Edge of Chaos (Love on the Edge #1)

by Molly E. Lee

  “Where are we headed?” I asked, hoping he planned on taking me out for a late lunch to make up for the one we’d missed earlier.

  Justin quickly turned his truck into my apartment complex and parked in front of my unit. After the Tulsa fiasco, we’d agreed there was no rush on moving in together, and it helped that Justin already had his own place. I’d gotten lucky scoring this one so close to campus.

  “Your place,” Justin answered and killed the ignition.

  I eyed the floorboards and shuffled my feet, my sneakers crunching the paper bags. “Unless you’ve got some groceries hidden under this mess, we’re eating turkey and crackers.”

  “No big deal. I ate earlier.”

  Of course he did. I held back my smart response of thanks for asking if I wanted anything. After all our years together, I’d decided we were both happier if I avoided arguments—no matter how small—at all costs. It was so instinctive I barely noticed it anymore.

  Justin hopped out of the truck and I followed, trying not to pout. I dropped my bag in its usual spot on the floor next to the couch and scratched behind Hail’s ears. She lifted her head slowly and slunk off the couch to lean into my legs. Her butt wiggled as I scratched harder.

  Justin shut the front door loudly behind us. Hail snorted when she looked at him and then waddled down the hall to my bedroom. The loud thunk from her jumping on my bed sounded a few seconds later. She’d never been fond of Justin. When I got her as a pup two years ago as a birthday present to myself, she’d growled and barked anytime he came near her. Now she merely tolerated his presence, retreating to my room with a grumble only bulldogs are capable of.

  “You could’ve called, you know. Avoid me thinking you blew me off,” I said, turning toward him. My annoyance over him bailing and then showing up just to take me across the street mounted.

  “I told you I was busy with the game. Anyway, you can’t be mad at me. I got you something.” He reached into his back pocket and held his hand out to me.

  I took the two pieces of paper from him, examining them. “Blue October tickets?” I squealed.

  “They’re coming next month. I knew you’d want to go,” he said, smiling.

  “I thought you hated concerts?”

  Blue October was by far my favorite band, and I’d seen them every time they came to town or anywhere within driving distance. Justin had always dropped me off and picked me up. He never came in. He’d always said concerts were overcrowded and lame, but he wanted to make sure I made it home safe—like he thought I’d get kidnapped by the band or their crazy fans. I’d laughed at the notion but never argued because if I got to go to the shows without a lecture or a guilt trip over it taking time away from us, then it was worth it.

  Justin shrugged. “I’ll just drink through it, and besides, it’ll make you happy, right?”

  “Yes.” Maybe he was finally putting forth that effort he’d been promising me for years now. “Thank you!” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. “I can’t wait.”

  He smirked and my muscles coiled out of reflex. I knew that look too well. He’d given me a gift and now it was time for his reward.

  I barely had time to enjoy the spontaneity before I was hurtled onto the couch, my back hitting the cushions with an audible thud.

  I gasped and looked up at Justin as he hovered over me.

  His dark eyes held me for only a moment before his lips crushed mine. My mouth opened automatically underneath his, the pattern of his tongue familiar as it jutted against my own. He’d kissed me a thousand times, and it was always the same. His mouth moved hungrily, and he shoved frantic hands underneath my shirt. His intense desire was enough to stave off my resistance, and I tried to mentally switch gears as quickly as possible.

  Justin never wasted time, and my jeans were quickly on the floor, followed by my underwear. I wanted to tell him to slow down while he slipped on a condom, that I needed a little more time, but I bit my tongue. It would only lead to an argument over how real men make love, so I took a deep breath in preparation as he turned me over and thrust himself inside of me from behind.

  It stung. Not enough for me to cry out but enough for me to dig my nails into the couch cushions. He interpreted the scratching of fabric as a go signal and clutched my hips and pushed himself deeper inside.

  “Justin,” I whispered.

  He moaned in response.

  “I’d really like it if I could be on top this time,” I suggested, and not for the first time. Despite my many attempts to take the reins and try another position, he’d never once made love to me face to face, and I thought perhaps I might enjoy it more from another angle.

  “This is how I like it. Relax. I’ve got this under control,” he said, his voice shaking by his quick breathing.

  I opted for another tactic. I reached behind me and grabbed his thigh, slowing him down. I closed my eyes and tried to control his movements by rocking forward and backward, but his death grip on my hips made it pointless. He quickened his pace within seconds, and I released a breath of frustration. He never let me be in control, not that I knew much more than him, but I believed my body and understood what it wanted. And this wasn’t it.

  I breathed deep and let go of my frustration, knowing this would be over in minutes and I could escape to a warm bath—a tradition of mine since we started having sex.

  In the movies they never showed the girl jumping into the tub for a good soak after she made love to her hero. Guess they didn’t want to show the reality of how painful sex could be if paired with a selfish lover in bed, and how the only cure is a good length of time under warm water. I wished at least one movie would, to warn girls like me.

  He pumped his hips harder and grunted. I sighed in relief when his body relaxed. He pulled out and retreated to the bathroom for a few seconds before returning. Yanking up his pants, he grabbed my underwear off the floor and tossed them at me. I slipped them on gently, not wanting to increase the soreness already throbbing between my thighs.

  “I’ve got to go. I told the guys they could have a re-match before work.”

  I kept my face even when he mentioned COD again. I hated the video game because it usually won when the choice came to going out with me or staying in and playing it.

  “Will I see you Friday after I get off?” I asked. My shift ended at nine—easily early enough to go out on a real date. One that didn’t involve delivery pizza and a marathon Xbox session.

  Justin held the door open and paused. “Don’t think so, babe. It’s double XP points, and I’m having the guys over to pull an all-nighter.”

  I rolled my eyes. More video game crap.

  “You need to study after work anyway, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call you later. Enjoy your bath,” he said and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

  I cringed. He was well aware of my after-sex habit and why I needed it, but he never asked if there was anything he could do to help prevent it.

  And every time I’d tried talking to him about it, his response was the same—there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t able to handle how endowed he was.

  I locked my door and filled Hail’s bowl with food. She waddled into the kitchen a few seconds later and inhaled the contents as I scooped the concert tickets off the coffee table to pin them on the fridge.

  This was the coolest gift he’d given me in years. In fact, it just topped the geode he’d given me for my twelfth birthday. I’d been a huge rock hound that year—back when I’d found the ground more interesting than the sky—and he’d waited until the very end of the party my mom had thrown me to pull me aside.

  I’d followed him to the middle of my driveway.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I want to give you your present. Close your eyes.”

  I clenched them shut.

  “Okay, open them.”

  He held one hand behind his back and the other gripped a small hammer.

  My eyebrows rose. �
��Um, thank you?”

  He laughed and brought his other hand around, revealing a speckled gray rock the size of a softball.

  I gasped, excitement soaring through me. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Justin nodded. He sat the rock on the ground and handed me the hammer.

  I gave him a spare glance before I brought it down on top of the rock with as much force as I could muster. It didn’t even crack. My shoulders drooped.

  Justin took the hammer from me and let the rock have it.

  It cracked like an egg under his strength.

  I’d scooped up the pieces and treasured the white crystals sparkling inside.

  He’d nailed the present, and over the years I’d often compared him to that rock. Rough on the outside, but so much more underneath. Though, lately, he’d been closer to the sharp points the crystal held as opposed to the beauty.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the tickets in my hand. I could only hope the boy who’d given me the geode was slowly returning.

  I EYED THE tiny clock on the upper right-hand corner of my register screen. Only an hour left to go. Don’t know why I was so excited to get off, wasn’t like I had a fun date to get ready for, just a mountain of reading from the first week of classes.

  Justin had called and said I could come over to his place if I wanted to, but the idea of watching him and four of his closest friends play Xbox and drink beer all night was less than tempting. He wouldn’t even know I was there anyway, not with COD on the screen.

  Scanning my next customer’s three DVDs I tried not to be bitter, but it was hard. Routine smothered me, and I desperately craved to do something, anything. I handed the customer his bag of movies. Maybe I’d skip class reading and color my hair tonight, something wild like red or blonde.

  “Hey there,” a familiar deep voice said, snapping me to attention.

  Heat rocketed to my core, and my heart stuttered.

  Damn. Dash Lexington. He was gorgeous, but he had an approachable air, like it’d be easy to carry on a conversation with him.

  “Hi,” I said, grabbing his CD and scanning it. I held the CD up before putting it in a bag. “You like Blue October?”

  His eyebrows raised. “Hell, yeah. They’re incredible. You know them?”

  “Been to six of their shows. They’re even better live.”

  Dash smiled, and it lit up his chiseled features. “Agreed. I’ve only been to a few shows, but I’m going next month. You?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He swiped his card and signed the pad with the cheap plastic pen. “So, Blake, who likes to answer every question in class, when do you get off?”

  My mouth dropped for a moment. “I don’t answer every—”

  “Yeah you do, but it’s all right,” he cut me off, “gets me and the boys off the hook.”

  I handed him his bag as he stood there eyeing me. I glanced behind him, but there weren’t any customers waiting in line since the store would close soon.

  “What?” I finally asked, and hoped if I had ink or something on my face he’d have the decency to at least tell me.

  “What time are you done here?”

  I blinked a couple times. “Oh, less than an hour.”

  “Perfect, it’ll still be happy hour over at Bailey’s. You know where that is?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a bar the guys and I hang out at near campus. Total dive, but they’ve got rated burgers and cheap drinks.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “You want the address so you can meet me there, or do you want me to wait so you can follow me?”

  My eyes widened for a second, realization setting in. “That’s really sweet, but I have a boyfriend.”

  He tilted his head. “And I have a girlfriend. Overconfident much?”

  “I’m sorry! I just thought . . .” Blood rushed to my cheeks.

  Dash chuckled. “Relax, I’m just teasing. I get it. You probably have guys asking you out all the time. In my case, though, it’s strictly a friendly invite because I wasn’t joking about the girlfriend part.”

  He smiled at me again. The gesture was so genuine it calmed my embarrassment and tugged on my intense desire to shatter the routine I was stuck in.

  “In that case, I’d love to.” My answer came quick and I swallowed hard. Usually I weighed the pros and cons on whether an event was worth fighting with Justin over. He didn’t like it when I went off script, but something in me didn’t want to say no to Dash.

  “Awesome, I’ll hang around till you get off. Be easier if you follow me.”

  “All right,” I said, the butterflies resuming their flapping in my stomach. I told myself this was because I was thrilled at the prospect of actually making some friends before I graduated college and not at all to do with how his lip quirked when he smiled.

  “You should text your boyfriend and tell him to meet us there,” he said while walking toward the exit. He had his cell phone out and typed as well. “I’ll be out here when you’re done closing up.”

  I watched him walk through the automatic doors. I saw the outlines of defined, but not bulging, muscles through his snugly fitted red T-shirt. I blinked and forced myself to snap out of it. He literally just told me to text my boyfriend!

  I pulled out my cell phone from underneath my register and stared at it for a few moments, contemplating the right way to invite Justin. I knew he wouldn’t come out, not with his boys’ night in full force, but I also knew he’d want me to go home and study. Not go to a bar. The idea of getting to know Dash—a person I’d admired and respected, who also shared my field of study—filled me with a confidence I hadn’t experienced before. I finally shot Justin a quick text, and then proceeded to do my closing duties.

  Forty-five minutes later I clocked out and headed to my car. I glanced at my phone for the first time since I’d texted Justin. Six missed calls. My heart pounded a little harder in my chest. Six calls on a COD night was unheard of.

  “Hey, you ready?” Dash leaned against his black F150, his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “Sure,” I said, stopping at my car parked a few spaces away.

  He gave me a nod and hopped in his truck. I dialed Justin’s number while following Dash out of the parking lot.

  He answered after the first ring.

  “What do you mean you’re going to a bar?” he snapped.

  “Hello to you, too.” A loud mixture of male banter and video game gunfire boomed in the background.

  “Don’t get cute with me, Blake. Why in the hell are you going to a bar?”

  “To hang out with some people from class. What’s the big deal? You’re with your friends tonight,” I said, sighing.

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m not getting drunk with a bunch of college assholes.”

  No, you’re getting drunk with a bunch of drop-out assholes. “I’m not going to get drunk, and they’re not assholes. What’s the problem?”

  “I know you. Ten to one you’re not meeting a bunch of sorority girls.”

  “They’re guys from my class and their girlfriends. You could meet us there, you know.” I continued to follow Dash’s truck, which took me on the familiar route toward campus.

  “I shouldn’t have to do that,” he said, the anger in his voice mounting.

  “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to come out with your girlfriend on a Friday night. You should want to,” I snapped and instantly regretted it. Where had my fight-filter vanished to?

  “I can’t believe you’re choosing to do this over your responsibilities. You should be studying, and if not that then you should be here.”

  I gripped the steering-wheel harder, waiting for the guilt that normally hit me when he pulled those lines. It didn’t come. “My classes are under control, and you don’t even notice me when COD is up.”

  “Whatever. This is bullshit. Hope you have a great time tonight. Try not to get roof
ied.” He hung up.

  My mouth dropped, and I scoffed at my cell phone, resisting the urge to throw it out the window. I opted instead to shove it in my purse and crank up my stereo.

  Going out with a storm chaser from class who had arms that tornadoes would change course for wasn’t wrong. I was an aspiring meteorologist. It was networking. Despite repeating this to myself, I was still fuming when I parked next to Dash’s truck in front of the bar.

  The small brick building had a lone neon sign hanging out front. Posters with specials plastered the windows, and Dash held the door open for me as we walked in. The smell of cigarettes and fried food instantly hit me as we entered. Music blared from speakers in the corners of the small room, and a wooden bar took up most of the space. To the left were a few round-top tables with red leather bar stools and a shuffleboard pressed against the wall behind them.

  The place was packed with people, most in OU shirts. Chatter joined the music bouncing off the walls, drowning out the angry thoughts in my head. Dash gently touched my lower back, sending another spark soaring through me. I tried not to freak out that the creator of the website I practically stalked guided me to a tall, round-top-table in the back next to the shuffleboard.

  The other two guys from class sat there with giant frosty mugs in front of them.

  “Whoa, who invited the meteorologist?” the dark-haired one asked. He wore an OU T-shirt and jeans, his brown eyes looking me up and down.

  “I did,” Dash said and turned to me. “Blake, this is Paul Whitmore.” He pointed to the dark-haired boy.

  “Hey.” Paul leaned toward me. “What do meteorologists get after a night of tequila and bad tacos?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, what?”

  “Rear-flank downdrafts,” Paul said and burst out laughing. He stopped only long enough to take another swig of beer.

  I chuckled. “That’s so corny it’s almost funny.”

  “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.” Dash pulled out a barstool for me to sit on. He pointed to the boy sitting next to Paul. “And this is John Langston.”