by Jo Raven
Fun… so not.
Loud dance music plays over the speakers, and I wonder if anyone thought to warn the neighbors sleep isn’t in the cards for them tonight.
Swallowing a sigh, I abandon the napkins, Ev nowhere in sight. Returning to the living room, I take off my coat, drape it over the back of a chair, tug on my pendant nervously, and search for familiar faces.
There has to be at least twenty people crammed inside the tiny living room, standing or sitting on the sofa and one armchair, a girl in the lap of one of the guys, sharing a bottle of beer and sloppy kisses with him. He has a hand on her ass, and I wince inwardly as I continue my search.
More people are leaning by the window, talking in loud voices and swigging beer as if it’s water. A guy with a blue Mohawk nods at me from his perch on the dining table, a wild-haired girl between his legs. A tall, muscled guy with blond hair and tattoos climbing up his neck is standing beside them. He lifts a brow at me, and I send a brittle smile their way.
A dark-haired boy and a sandy-haired girl are totally sucking face in the hallway, and I edge past them, tugging on the hem of my short dress, cursing inwardly. A hint of panic is creeping up on me.
It’s this town, I tell myself again, and push my shoulders back. But I won’t let it drag me down.
Nevertheless, I sag with relief when I finally spot Ev and Kayla talking by an open door.
Micah is with them—I’ve seen pictures of him Ev sent me. Tall and handsome, his blond hair falling in his eyes, his blue eyes following Ev’s every move. A soft smile tugs at his lips. As I watch, he wraps an arm around her and tugs her to his side. She also smiles up at him, and all that’s missing is rose petals drifting down and violins playing.
Wow, I’m nineteen and already a cynic. Great. They do look happy together. One bad apple shouldn’t spoil the bunch. Not every guy is like Nick Harris. Not every guy is a bully.
One more thing I need to keep repeating to myself.
“Hey, Amber.” Ev pushes off Micah, throws her arms around me and drags me into their little group. “I want you to meet everyone.”
So I do, nodding and smiling.
First is Micah, of course. He knows who I am and seems interested in the fact I’m into art, which reminds me he’s a tattoo artist, and how cool is that? Thumbs up for Ev.
Then, just as I start to relax into the conversation, talking about tattoos, scarification and jewelry as ways of body modification with Micah, she hauls me away to meet her other friends and Micah’s co-workers.
Now, isn’t it weird that she’s the one introducing me to them, instead of her boyfriend? Though, it seems they’ve become good buddies with her, too.
Lucky girl. Seriously.
The guy with the Mohawk is Zane, the blond guy standing next to him Dylan. Then there’s Rafe, who has rakish golden hair and eyes like a cat, his big hand wrapped securely around his girlfriend’s smaller one. The girl’s name is Megan, and after giving me a blinding smile, she gently disengages her hand from her boyfriend’s—with some difficulty, I note with amusement and a bit of unease, as he doesn’t seem inclined to let go—and wanders off in search of someone.
Next in line are some of Micah’s closest friends—the blue-haired Ocean, who’s also a tattoo artist, and Seth, who’s one of the three apprentices at the tattoo shop and works in the evenings at a nearby movie theater.
Her voice fades into background noise as I take these boys in. Jeez… Ocean’s hair is the hue of his eyes, and Seth is all dark exotic eyes and broad cheekbones, a light scruff dusting his jaw, and... holy crap. Hot boy overload. I hope I’m not drooling. I check my mouth to make sure it isn’t hanging open, and find Seth’s eyes on me.
He nods and smiles, probably trying not to laugh as he catches me in the act of discreetly wiping my chin.
Dammit!
“So you’re the friend Ev mentioned,” he says. “Any friend of Ev’s is a friend of mine, and same goes for my cranky cousin Shane, if you happen to see him hiding in some corner. He’s the long-haired, grumpy one in the family.” Seth’s eyes crinkle at the corners. His teeth are white but slightly crooked, and one of the incisors is chipped, I notice. Cute. “We both owe Ev a lot.”
Ev and Seth share a look I can’t decipher. There’s history in that look, history I don’t have a clue about—but never mind. Somehow I like this guy. His affection for Ev shines through his eyes, and his smile is kind.
The black studs and silver bars that shine in his ears are interesting, too, as are the tattoos visible on his neck and arms. One cool boy.
Then he turns to say something to Ocean, and I notice a stiffness in his movements. That reminds me of something Ev mentioned, about one of Micah’s friends getting beaten up by her crazy ex. I wonder if it was Seth. He has a pinkish scar on his jaw, now that I’m looking more closely, and his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken at some point in the past.
Before I can get a better look at his tats or ask Ev about him, she steers me away.
“I want you to meet Cassie,” she says, and Cassie turns out to be a fairytale-pretty girl Ev used to work with, at a sports store downtown. Cassie is here with her best friend, a long-legged brunette with the most amazing dark, long-lashed eyes I’ve ever seen, and jeez Louise, is everyone picture perfect in here? I’m starting to feel like the ugly duckling.
They both smile politely – two porcelain dolls, one fair, the other dark. They ask if I’ve been to Madison before and how I like it here—
—and by the time they turn away to talk to someone else, the living room has turned into a porn movie.
Or what I imagine a porn movie to be like, anyway.
Bodies writhing on the sofa. Bodies writhing against the walls. Bodies humping and grinding in corners, leaving a few odd ones out who are uneasily swaying to the music in the middle of the room.
Crap.
But Ev doesn’t even bat an eye at the mess. She drags me inside, past a threesome on the coffee table, and keeps moving.
“So if Micah and you are moving in together, who is Seth moving in with?” I ask as she tugs me along.
“He isn’t. He’s getting a new roommate.” She stops, glances around. “Man, can’t see Jesse, but there’s Shane. Let’s go say hi. Don’t let him scare you off. He’s your typical tall, dark, silent type.”
She links her arm through mine and pulls me across the living room as if the porn scene unfolding around us is perfectly normal.
Maybe it is, and the hot, dark current zipping under my skin and sending an ache through my core only makes me more uneasy by the minute. I feel like a voyeur, and it makes me wish for something I’m too scared to chase after anymore.
How sad is that?
“Hey there, Shane,” Ev trills. “Glad you could make it.”
Shane tilts his head to the side, regarding us. His hair is long and shiny black, caught in a ponytail. A silver dreamcatcher hangs from one earlobe, and if anything, he’s even more exotic-looking than Seth, with his almond-shaped dark eyes and tanned skin.
“Micah promised beer,” he says, his voice deep like a gong, sending goosebumps over my skin. He lifts his beer bottle in evidence. “How could I say no?”
“Right. Of course.” Ev shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Have you seen Jesse? Can’t seem to find him anywhere, and I thought he came with you.”
He takes a swig from his bottle and then frowns as if in thought. “Chicks.”
“I’m sorry?”
Shane waves his bottle at the room and the hot, grinding bodies. “Plenty of chicks here. He must’ve caught one.”
I gape at him. Is he seriously talking about girls as if they’re fish on a line?
“I see. Have fun, then.” Ev drags me away as I try to decipher Shane’s expression, to detect any glimmer of humor in his eyes, but his face is still, as if carved in stone.
“Is he always that witty and entertaining?”
“Always.” Ev giggles and then squeals. “Joey! Oh my Go
d, you made it. Over here!”
And she ditches me between a couple humping against the wall and another writhing on the couch.
She ditches me in order to wrap herself around a hottie with dark hair and sparkling eyes.
What in the world?
He laughs and returns the hug easily.
“Evie, you dork,” I hear him say as I approach them. He pulls back and ruffles her hair. “You look real pretty, you little shit. Look at you, all dolled up. How’s it hanging?”
Okay, who’s this guy, and what’s going on? I glance around for Micah, expecting him to come punch this asshole off his feet, but Micah is grinning from ear to ear, heading our way.
“Joel, man, what’s up?” Micah and this Joel guy shake hands and clap each other on the back. “You here alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Ellen couldn’t make it?” Ev blinks innocently at Joel, her eyes a tad too wide.
“Nope.”
“You didn’t ask her out, did you? Be honest.”
He scowls, and I seriously consider turning on my heel and going to look for a beer, because I have no clue what’s going on and what they’re talking about.
“Amber.” Ev comes after me before I take two steps. “Come meet my brother, Joey.”
Blinking, feeling a bit stupid and a whole lot annoyed that I didn’t guess as much, I do my best to grin at Ev’s handsome brother and assure him it’s a pleasure to meet him.
They don’t look one bit alike, but oh, Lord, I’m so glad I didn’t open my mouth earlier. So glad I didn’t immediately think he was insulting Ev and didn’t attempt to kick him in the nuts or slap his handsome face.
Crap.
Stammering an excuse, I make my escape and go look for that beer. I’d leave, but this is my apartment now. Nowhere else to run and hide.
So beer it is. Or wine, or whatever such buffer I can place between myself and the real world. A door with a lock would have been preferable, all things said and done.
And why the hell not? This is my apartment, my bedroom. If I want to lock myself inside, if I want to be antisocial and stand-offish, that’s my right, isn’t it?
I’m actually heading that way, the pull of peace and quiet too strong to withstand—when the bathroom door is thrown open in my face, missing me by an inch. As I jerk back, it bangs against the wall, and someone stumbles out into the dim hallway.
I back away, but the hallway is three feet wide, tops, and the guy, because it is a guy, tall and broad-shouldered, bends toward me from the waist, his lips curling into a grin like the sin of the angels. Lazy. Sexy. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
“What have we here?” he whispers, his eyes going half-lidded, bright against his tanned skin, a startling blue-green in the shaft of light falling through the open bathroom door. “A girl.”
Holy crap.
My throat clicks. My lips move. No sound comes out. Could be because he chooses that moment to straighten, and I finally notice he’s bare-chested, flaunting the most perfect abs and washboard stomach I’ve seen outside of magazines.
Silver hoops decorate his small, brown nipples. Black lines and colorful shapes wrap around his thick biceps and corded forearm. Tattoos, I realize, curling on his smooth skin. A worn leather bracelet encircles his strong wrist.
I can’t breathe. Oh, God. It’s as if someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room.
Oblivious, he leans on the doorjamb and folds his arms over his chest. “Know what? You remind me of someone. Have we met before?”
Of all come-ons… Not that I can speak. Not when he’s looking at me with interest sparking in his gaze.
“What’s your name?” he asks. When I don’t answer, those startling eyes narrow, and vaguely I think they must have been many a girl’s downfall. Then he thumps his chest with his fist and drawls, “Jesse.” He points at me and lifts a brow. “Jane?”
A choked sound leaves my throat. Is he for real?
“You’re drunk,” I say breathlessly, and why the heck am I breathless? Just because this guy is too beautiful to be real doesn’t mean I’ll pant after him, like, like…
“Jesse?” A woman appears at the bathroom door, right behind him, adjusting the straps of her blouse. “Come back here and finish what you started.”
“I’m quite finished,” he mutters, his eyes never leaving me.
My face turns to stone. Panting after him like this woman. Like a bitch in heat. Yeah, not in this lifetime.
“We weren’t done yet.” She drapes her arms around him, and I notice she’s wearing shorts that are just glorified panties and that her cleavage is so deep one of her nipples is winking at me. Her long blond hair is tangled, her lipstick smeared.
Jesus on a pogo stick.
“Yes, in fact, we were,” he counters, his voice so low and throaty it lifts the fine hairs on my arms. “Very, very done, Natasha.”
“It’s Veronica,” she mutters and pushes off him, glaring at his back. “Asshole.”
“Whatever.” He waves a hand at her, his gaze still on me.
He’s a dick. The most beautiful man I’ve ever set eyes on, and he’s an arrogant douche.
Figures.
Maybe all the beautiful ones are like that. God knows Nick was pretty, and he was a monster inside. The shinier the package, the dirtier the soul, it seems.
I step away from this Jesse guy and the disgruntled girl he obviously just fucked and forgot about, turning to go.
So with my luck, it makes perfect sense that Ev blocks my path right in that moment and points a finger at Mr. Beautiful, smiling brightly.
“Jesse Lee. I see you’ve already met. He’s the third apprentice at the tattoo shop.”
Yup, makes perfect sense that the asshole I never want to meet again is best friends and colleagues with my best and only friend’s boyfriend. Which means I’ll probably get to see him all the time.
Awesome. And I’ve only just returned to town.
Jesse Lee, according to Ev, is a good guy and a hell of a friend. When her psycho ex attacked Seth and then Micah, beating them up badly, Jesse stood watch over Seth at the hospital and offered to go hunt the son of a bitch down and drag him to the police station, after bashing his face in.
Sounds violent. But also fair.
Watching him talk to the other guys, waving his bottle of beer in the air, those stunning eyes crinkling in the corners when he grins, is addictive. The way his long mouth curves, the way muscles ripple in his arms with his every move, the way his green T-shirt stretches over his chest, molding over perfect pecs... Oh dear God.
Too bad I don’t lust after men. I don’t chase after them. I don’t need them. They can’t be trusted. In fact, few people can.
I desperately force my attention back to a story Micah is telling us about this customer who walked into the tattoo shop—Damage Control is the shop’s name, and talk about weird, as names go—who first refused to take a seat and then folded down into a dead faint when he saw the needle of the tattoo gun, before it even touched him.
“A fucking mess.” Micah rolls his eyes. “I have this guy sprawled on the floor, and customers peeking into the cubicle, all pale and stuff, preparing to run before I get my hands on them, too. Zane had to go lock himself up in the bathroom because he couldn’t stop laughing, and Tyler was left to block the exit and calm everyone down.”
Kayla, my new roommate, throws back her head of blond-streaked hair and laughs. The sound has a nervous edge to it, and she keeps glancing in Jesse’s direction. I wonder if he’s the reason she’s acting all giggly, flaunting her shiny earrings and long legs, or if she’s always like that.
Not sure which of the two is worse.
When I turn toward Ev, who’s telling the story of how she met Micah on the street one winter day, I find Jesse has switched from the blue-haired guy he’d been talking to, Ocean, to another busty blonde. He has her cornered with a hand braced on the wall next to her head, his dark head dipped forward.
Are they talking about me? Laughing about me?
Old fears rush back with a flutter of black wings, and I retreat a step, my breath frozen in my lungs. I think every set of eyes is turned on me, every smile twisting into a mocking grin, a grimace of malice.
I think I feel hard hands pushing me, shoulders shoving into me, and I’m back at school with voices calling my name, calling me an idiot, a dimwit, a retard for having difficulties reading and writing. Nick, the leader of the bully gang, calling me an ugly, stupid bitch.
Crap. If I don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to lose it, curl up in a ball and bawl. Not something I’d want anyone to witness, much less during this party, on my first night in town.
So I spin around and push past Micah, stumbling through the hump and grind of bodies, trying to find a way out.
It’s this place, I tell myself again as I push against sweaty backs and squeeze between couples to reach the door. It holds my fears, crystallized in time. That’s why I’m unsettled, uneasy in my skin. It’s a time capsule, unaffected by the passage of years, keeping me prisoner while outside the Earth turns and the world changes.
Coming here I took a step back, right into my past. I’m not in high school anymore, not a teenager, unsure of myself, of my looks, of my worth. I know how bullying works, and I know this isn’t it. Everything’s okay. I’m okay.
It’s over, it’s in the past, and this is the present.
Doesn’t help much with the cold ball of dread in my stomach, or the sweat running down my back. My heart is thumping at the base of my throat, making swallowing difficult, and my mouth is dry like the desert.
I finally reach the apartment door, wrench it open and step outside, onto the landing. It’s cooler out here, and quieter once I half-close the door behind me. We’re on the second floor. On one side, there’s a narrow window, and I crack it open, sucking in greedily the crisp night air that’s laced with car fumes and the oily scent of burgers and fries.
