by Mj Fields
I lie next to her, knowing I shouldn’t enjoy it so much. I shouldn’t feel the way I feel about her. The protectiveness I understand because, hell, she is the most innocent chick I have ever been around. Even if she has been with someone in the ‘biblical’ sense, she’s still Tally. Regardless, with a body like mmm, and an ass like POW!, I can’t shake the desire to be all up inside of her.
***
I wake up to the sound of my alarm, lying on my back with a sweet smelling, tight, little body draped over me. As fucked up as I got last night, I know who it is.
“Oh, my dear.” She tries to pull away, but my arm is underneath her side and wrapped around her with POW! in my hand.
“Morning, buzz kill. How are you feeling?”
“How did I end up”—she huffs as she gives up the fight, yet unravels her leg from between mine—“here.”
Reluctantly, I release POW! and let her go. “You were doing shots, got all fucked up in five minutes, threw up on me—”
“I’m so sorry,” she begins.
“Evidently, I had it coming,” I tell her as I roll to my side, facing her as she sits up, looking mortified when she sees the sweatshirt she’s wearing.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Hopefully in the washing machine. Smelled awful.” I can’t help enjoying watching her eyes widen, so I keep it going. “I gave you a bath and—”
“You didn’t,” she gasps.
“Would I lie to you?” I sit up and bow my head so I am eye to eye with her. Except, her eyes aren’t connecting; she is avoiding looking at me. “Tales?”
“Did we …?”
“Take a bath together? Yes. Did I strip you? Yes. Did I wash you? Yes.”
She shakes her head. “Why? Why did you do all that?”
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I get up and turn off the damn alarm. “I needed to clean up after the little vomit shower you gave me. Couldn’t get the stink off you without getting rid of the shorts and T-shirt. Wouldn’t have been cool if I plopped you in the tub and left you. You could have drowned.” I grab a pair of shorts and throw them on over my boxers. Then I grab my black Pearl Jam T-shirt and throw it on before looking back at her.
Finally, she looks up at me. “Did—”
“Tales, does your pussy feel like it went ten rounds with the heavyweight champion of—”
“Memphis!” she yells at me, then grabs her head.
“Well, fuck, Tales, I kind of prefer a warm, active participant in the sheets, not a dry heaving, goose bump covered, shaking, little drunk,” I tease.
She tries not to laugh when I swear, and I try not to laugh at the hellacious mess of curls going every which way on her head.
“We have thirty minutes to get to the airport, and if we’re late, I will have even more hell to pay from Madison than I already do.”
“Is she angry at you?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair.
“I don’t know. Is she?”
She swings her long, lean legs over the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”
“When you told her I kissed you, was she pissed?”
Her jaw drops, and her head jerks back so she’s looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Well?”
“I need clothes,” I say after far too much uncomfortable silence.
“That’s all you’re gonna say?” he asks.
“What do you want me to say?” I look down. I feel like garbage. My head is pounding, my stomach hurts, and now there are butterflies dancing inside of it.
“Does she know?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?” he asks.
“You were drunk. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Right.” He laughs. “Is your bag in the guest room?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’ll grab it. Feel free to brush your teeth. You already used my toothbrush last night.”
I hear him walk out the door, and I quickly walk to the bathroom and then shut and lock the door, as if that matters. I take off the sweatshirt and jump in the shower, washing as fast as I can while still in my bathing suit in case he comes in. I condition my crazy hair and then quickly rinse.
After I get out, I throw my hair up in a towel and see the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door; it reads, HIS. But right now, it’s mine.
My head is still pounding, but my stomach—whenever he’s not around—doesn’t feel so off.
I walk out as he walks in.
He smirks. “Ten minutes,” he warns. “I’ll leave you to it. Hurry up, okay?” With that, he starts to walk out.
“Memphis?”
He looks back at me.
“Thank you.”
He gives me a sly, little grin. “Now you owe me.”
The past two days have been insane, totally insane. I have spent two nights sleeping in the bed of a boy I had a crush on growing up, who happens to also be my first kiss and a rock star, for goodness sakes. If I didn’t know better, I would certainly allow my mind to entertain the little fairytale buzzing around inside it, maybe even serve it tea.
I am dressed, and my hair is wet, yet tamed with product. I brush my teeth with my own toothbrush, and as I am flossing, he walks in.
“Tales, come on; you can do that shit later.” He snaps his fingers. “Queenie is arriving soon, and I sure as hell don’t want to be late. I’ll catch hell.”
I throw the floss away and reach in my bag. “Memphis?”
“Tales?”
“Do you know where my phone is?”
He shakes his head. “Where did you have it last?”
“Probably my pocket? I don’t know.”
His eyes widen, and he cringes. “Clothes are gone to the laundry.”
“Someone is washing my clothes?”
“And mine. Can you imagine what they must be doing in that washing machine?”
I completely ignore his sexual innuendo. “Did you check the pockets before you put them in?”
“I don’t do laundry.” He looks at his phone. “Time, Tales. Let’s roll, or we’ll be late.” He hurries out the door, and I follow behind. “I’ll send a text; we’ll find it.”
Once outside, he hits the key fob and unlocks the doors to a black Escalade. Then he opens the passenger door.
“Chop, chop, sweet cheeks.”
I feel a blush rising on my face as I climb in, and I’m pretty sure he groans behind me before shutting the door.
He hops in the driver’s seat, then moves the seat back. “Haven’t driven in a while”—he laughs—“so buckle up.”
“How long?” I ask, and he merely chuckles.
“Been on the road for a year, so I’d say a year. Might get a little hairy out there.” He reaches out and messes up my hair.
He has always poked fun at my hair. Apparently, he still does. How stupid am I for thinking he was attracted to me? His sexual innuendoes were nothing except a joke, or maybe he just wanted to have sex, which he obviously gets a lot of.
“You’re quiet. Felling shitty?”
I smirk and shake my head.
“Tales, you really need to get over the giggles when someone curses.” He pulls out and starts down the brick driveway. “Tell me about school, about your father. How is your mom?”
“Why?”
“’Cause I want to know what I’ve missed.”
“Tell me about being on the road for a year.”
He stops in front of the gate and looks at me as we wait for it to open. “I really am sorry about your dad, Tales.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s in a better place, right?” he asks sincerely.
I nod. “Yes, he’s where he’d want to be.”
“Your mom? Church family taking care of her?”
“She’s okay. She misses Dad, but she has a new place, and—”
“A new place? She isn’t in the house?” he asks in shock.
“It belongs to the church.”
/>
“Probably easier being away from the house, though, right?” he asks, pulling out onto the road, where he guns it. “Memories and shit?” I grab the handle above the passenger window, and he snickers. “You know what that’s called, Tales?”
“What?”
“The handle. It’s the oh-shit handle.”
“You drive like a maniac.” I grab the one on the dash while he weaves into traffic at a speed I am sure is higher than it should be.
“I drive how I bang, Tales. I get you from start to screaming orgasm in record time.”
“That must be why they don’t stick around.” I am terrified of the way he drives. “Memphis Black, slow down!”
He laughs. “They don’t want to leave, Tales; trust me. Never had a complaint, just requests for an encore.”
He hits the gas, and I see the airport sign.
“Left lane, Memphis”
“Shit.” He guns it again. “You keep fucking me up with all the sex talk, Tales, and we’ll either be in the back of an ambulance or in the backseat.”
“I’d like to get to the airport without either detour, thank you.”
“Damn, sweet cheeks is cracking funnies,” he says.
Once settled into the proper lane, he reaches up and turns on the radio.
“Love this song.”
I look at the radio, seeing “I Followed Fires” by Matthew and the Atlas scrolling across the display.
He begins strumming on the steering wheel, and his head starts bobbing slightly. He gets that look of intensity on his face, exactly like when we were younger, and starts to sing along.
“There’s a devil at your door, and he grows, he grows. So I’ve been told he had a heart of gold …”
He continues singing as I lean back in the seat and take in the smooth sound of his voice, watching his incredibly handsome face as he sings a story, his facial expression—heck, he puts everything into it. He feels every word, and watching him, you do the same. He is truly an artist, always has been.
The song ends and the next begins.
He laughs. “Want some chocolate, Tales?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
In the blink of an eye, he starts singing this crazy song about chocolate. He sings it to me, smiling and bobbing his head. He grabs my hand and holds it up like a microphone and starts singing into it. I can’t help laughing, which he does, too, but doesn’t miss a beat.
The dash reads “Chocolate” by The 1975.
The way he is looking at me is best described as sinful because it makes me think of his mouth and his perfectly shaped lips. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt fits him like a glove, and his shorts are white. I have no idea why I am checking him out in such detail, but I am. When I realize it, I look up, our eyes meet, and his lip curls up at the corner.
“I’d give my left nut to know what the hell you were just thinking.” His voice is thick and raspy.
“I was thinking you’re going to miss the turn,” I say, pulling my hand away and grabbing those handles.
He crosses over two lanes to the sound of horns from angry drivers, and he is laughing.
“You’re going to kill us!” I screech.
“Fuck that. They have breaks, and I had plenty of time, sweet cheeks.”
“Have you always been such an awful driver?” I ask in anger as I hold my hand over my chest, thinking any moment my heart is going to beat out of it.
“I drive just fine. And would you look at the time. Damn near perfect.”
He pulls up in front of Virgin Air and smiles as he grabs his phone. “Mads is at baggage claim now.” He taps a reply on his screen, then tosses it on the dash before reaching in the back and grabbing something. He turns around and shows me the sign.
“The Mad Queen’s Ride. You think she’ll like it?”
“You know she will.” I laugh.
“Yeah, I do. As much of a pain in the ass as she is, I’ve kind of missed her, Tales.” He hits his hazard lights and opens his door. He quickly walks around the vehicle and opens my door.
“Come on. I think she’ll be happier to see you than me.”
I get out and start for the door, but he grabs my elbow.
“No way, Tales. You’re gonna stand here with me and look like an idiot holding the other half of this sign.”
“Shouldn’t we go in?”
“Nah. I can’t be that easy. She’ll think I actually like her.” He winks. “Gotta play hard to get, you know.”
The way he looks at me makes me think he’s talking about me. The way he’s still staring at me makes me realize I’m right.
His thumb is running slowly back and forth on the side of my elbow.
“Memphis?”
“Tales?”
“You’re holding my arm.”
“Shit.” He lets go. “Sorry, sweet cheeks.”
I turn around when I hear his name behind me and see three girls whispering.
He grabs me with one arm around my waist and pulls me against his side.
“What are you—?”
“Are you Memphis Black from STD?” a blonde with a very short shirt and huge breasts asks.
“What gave it away?” he asks in a very flirtatious manner.
“The hair,” a brunette swoons.
“The ink,” the blonde purrs.
“The total package,” the other girl with ambrosia hair says, blatantly staring at his crotch.
“Can we give you our number?” one asks.
“I am dying for an STD,” the brunette who ends everything in a purr says.
“Gave her one two months ago,” he says, pulling me tighter. “In about seven more months, she’ll be giving birth to it, so I will have to pass this time, ladies.”
I look up at him, ready to let him have it, but he pushes my head so my face is buried in his chest.
“Well,” one huffs as the others … congratulate us.
I try to pull away, but he holds the back of my head tighter.
“She’s shy,” he excuses.
I dig my nails into his chest, and he lets go, but only after a few more seconds.
“What the heck did you just do?”
“What the hell did you just do?” He lifts his shirt to see red marks where I dug into him. “Damn.” He smirks. “You need to kiss it better.”
“Memphis, you just told them I was—”
“So?” He shrugs.
“Well, not only is it a lie, but it’s possible it will start a rumor, and my mother …” I cover my face. “Dear God, Memphis, my mother will stroke out. And you, you idiot, you just messed up the whole”—I wave my hand in the air, and somehow it ends up pointing at his, lower half—“rock star, man-whore thing.”
“First, you can call your mother and tell her I did it to push three chicks away who wanted in my pants, and they were not my type, Tales.”
“I thought everyone was your type,” I huff.
“No, Tales, not everyone.” He looks at me.
“Right. I get it. Fine. But you just screwed that up. Every kinky-haired, thrift store queen is gonna think they have a shot with Memphis Black and—”
“She’s coming. Do you think you could chill the fuck out for a minute?” He laughs.
“No. No, I don’t,” I say honestly.
“Tally, Memphis! Eek, hugs!” Madison runs up and hugs us both. “Tales, you’re too damn skinny. What the hell happened to the freshman fifteen?”
I feel tears filling my eyes. I have missed her so much. She is and always has been what balances me.
I sniff back the tears, and she pulls back and looks at me.
“Don’t you do that, okay? We cried too damn much last time I saw you.”
I feel my lips tremble and I hug her more tightly.
“Aw, Tales.”
“Just missed you,” I whisper.
“I missed you, too.”
I pull back and plaster a smile on my face, and she wipes the tears off my cheeks as two women approach Memp
his.
“Aren’t you the lead singer from—?”
“Not right now,” he says in a gruff voice, and I look up at him. His eyes are locked on me. “Come on, Mads. Let’s get sweet cheeks something to eat. I think she’s probably hungry.”
“But you’re Memphis Black, right?” the girls ask as he opens the door to the Escalade.
“Right now, he’s a brother and a friend,” Madison says as she hops in the back seat and pulls me in behind her.
“And apparently, Queenie’s driver.” He shuts the door and grabs her bag.
“Talk to me,” Madison says as she buckles up, then grabs my hand.
“Just, just …” I don’t even want to have this conversation.
“Just what, Tally? You can tell me anything, you know that.” Her eyes are like his; brilliant blue and inviting.
The door opens and Memphis gets in, turns around, and holds up the sign. “Did you even notice this?”
“Nice.” Madison flashes him a smile, then turns back to me. “Spill it.”
I expect Memphis to start up the vehicle, but he doesn’t. When I look up, his eyes are slightly crinkled, and he looks to be trying to figure something out.
“Tales got shit-faced last night.”
“You did not!” Madison gasps.
“Fireball. By the fucking glass. One after another.” Memphis winks at me.
“You’re shitting me,” Madison says, and I smirk.
“I wouldn’t shit you, Mads. You’re my favorite turd.”
“Shut up and tell me everything.” Madison grins and looks at me.
I shake my head. “Wasn’t really my best day.”
“Fucking whiskey? You chose to get drunk the first time on whiskey, Tales?” She laughs. “How do you feel?”
“Surprisingly, not as bad as I should,” I answer.
“That’s because she fucking ralphed all over me.” Memphis smirks at me through the rearview mirror.
“No way,” she gasps.
“Yes way. And more than once.”
“How did that happen?”
“She turned green, and I snatched her up before she tossed it all over in front of the band and some friends. She’d have never lived that shit down.”
