d taken them out of his ears, so I could hear loud music blaring through as I held it up to my ear. It sounded familiar and I could tell right away that it was metalcore or deathcore. And then I recognized the tune…and I suspected he didn’t expect me to know I was listening to Suicide Silence. So I said, “Oh…‘Disengage.’ I love this song.”
“You like these guys?”
“Love ‘em.” That was cool. Charlotte, probably the person I knew best on this campus, mostly listened to pop tunes, so to find someone else who listened to music other than top forty excited me. I loved heavy metal music, so to find someone else who liked it (and someone I was already crushing on was an added bonus) was comforting somehow.
But then it really hit me. I’d struck up a conversation with this really cute guy, and I’d found out in the space of just a few minutes that we had something in common. That was a great start. So meeting him hadn’t been as hard as I’d thought it would be. I moved my head to the beat of the music. I couldn’t help it. That’s what we headbangers do. But I wasn’t going completely crazy. I was in a classroom, for heaven’s sake. Before I could listen to much more, the history professor walked in, so I grinned and handed the earbud back to Ethan. I whispered, “We can see if we take the same notes, okay?”
He laughed, not enough that the professor noted it while he pulled his texts out of his attaché case. “Deal.”
Well, that class was not any more memorable or noteworthy than it had been the class before. In fact, it was probably less so because nothing could distract me from replaying in my head what had just happened. The event was more important than a lot of people might think. I might not have been a shy girl, but I’d never really “put myself out there” when it came to guys. I didn’t have much confidence when it came to the opposite sex, so for me to have just decided to go for it—and for it to have worked—was huge. So…notes? Nope. Maybe Ethan would have a few, though.
After class, we wound up walking out together and just naturally started heading toward the community of dorms on the other side of campus. We never said it nor acknowledged it; it just happened while we were talking. We started talking about metal music in general, but by the time we were out of the building, he said, “Hey…there are some Colorado bands from out of town playing here next month. Do you get into local bands?”
I hadn’t, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t interested. It would be more because I’d been under my parents’ watchful eyes. So I said, “I don’t know any, but if they’re good, I could.” Did that sound as stupid as I thought it did in retrospect?
“Well, the two bands I’m going to see are called Last Five Seconds and Name of My Killer. They’re both extreme metal, and I figured if you like Suicide Silence, you’d like them too. I know the guys in Last Five Seconds, so I’ll be there supporting them, but…I have an extra ticket and thought you might like to come along.”
Seriously? That fast? And would this be considered a date? I could hardly keep my breathing steady. It had definitely been wor
th my time to sit by this gorgeous guy and to strike up a conversation. “Yeah…if you really want me to.”
He shrugged and smiled. “It’d be more fun to take someone with me who likes the music as much as I do.”
“Thanks, Ethan.” That was the first time I’d actually said his name. Ooh…I liked the way it felt on my tongue. “Yeah, I’d love to go.” We programmed each other’s number into our cell phones and then went to our separate dorms.
I was convinced I’d met the cutest, nicest guy on campus.
We didn’t hang out during the time before the concert, but we did talk regularly in history class for the entire month before the concert. As far as I was concerned, the first week of November couldn’t arrive fast enough.
Chapter Three
Present
I SAT UP and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I looked over at Ethan. He was snoring, but it was soft, and if I hadn’t been in the same room, I wouldn’t have heard it. I looked over at him, feeling happier than I had in a long time.
Ethan’s hair was tousled, black eyeliner smeared under his eyes. The sheet lay around his waist so I could look upon his muscular arms and chest. I ran my fingers up the soft, smooth, hairy skin on his arm, just gazing upon his beauty. Ethan had always been good looking, but I hadn’t appreciated it in a long time. He’d been so distant and I’d been so angry that I hadn’t just taken him in and enjoyed him in a long time. Rubbing his arm must have awakened him, because he stirred and then turned on his side to face me.
“Morning.” He grinned through the at-least-three-day growth on his face. “How do you feel?”
“The same as usual. Why?”
A grin spread across his face. “You’re pregnant.”
I couldn’t help but smile. When Ethan was happy, his mood was infectious. “I’ve been pregnant for two months, Ethan. I don’t have morning sickness anymore. I feel fine.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask why I’d put off telling him for so long. I smiled as he sat up in bed. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“What do I want for breakfast? I’m making breakfast this morning because you’re in no condition to.”
Okay, so right now this was cut and funny, but it would grow annoying pretty damn quick if he didn’t chill. “Ethan, I’m pregnant, not disabled.” I bounced up off the bed and put on my robe and slippers. “Would you rather have eggs or pancakes?”
“Babe, you relax. Take a shower while I make breakfast.”
“Ethan—”
“I insist. So…eggs or pancakes?”
“You’re the chef. You decide.” I walked into the bathroom and turned on the water so I could take a warm shower. Ethan really was going to change; I could tell already.
* * *
In the following weeks, Ethan and I enrolled in a natural childbirth class, but we wouldn’t be attending until it was closer to my due date. He came with me to my next monthly OB/GYN visit and asked the doctor dozens of questions and even offered to pay him more if he’d be more patient while Ethan went through his list. He even bought books. I told him I wanted to have the baby at home, and I was going to start interviewing midwives, and he freaked out. He didn’t like the idea of our baby being born “the way third world babies are delivered.” I interviewed them anyway, but he wasn’t happy about it.
Ethan was a guitarist for a heavy metal band, and each afternoon they would get together and practice. They were close to laying down all the tracks for their newest CD, but they wanted to perfect each song and make any changes they felt were necessary. Before Ethan knew I was pregnant, he’d been in a rut—he would party with the other willing band members till morning or until he was too drunk to drink anymore. Now, though, he’d quit partying after each session as he had been. He was home a lot more. He started making meals, and he liked shopping for the baby. He quit drinking and smoking like he’d promised. He occasionally had a beer or a few cigarettes, but I’d never expected him to quit completely anyway. That would have been too much to ask of him. I was just glad he was making the effort. I was overwhelmed by those efforts, because I’d never expected Ethan to quit; I’d thought he was just speaking through his drunken and overly enthusiastic stupor.
So…as I started to show a little in my tummy, I was cautious yet optimistic. Ethan Richards might turn out to be a great dad after all. I couldn’t give up hope.
Chapter Four
Past
WHEN I FIRST met Ethan, he seemed to be one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. And we had a common bond—our mutual interest in and love of heavy metal music. I hadn’t met many people like myself who knew the names of every person in the rock groups I listened to; Ethan was one of those few. And as the days progressed, I found myself more and more attracted to him.
And November arrived. By then, Ethan and I had become pretty good friends, even though our interactions mostly took place right before and after history class. We texted a little and walked back to the dorms after most classes, but we didn’t spend much time with each other aside from that. It didn’t matter, though, because the time we did spend together was exciting for me. He was a guy friend whom I was also attracted to, and that was a bit of a thrill.
The local bands were playing in our sleepy little college town. Ordinarily, I walked everywhere, but Ethan had his truck with him at school, and he was going to drive to the concert. He stopped by my dorm room to get me, and I was so glad Charlotte was already gone. I didn’t want her putting the moves on my hot friend. When I opened the door, though, I got a lot more than I’d bargained for. Yep, we were going to attend a metal concert and I should have expected it, but I hadn’t. So I had to pick my jaw up off the floor before I could say hi.
Jeez, did the guy know how to clean up…or metal up might be a better description. He was metal standing in my doorway. He was poured into black leather pants that—holy shit—made me start salivating, and he wore a black mesh shirt ripped halfway down the middle. The effect? He could have been naked, because my mind was able to fill in the blanks. Well, almost. Remember…I was still a virgin at this point in the game. But the effect almost made me blush.
That wasn’t all, though. He also had a black leather jacket draped over his shoulders and was wearing black leather spiked wristbands. Yeah, he was a little metal. I also saw he was wearing silver hoop earrings in both ears. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed the piercing holes in his ears before, but maybe it was just because I hadn’t actually seen him wearing earrings. And, as I caught my breath, I also noticed the tiniest bit of eyeliner and black nail polish on his fingertips. Yeah…not many guys could pull off guyliner, but Ethan was one of them. Somehow, it made him look sexier.
I’d dressed for the concert too, but compared to him, I felt dreadfully underdressed, and I hoped he was okay with that. I wore black jeans, black boots, and a black Anthrax t-shirt. Yeah, all in black. It was a metal concert, for goodness sake, so black was the color. My makeup was darker than usual and I had on more than Ethan did, so I thought I was okay there. I wore my medium-length light brown hair down, but I ran a little mousse through it so it looked a little messy. And I should have worn a coat, but I thought my jean jacket looked a lot cooler.
God, I was excited. Much as I’d wanted to go to concerts (and my parents didn’t have too much of a problem with them, in spite of being super religious), I hadn’t attended many in high school. It was usually a problem with money, but oftentimes it was also because I didn’t want to go to a concert by myself. A lot of my friends weren’t into the music I was, and at that age, I would have felt self-conscious attending a concert alone. So, walking out to his truck, I tried not to act giddy and silly. Hot guy by my side (maybe a future boyfriend?), going to an awesome heavy concert…could life get much better?
When we climbed in his shiny black truck, he turned the ignition switch. The engine didn’t purr; it roared. It was loud and bad and mean. I could feel the power without taking the wheel. And then he turned the stereo on. He was playing some Ozzy, but it was old Oz
zy. I recognized “Crazy Train” just from Randy Rhoads’s opening licks. I loved that song and then wondered how broad Ethan’s musical scope was. We’d only talked about newer metal, focusing a lot on things like metalcore and thrash, but here he was playing some early straight-up metal from the eighties. The music was cranked, just like it should be, so I knew we couldn’t and wouldn’t engage in conversation on the way to the concert. But as soon as he’d parked the truck and we got out and started walking toward the…well, I guess you could call it an arena, but it was a small venue with a nice stage and great acoustics called The Cave. They didn’t serve alcohol, probably so they could get a younger crowd in, because we’d spend money, drunk or sober.
Anyway, as we started walking from the gravel-lined parking area toward the building in the dark, I asked Ethan, “So…it seems like you love all metal…new and old and of all kinds of intensity. Anything you don’t like?”
“Oh, hell, no. You got it right. I love it all.” I liked that, but I just smiled. He probably couldn’t see it in the dark. “But my biggest influences are probably eighties metal and metalcore.”
Influences? I couldn’t ask him what he meant because we walked inside the big doors at the front of the building and were immediately blasted by loud, heavy music. Ethan handed our tickets to one of the guys at the door, and we stepped into what really did look like a big, dark cave the size of a small gymnasium. There were laser lights and other small lights here and there so we wouldn’t trip or fall, but it was dark. There was a huge stage at the back, but there was also a large open area in front of it for moshing, then tables and chairs all along the sides, and we walked through an aisle between some of the chairs to get closer to the stage.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 2
