by Jane Anthony
I bring a bottle of beer to my lips and hope my silence is enough of an indicator that I don’t want to talk about it. Turns out, it’s not. “At least tell me her name!” Jill begs.
“Casey. She works at The Wreck.”
Jillian’s absurdly large eyes grow as big as saucers. “Musician?”
If there’s one person on this planet who loves rock ‘n’ roll as much, if not more, than I do, it’s Jill. For me, it’s always been about technique. The way the various pieces fit together seamlessly, each unique sound working together to create something majestic. Each player has his own voice; it’s not just about the singer. Jill is different. She loves it as a whole. She feels it deep in her bones and uses it to control her moods and her feelings. The soundtrack to her life constantly plays wherever she is.
When we were kids, Jameson and I played music in the garage out back—me on the drums and him on guitar. Jill would sit there for hours just watching us. It didn’t matter that we sucked, just hearing the music made her happy. The idea that I may be involved with a musician would be like completing the circle.
“Bartender.”
Jill turns back to her pot and continues stirring. “Do I get to meet her?”
I take another swig of my bottle and change the subject. “Zakk sleeping?”
My nephew is the perfect segue out of any conversation. The second someone mentions his name, Jill gets all soft and pliable. It’s ridiculous how something so small can have such an enormous impact. The second that little ass-kicker came flying out our family began breathing again.
“Nah,” Jill says with an instant smile. “He’s in his playpen in the other room. I have to feed him, though. You can go get him if you want.”
Zakk’s baby pen sits in the corner of the family room, facing the television. Bert and Ernie dance on the screen singing about ducks and shit, but Zakk looks too amused by the squishy ball in his lap to notice. Black hair pokes up on his head in every direction as he tries his best to shove the entire ball into his mouth.
“Hey, kid. You don’t wanna eat that.” I grab him from his mesh prison, making sure to avoid the V-shaped wet mark on his shirt. I’m told he’s teething, which explains the drool always pouring out of his gummy smile. Wiping his face with a nearby cloth, I carry him into the kitchen where Jillian’s already laid out a pureed feast.
“Thanks,” she says, taking the baby and setting him in his high chair. He smacks the white tray in front of him and shouts, demanding food.
Jameson shoves a spoonful of vegetable mush into Zakk’s waiting mouth. He swallows it down then yells until Jameson does it again. Seeing Jameson with his own kid is bizarre. When we were younger, I was the one on the straight and narrow, and he was the fuck up.
His home life was shit. He ran away at sixteen and didn’t return for five whole years. Now, six years later, here he is, covered in tattoos, wearing a Quiet Riot T-shirt, and making silly faces at a baby who bears his eyes. If you had told me back then our lives would turn out this way, I never would have believed it. He should be the one coming to dinner at my house, envious of my awesome life, not the other way around.
***
A curtain of blond hair slides off Casey’s shoulder as she leans forward in my truck. Above the hood, the diamond sparkle of a million stars glitter overhead and below us is a bird’s-eye view of the tiny city I call home. This time of night most of the houses are dark, but the lights on the highway shine bright, as does the passing of each car racing to its next destination.
“What is this place?”
“When I was just a kid, my mom got cancer,” I start, inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “She came into my room one day and told me she was dying and that, as the oldest child, it was my job to be strong for my sister. Jillian was only eleven at the time, so sweet and innocent. My mom made me promise to protect her, to be good to her, and to keep her safe. I said I would, and I never went back on that promise. Everywhere I went, Jill came along.”
Secrets aren’t something I keep. They fester inside your body like a spreading infection, turning everything sour as a result. I speak from experience. Nothing good comes from keeping shit inside. No, I wear it on my sleeve. If people don’t like it, fuck ’em. No one has the right to judge me.
The death of my parents is hardly a secret, but discussing my feelings on the subject is rare. It’s the one and only thing I continue to keep to myself, in spite of my open-door policy. But I need Casey to know that I understand how she feels. She’s not alone in her grief. I feel my own every day. It’s always there, hiding dormant and popping up at the worst times to say hello.
“I was thirteen when she died. My dad withdrew, my sister hid in her room and cried for days, and I was left to fend for myself. My dad had this old drum set and taking my aggression out on it really helped. When it got too late to play, I’d escape into the woods on those rare moments I was alone and just walk.”
Now that I’ve started, I can’t hold back the avalanche of words and feelings that seem to want to burst out of my chest and into the atmosphere. I’ve spent so long holding it in, unable to discuss it with Jill, not wanting to show my vulnerable side to Jameson, that now I can’t control it.
“I found this place and, for some reason, being this far from the world made me feel closer to her. I’d just sit for hours until the sky began to change and the sun would rise before heading back to get Jill up for school. It was the only thing in the world that was mine and mine alone.”
“You never brought anyone else up here?”
“There’s never been anyone else, Case. I spent my life looking after Jillian, instead of building one for myself.”
“What about your dad?”
“He was around for a while, but my mom took a piece of him with her when she died. He loved her so much.” The lump in my throat is damn near suffocating. I swallow hard, blinking my emotion away. Men are supposed to be strong. Only pussies cry. “Anyway, he didn’t last long. We lost him a few years later.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Casey’s hand finds mine and, for the first time, I notice how filthy my hands look. Black stains from a lifetime of fixing cars have made their permanent home inside the cracks and crevices of my fingernails; no matter how hard I scrub, they never seem to get fully clean. I’m only twenty-seven, but my hands could tell the story of a fifty-year-old man.
The door of the old Chevy creaks as she pushes it open and jumps out. I follow suit, slipping down from the truck and meeting her in the front. The soft glow of the moon and stars is the only light, other than the twinkling of fireflies dancing around and the glimmer from the street lamps in the city below.
“Dance with me.”
“But there’s no music.”
“We have all the music we need in here.” She presses her hand to my chest before sliding it around my neck. I feel her heart beating fast as I hold her against me. The distant cars rushing down the highway and the chirp of a thousand crickets serve as the musical interlude to our dance that’s hardly even a dance at all.
Her hands slip into the hair at the nape of my neck as she rests her head on my shoulder. The sweet smell of her skin rings around me. We’re both alone in this world, needing someone to lean on and coming up short. When everyone around me fell apart, I had to be the strong one, with no one to do the same for me. Casey and I share it, and together the burden isn’t quite so heavy.
Warm breath fans across my mouth as she lifts her head and her lips come dangerously close to mine. She wears them natural. Not covered in the gunk girls wear around their mouths. They’re petal pink and perfect, and I want nothing more right now than to make them mine.
“Casey.” My whisper is hoarse as my index finger catches under her chin. Her blue eyes look black in the dim surroundings but shine as bright as the firefly glow around us. A gentle breeze sends golden tendrils across her forehead. I skim my fingertips across her skin, pushing the rogue strands behi
nd her ear. The tongue sweeping across her lips is the sign I was looking for. My lips graze her cheek, leaving a tiny trail of kisses to her delectable mouth. Lightning flashes behind my eyes the second they meet.
It’s a gentle caress, a whisper of a kiss, but her taste, her smell, the feel of her body pressed tightly against mine takes me over and makes me want more. I’m mindless with a need I’ve never had before. Her tongue skims mine with tentative little licks before allowing me to invade the sweet cavern of her mouth with my own.
When I pull away, her hooded eyes are glazed. My body reacts, knowing I’m the one who caused the lustful gaze staring back at me. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to grab her again and kiss her lips raw. To push her against the truck, and guide every inch of my throbbing cock slowly inside her until she’s begging for more. But she’s a nice girl, and I don’t want to push her too far.
“Come on, cowgirl. It’s late. I’ll take you home.”
“Or maybe it’s early. Depends on how you look at it.”
Casey blinks her long lashes as she throws out the same line I fed to her just days ago. I feel her hands roaming my stomach as it twists with want. Is she giving me the green light?
We’re all alone up here. I could throw her in the bed of my truck and fuck her mindless to the sounds of the cricket choir in the background, but as much as I want that, I just can’t do it. For the first time in my life, I want to take this slow. I want to savor the moments I spend with her; bask in this untamed desire until neither of us can take it anymore, and we’re forced to tear each other apart with primal need. I want her to want me so bad she can’t take it. Because that’s how I feel.
CHAPTER 10
Casey
THE PULSING VIBRATION against my butt cheek startles me.
You look really pretty tonight.
My gaze locks on AJ’s from across the room. He’s been texting me off and on throughout the show. Each line is cornier than the one before it, and I’m eating it up with a spoon.
Before I have time to respond, the phone vibrates a second time.
But you’d look beautiful in my arms.
“It must be incredibly hard to serve drinks when you can’t take your eyes off the sound guy,” Marisa chides.
Cringing, I slip my phone back in my pocket. “Sorry.”
Even before he started texting, thoughts of AJ haven’t left my mind all week. He seems to be all I can think about anymore. It also doesn’t help that he looks downright edible tonight. I want to put him on a plate and sop him up with a biscuit.
When he walked in this evening, the tremor that rolled through my body would have tipped the Richter scale. He’d torn off the sleeves on his Zildjian tee, leaving the tiniest bit of his body on display. Judging by the way that the remaining fabric hugs his chest, I have no doubt he took them off simply because he couldn’t fit them over his thick biceps. I’ve always been a sucker for a sexy set of arms.
Marisa glances toward AJ and back at me. “Oh, I get it. He’s hot. But you’re drooling into your tank top.” She grins and pops the tops off two Coors Lights.
I look away, but when the phone pulsates again, I can’t help but reach for it.
Did the sun come out, or is that you smiling at me?
He’s watching me with his steely gaze, and I realize I’m grinning like a damn fool. His lines are getting to me, and he knows it. I must be really hard up.
AJ hangs back as Marisa and I finish our side work, but every so often, I see his gaze slide toward the bar. The night wears thin. I grab my stuff and say my goodbyes, but the hollow thumping of heavy boots stops me before I reach the door. “Case, wait up!” He jogs over to where I hover near the exit. “You forgot something.”
“What?”
A devious smile rolls across his face. “Me.”
“Do you just sit home and think of this stuff, or does it come to you on the fly?”
“Little of both.” He falls in line next to me as we walk out into the parking lot. “Last night was fun.”
AJ and I have seen each other almost every night for the last few weeks. Nothing crazy. Usually a movie or a trip to the diner. Yesterday, he picked me after work and took me bowling. His bowling is just as bad as his dancing, but the man has good form. That, of course, is code for he has a cute butt.
“Yeah. Puttin’ up the bumpers really gave you an edge.”
“Well, hardy har har,” he jokes, leading me to his truck. “Here, get in.”
“I have my own car, you realize.” I cross my arms over my chest in a defiant stance. AJ never lets me drive. He has this thing about being the one in control behind the wheel. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wondering if that need for control filters into other areas of his life. Like the bedroom.
Tonight, I plan to find out.
All week, he’s been playing it cool. A sweet kiss, a gentle touch, a flirty grin. Building up the anticipation until I’m ready to crack and then leaving me wanting more. I’m so ready for more.
“Yeah. I’m familiar with your crappy Pontiac.” He opens the passenger door and waits for me to enter. “Let’s take a drive.”
Randy Houser cries out of the speakers as he turns the key, and I smile. Usually, he listens to his iPod, but tonight, it’s unplugged. He even set the country station as a preset on his truck’s radio just for me. I’ve caught him tapping along with it when he doesn’t think I’m paying attention. He would never admit it, but I think he’s starting to like it.
“So where are we goin’?”
The crook of his finger beckons me closer. When I slide over, he slips his arm around me to pull me the rest of the way. His stubble scrapes against my throat as his lips find my neck.
“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”
The tiny bit of contact singes my skin. I feel like I’m going to combust if he continues. “I think we should go back to your house.” The sentence tumbles out of my mouth breathless and wanton. Five years is long enough. This ends now.
“Are you sure?”
“Drive, city boy.”
“Yes, ma’am!” A slight Southern twang punctuates the words. Whether it’s rubbed off from talking to me or all the country music I’ve been forcing down his throat, I don’t know, but the sound makes my stomach curdle. I’ve grown used to hearing that phrase from another man.
A true Texas gentleman, Austin was always “yes, ma’am,” “no, ma’am,” and “thank ya, ma’am.” It drove me nuts. I resented how polite he was all the damn time. Try as I might, I could never get a rise out of that man. There was no spark. No fire. He was always unrelentingly levelheaded to a fault.
“Don’t say that.” The lava creeping in my veins hardens into charcoal. I straighten up, untangling from his grasp and slide to my side of the truck.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “I’m sorry? What just happened?”
“Nothin’!”
I’m furious for no apparent reason. Austin’s voice has seeped into my brain ever since we spoke last week. Memories I’ve long since forgotten float in and out of my mind like the ocean tide. The sound of my name on his lips, the way he breathes. Tiny things I loved so much yet forced from my mind the instant I turned the page and closed that chapter of my life. I don’t need to hear it on the tongue of the man I’m planning to sleep with as well. Seven years and it still haunts me, refusing to allow me to move on. Why won’t it just leave me alone? I’ve paid for my sins.
“Cowgirl, you’re gonna have to give me some kind of clue.”
“Enough with the cowgirl crap, too, all right? I ain’t no friggin’ cowgirl.”
“What the fuck? You were normal five seconds ago! How do you go from wanting to fuck me to wanting to fight me in the blink of an eye?”
The incredulous look on AJ’s face only pisses me off further. I’m just mad. Mad at my mom, at Austin, at Davis, at losing Gran . . .
“Is this why you don’t date? Because you’re bananas?”
My chin falls; a roiling boil sizzles up my cheeks and into my ears. “You know what? You can just kiss my country ass!” Grasping for the handle, I swing the door open and jump out, stumbling on my boots and taking off for my own car. I don’t need this shit. This is why I’m better off alone.
***
The knocking on my front door is so quiet I wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t awake and stewing on the couch. My temper is the reason I’ve never been more popular. I can still hear Gran’s voice telling me to cool my sass when I’d gotten too loud. However, once the bomb blows, I usually crumple along with the aftermath. AJ didn’t deserve my wrath. It’s not his fault.
The blanket draped across my lap falls on the floor as I stand from the couch. The Nash station on my television hums low in the background. Music has always had the ability to take me to another place. The song isn’t important. Each one offers up a new feeling and a different outlook than the one before it. Tonight, though, I’m not finding the comfort I’m looking for.
I peek through the peephole, wondering who the early morning caller is. Usually, when someone knocks on our door at four a.m., it’s either someone looking for Carlos, the guy who lived here before us, or it’s Marisa, too drunk to get her key in the door. This time, it’s neither.
“What the hell?” I whisper under my breath.
The force of AJ’s lips against mine the minute I open the door knocks me off my feet. His tongue invades my mouth. I scramble backward, knocking his hat off and tearing at his shirt as I pull him toward my bedroom. He mumbles against my mouth, something about our fight, but doesn’t stop kissing me hard until my legs hit the bed and I fall on my backside. I rip at his belt with trembling fingers. The shaking in my hands makes the buckle hard to manage. Or maybe it’s just my haste. Whatever it is, I can’t get the damn thing undone fast enough.
