Tricked Steel: A Friends To Lovers Standalone Romance

by Fields, MJ

  “Sex sells, to me, feels like money over morals. Another way to exploit women. Hold power over them. Make them feel like they’re nothing but tits and a vagina.”

  “One way to look at it,” I say, popping the top. “And sure, some music is very objectifying.”

  “So, you’re saying your family’s label, Forever Four, isn’t one of those?” Her question is more like an accusation.

  “I guess it depends on the musician or, more accurately, whoever wrote the song. None of them signed with my parents would be allowed to record something that was downright discriminatory. Offensive to some, sure. Can’t please everyone.”

  “So, you’d support someone who sang lyrics like, Bitch, get down on your knees?”

  Again, the tone is judgmental. But, unlike last time, I’m not going to tiptoe. “You want me to be honest here, right?”

  She narrows her eyes and nods.

  “I’ve never been in a position that bitch, get down on your knees seemed remotely acceptable. But—”

  “See? That right there. They have an obligation to humanity to not say shit like that. Then everyone around thinks it’s acceptable.”

  “So, we should sensor art?”

  “Oh my God, really? That’s what you take away from that?” she huffs.

  “Savvy, chill. As I was saying …” I wait for her to interrupt, but she simply crosses her arms and scowls. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that some women like that. A lot, actually. There’s a whole subculture of submissive and Dominant people.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “And,” I stress, “some men like that shit, too. Feeds a need they have. And if their partner is down with it, who are we to judge? Different strokes for different folks, right?”

  “I can’t accept that. Men are—”

  “I’m not sure who hurt you, babe, and I hope someday you can trust me to share your pains with, but I can promise you that not every man in the world is a predator. I can promise you that not every man wants to oppress women. And I can promise you that, when you give just a little bit of that burden, the one of pain you carry, all the shit I see in those eyes is going to bubble to the top. And, Savvy, you’re going to be unstoppable.”

  “Do you think I’m some sort of charity case? Do you think I’m weak because you saw me”—she looks down—“cry?”

  “No. Not one fucking part of me sees you as either. What I see is strength. What I see is someone who looks at the world the same as I do, but through a different lens, because we’ve had a different view, taken a different path.”

  She looks up now, her eyebrows knitted together, but in confusion, not anger.

  “Savvy, there is a fire inside of you that burns so bright that people will either try to stay away from it because it can be intimidating as fuck, extinguish it because they don’t want you to burn brighter than them, or are drawn to it because they fucking know something great is about to happen.”

  Her eyes widen, and I nod.

  “I know passion. I see it in the people my parents represent. I have it in everything I do, because they fan the fuck out of my flame. I just want a front row for your show.”

  “That’s putting a lot of expectations on someone who wanted to be an organic farmer. Spoiler alert: I’m out of here as soon as I graduate.”

  “Then show me something great until then.”

  “By great, do you mean getting humiliated by a so-called friend and Atilla the Hun?”

  “By great, I mean, keep being you. Dig through the dirt, farm girl, find your passion, and direct all that energy into it. Those high school mean girls will either keep on being haters, or they’ll want to emulate you.”

  I grab her mug and mine and head toward the stairs. “Let’s go watch some TV.”

  “I don’t watch TV; it’s mindless.”

  “Good, we both deserve a little bit of that once in a while.”

  “I’d rather talk.”

  I like that. I like that a lot.

  “Perfect. So, tell me what you plan to do now that you aren’t going to be a farmer.” I head up the stairs and hear her following.

  “Peace Corps.”

  “To help people.”

  “Yeah, and travel.”

  “There are other ways to do that, too.”

  “Whatever. You should be more worried that your boy band days are about numbered.”

  I stop and look back, seeing her smiling.

  “What?”

  “Thank you.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you for not objectifying me.”

  She gasps, “Oh my God, are you for real right now?”

  “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Savannah.”

  “What is that even supposed to mean?” she says, now stomping up the stairs.

  “I said musician, and you place me into a boy band grouping. You said farmer, and I didn’t mention a milk maiden because you’d look hot as hell in one of those little outfits.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says in mock exasperation.

  I walk in and set her cup on my nightstand. “Bed’s yours, princess.” Then I walk over and sit in the recliner by the window.

  “I’m not taking your bed tonight. I can call an Uber to take me back. Now that I know I have all this fire inside me, I can deal with—”

  “Shut up, smart ass.” I laugh. “You’re taking it for two nights, minimum, unless I can talk you into staying for the whole break. My parents wouldn’t give a shit, seriously. They wanted more kids.”

  “Oh, no.” She laughs. “I don’t do parents. Besides, you seriously think I don’t have plans for the holidays?”

  Shit, I think and shake my head. “Offer stands if you have any time free. But the next two days, I’d love your company.”

  She grabs the cocoa and takes a sip. “Mmm …”

  Mmm … indeed, I think but don’t dare say.

  “So, the Peace Corps, huh?”

  She nods as she swallows. “So good.” She licks the cream from her lips, and I regret putting the cream on immediately.

  So fucking hot.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice coming out deeper. I clear my throat. “I mean, rumor has it you’re a genius. You could get in anywhere.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s … whatever.”

  “It’s not whatever, Savvy; it’s kind of awesome.” And hot. Smart girls = hot.

  “They want me in front of a computer.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “They want to program me so I can help them program everyone else. I see what it does to everyone. No, thank you.”

  “So, be a doctor, a shrink, a teacher who doesn’t use computers.”

  She smiles then immediately hides it with the cup. “Mind’s made up. As bad as women have it here, the Middle East is a shit show.”

  “So, you’re joining the Peace Corps to fight?”

  “It’s more than that. I can teach them how to plant and help provide for themselves, and empower them in the meantime.” She takes another sip then sets the mug down. “If the fact that they literally have to cover their faces so it doesn’t turn a man on, or show that she’s property of some barbaric, insolent, isn’t bad enough, the fact that FGM is still practiced is.”

  “FGM?”

  “Female genitalia mutilation. You know, the bean.”

  “That’s straight-up horrible shit. I read an article that they do it here, too, and hide behind the religion.”

  She looks a little shocked.

  “You read current events, Savvy?”

  “I read more than most, but I know what media can do to one’s brain.”

  “Not for nothing, but I know damn well you’re too intelligent for that to happen.”

  “Once my mind’s made up, it’s made up.”

  Don’t I know it.

  “Understood. And I can’t wait to hear what you learn when that lens widens.”

  “This judgment coming from a wannabe lead singer for a boy band?
” She shakes her head.

  “Stop projecting. My fragile brain will subliminally absorb your message, and next thing you know, I’ll be doing synchronized dance moves with guys I pretend are my brothers for a tweens audience and cougar moms.”

  Smiling, she lifts her mug. “Sex sells.”

  “Again, I’m feeling objectified.”

  She laughs. She laughs, and it’s a translucent sonnet wrapped in song. And now I’m a fucking poet … Get it together, Tricks. Stop wasting one-hundred-point SAT words. She likes girls, and she’s your friend.

  “Okay, I give. What does Patrick Steel want to be when he grows up?”

  “Gonna have to admit, hanging with you for the past hour or so pretty much narrowed down my list from twenty different things to two.”

  She beckons me with her hand as she takes another sip of cocoa. Well, not me. My answer.

  “Option one, a mercenary who travels the Middle East incognito, using either his social media following to raise enough money in a go fund something incredibly selfish that takes away from people who serious need it to survive or his trust fund to secretly stalk his friend, to protect her bean as she goes on her journey in the Peace Corps when she is actually incognito, too. Or—”

  She covers her mouth so she doesn’t laugh.

  “Or …” I can’t help but laugh, too, because hers is infectious. “Work for my parents under the title agent but really a glorified talent scout, to find all those people who—”

  “Were picked on because they weren’t cool enough to hang? Who instead of banging the cheer captain, went home and finger-fucked his guitar or banged his drums like he wanted to bang the football captain’s girl? Who went to bed every night with headphones on, listening to his favorite songs, to escape the reality of an abusive or absent father? Who wasn’t good enough to hang with the “it” crowd, who dove into the piano, letting her fingers tickle the ivory while she created perfection, because she is fucking good enough? The guy dressed in all black to have his voice and the notes he belts out to be his ultimate orgasm? The—”

  “Yeah,” I cut her off at orgasm, because I couldn’t take that shit right now and stay in the moment. “Damn, you remembered that pretty much verbatim.”

  “I have a great memory,” she says, a slight frown forming. She shakes whatever it is from her head. “But, as sexual as it was, it was also a pretty powerful statement, so yeah, I remembered.”

  “Like minds, Savvy Sutton.” I raise my cup in mock toast then take a drink.

  “You think?” she asks thoughtfully. “Like, you really think that?”

  I nod.

  “Then explain, please.”

  “We both want to lift people up.”

  She nods once. “Go on.”

  “Yeah, before I do that, we can agree to disagree, right?”

  She arches a brow. “I suppose.”

  “Keep in mind, a different lens.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Respect the fuck out of what you’re going to do. Gives hope to people who need it, deserve it. And if one in twenty people whose lives you touch change, that’s fucking epic. How’s that saying go? If you give a woman seeds, she’ll grow a garden; sperm, she’ll grow a nation?”

  A pillow flies at me, and I duck.

  “That’s not the saying.” She laughs.

  “Well, you know what I mean. Women truly shape humanity.”

  “Oh my God, I am so ready to disagree.”

  “Hold that objection. You may not agree with what comes next either, and you can just blast me for both at once.”

  “You’re something else.” She shakes her head while lifting the cup in front of her face … to hide her smile.

  “I want to find the artist with passion and talent, who will wipe the charts free of the mediocre talent with Daddy’s black card, selling someone else’s song, with filtered voices and computerized beats, who bought his way to the top and can’t do a live show without lip syncing. I wanna bring in the rebels, the pissed-off, angry talent, and deprogram them from hating on everyone, spreading that around like an STD. Someone so angry that they weren’t born to privileged that it holds them back from being who they are supposed to be—epic. I want to make him or her redirect that anger into passion, so that others can see them doing what they should have been doing all along. I wanna hold their damn hand until they are ready to fly. Then I want him or her to do the shit Mom and Dad’s artists are doing. STD and Brand Falcon give millions to people, not charities that don’t do shit but take donations to pay their suits and spew how much money they’ve earned for said people who are still struggling while they’re living high off the hog. Those people pay it forward, one person at a time. The world’s gonna change, Savvy. I wanna be part of that, while still living my passion for music.”

  “You sound a bit bitter about being born into money. Do you resent your privilege, as you call it?”

  “No, I resent those who deserve to wear that badge and, at times, yeah, I resent that it gets slapped on me. Until I came to Seashore, I didn’t know shit like that app, Seashore Sound, run by those legit shitbags fucking with my cousins. And here’s the kicker …” I shake my head and sit back. “I know Kiki and Truth are strong, I know they’re capable of taking care of themselves, but wanting to bash in your buddy Tobias’s head because—”

  “First, I have no friends. Well, now I guess you, but whatever.” She waves the thought away. “Tobias is not like Harrison, Kai, or Miles. He’s here on scholarship and can’t wait to get out. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “So, you like this”—I bite back asshole and use his real name—“Tobias?”

  She shrugs. “He did me a solid. Well, two, I guess.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “I guess.”

  “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character.” She shrugs. “I mean, I obviously trust you, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “But just tell them to ignore the shit. It’s a whole money thing. The parties, the invite list, the fights. I don’t go to any of that shit, but anyone else who gets an invite does. And those who don’t, well, they take it to heart, which is insane. I mean, they pay big bucks to go drink and smoke and fuck around. I do that shit for free with a very select few when the weather’s nice at Crystal Lake.” She looks at me as an O forms on her lips. “That’s not for public knowledge. I mean, not even Chloe knows.”

  “Secret’s safe with me, Savvy. Trust that.”

  “Good, because that’s my place of peace.”

  “Understood.”

  “Anyway, they hire people around the area and even pay off the cops and shit so they can shit on people’s self-esteem, if they let them.”

  “See what I mean, Savvy? Those are the turds of society. They’re the ones who get off on oppression.”

  “I won’t disagree, but they’re also shelling out enough money to people who don’t have enough to make ends meet … unless these things went on. Tell them they aren’t worth knowing.”

  “How about you tell them? I know damn well you’d love them and they’d love you.”

  “Slow your roll, little dude, I just agreed to having my first friend in you, since I came here.”

  “So, you’re an elitist, too, in a way?” I joke.

  “No, I’m not that deep. I just hate bullshit and drama. Life’s too short for that.” She yawns.

  “Tired?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Slide in under the covers. I’m going to turn on the TV.”

  “Ugh …” she groans as she pushes the duvet back and slides in.

  “Don’t judge it as mindless. It’s thought provoking, and I think you’ll love it if you just give it a try.” I get up, walk over, and grab the remote off the fireplace mantel.

  “Just tell me what it’s called,” she grumbles as she removes two of the three pillows, leaving her with just one for her head to lay on.

  “The Handmaid’s Tale.”
>
  “If you’re putting on porn—”

  I laugh. “It’s not porn.”

  * * *

  One episode in, and she’s hooked.

  “See? Men suck.” She has pointed at the TV more than once, saying that same phrase.

  She looks over at me and sits up. “Your neck’s going to hurt tomorrow if you keep it in that position.”

  “Nah, it’ll be fine.”

  “Just, I guess, come over, but stay above the covers.”

  “Seriously, Savvy, I’m okay.”

  “Well, you’re making me uncomfortable watching you.”

  “More uncomfortable than you’ll be if I’m in that bed with you, you know, because men suck?”

  “Shut up and just come on. It’s your bed.”

  Chapter 14

  “Women belong in all places where decisions are being made. …

  It shouldn't be that women are the exception.”

  ~Ruth Bader Ginsburg

  Savvy

  I wake up feeling as though I am sleeping on a cloud, surrounded by the most heavenly scent—fresh rain in the forest, mixed with soap. Well, I mean, if heaven exists.

  I open one eye slowly to see if he’s next to me. He’s not. I open the other and roll to my back, looking up at a ceiling higher than any I have slept under. I’m alone in a room, a dark room lit only by the fireplace that is gently roaring, a room for a king, or queen, or whatever. We’ll say gender neutral and call it a day.

  I watched him fall asleep. Seeing that was better than any of those videos he posted. I will admit, I understand how the addiction to social media can be caused. I will never admit that I watched in silence during my excommunication, due to Chloe being an idiot, over and over, and sometimes over again.

  When I look a bit closer at the window, I realize black blinds of some sort are covering the view of the ocean that I saw between episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale. Both the view and the show, amazing, obviously for different reasons.

  When I get up to look out the blinds, I see the sun high above us and wonder what time it is.

  I hurry to the bathroom, and when I turn on the light, I see a fresh toothbrush on the granite countertop and my clothes, folded?