Dirty Power

by Ashley Bartlett

  He shrugged.

  “I’m sure you can find a straight girl,” I told him.

  Ryan stared at me, all offended and shit. “She has to be hot too. Not just straight.”

  “I thought that went without saying,” I said.

  “You guys can keep arguing. I’m taking a shower,” Reese informed us.

  We let her. I figured I didn’t need to tell them I was going to be picturing her in that shower.

  Chapter Four

  Reese looked fucking hot. Like too damn hot. Normally, that would be a good thing. But considering the number of women who had bought, or tried, to buy her a drink in the last hour, it was definitely a bad thing. She was wearing jeans that were quite possibly made for her ass. And the top was…Well, it wasn’t appropriate for the weather.

  Damn. When had I become a prude?

  “You’re gonna break something if you don’t relax.” Ryan posted up on the wall next to me. He handed me a beer. Then he handed me his beer. With both hands free, he grabbed my jaw and attempted to unclench it.

  “I’m relaxed. Get off me.” I jerked my chin out of his hands.

  “Sure.” He took his beer back.

  “That chick needs to ease up. Reese isn’t into her.” I started to push off the wall. I was going to separate Reese from the woman who was standing far too close to her. Ryan grabbed my arm and pulled me back until my shoulders slammed into the wall.

  “Leave it. It’ll only piss her off.”

  “She needs help.” She didn’t.

  “Reese can handle herself.”

  “Shit. I know. I just can’t handle it.” And I hated myself for not being able to watch Reese. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Hell, she had turned away nearly every woman who had approached her. They all left looking happy just to have managed a minute of conversation. Reese could be nice when she wanted to. She just wasn’t being nice enough to me.

  “It’s okay.” He pulled me into a one-armed hug that I seriously needed. “You guys will figure it out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But don’t be so damn needy. Makes you look pathetic. She hates that.” Apparently, my nice BFF had left the building. Now Ryan was just keeping it real and shit.

  “You’re so helpful.”

  “I know.”

  “Shit. She’s coming over here.” And she was. Reese was maneuvering toward us. She was somehow sipping a radioactive drink as she weaved around people. That took mad skill. Or maybe not. It was only her second drink. Ryan and I were on four. Maybe five. I wasn’t sure. “Serious. She’s coming right over here.”

  “Damn, Coop. What is this? Your first high school dance? Be cool.”

  “Sorry. Shit. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re a tool,” he answered.

  “Thanks.”

  “You guys about ready to get out of here?” Reese asked once she was close enough to us. “Maybe finish our drinks and go?”

  “Sure.” I tried to be nonchalant. I think it worked.

  “Wait,” Ryan said.

  We both looked at him, but he didn’t say anything else. His gaze was locked on something across the room. I followed his line of sight and found the only sexy straight girl in the bar. Ryan had a talent for that shit.

  He still didn’t say anything. Just handed me his beer and walked away.

  “Damn. Now we need to get another room,” Reese said.

  “Yep.”

  Ryan got halfway to the girl before she realized someone was watching her. He didn’t say or do anything. But I knew he was looking at her with those sleepy, stoned, bedroom eyes of his. They were impossible to resist. I’d seen women try and fail. The boy knew how sexy he was.

  Their encounter took two minutes. Less than, maybe. And then they were gone and stumbling back to our hotel.

  “If we hurry, we can get him another room before he takes over ours,” Reese said.

  “Let’s go.” I ditched the two bottles I was holding and grabbed her hand. Because the bar was crowded and so were the streets. I didn’t want to lose her. Swear. It had nothing to do with simply wanting to hold her hand.

  A block later, Reese pointed out Ryan and his temporary girlfriend.

  “They’re definitely heading to our hotel,” I said.

  “Yeah, but they’re moving slow.” If moving slow was a euphemism for making out on a street corner, then yes, they were moving slow. “Cross the street and pass him.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Reese glared.

  We got to the hotel and reserved a room on the same floor as ours. The kid working the counter handed me the keycard about two seconds before Ryan and mystery girl stumbled into the lobby. I made sure the room number was scrawled on the envelope he had handed me, then followed Reese to the elevator.

  Ryan was too busy doing a thorough tonsil inspection, as all refined boys do, to notice us standing next to him. I stuck the card into his back pocket. That he noticed. He grinned and went back to making out. The elevator came. Which was good because they were kind of gross and noticeable in the lobby of this far too tasteful hotel.

  Reese and I waited for another elevator.

  “That was fun.” Reese glared at the door as it closed on Ryan.

  “Yeah, your brother is super classy,” I said as if I had never behaved the same way.

  “Tonight, he is so not my brother.”

  “So, uhh, what do we do now?”

  Reese shot a non-subtle glance at me. She’d just realized that we were on our own for the evening.

  The elevator opened for us. We didn’t get into it.

  “Let’s go back out. I feel like dancing,” Reese said.

  I did not feel like dancing. Not with any girl who wasn’t Reese. And definitely not with Reese.

  “Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.” I hated myself.

  “Come on.” Reese turned and headed back to the street. Like an idiot, I followed her.

  *

  Dancing wasn’t the problem so much. Not like I thought it was going to be. It was hard to be anything except turned on and high when Reese was all pressed up against me and grinding. Not that Reese was the type to bump and grind. But that’s what it felt like.

  The problem was everyone else in the room.

  They were looking at me like I was a lucky bastard. Which I was. Like they wanted to have the girl I had. That was the issue. She wasn’t mine. They all thought I’d be going home with her. That tonight I’d know the way her skin tasted. That I’d know what it felt like to get lost in her. Just her. That I’d fall asleep with the scent of her surrounding me.

  It was a lie. Made stark by their collective jealousy. They had a better chance than I ever did. Even if it was a slim one.

  I was jealous of them.

  Not that Reese noticed. Or gave a fuck. Girl wanted to dance and she was going to dance. The only thing she would have noticed was if the music stopped. Maybe not even that. She definitely didn’t have the inclination to pay attention to whatever the hell was going on with me.

  At first, she kept her distance. Like she had a vague awareness that I might not appreciate her way too sexy body pressed up against mine. But that wore off quickly. I should have known what she was going to do. She’d done it before. But I didn’t see it coming. Soon she was just dancing. Arms draped lazily around my neck. Eyes closed. Hips following a beat I couldn’t fathom.

  And I was more turned on than I’d ever been. Ever.

  But I kept it together. Really. I just vaguely moved with her and let her do her thing. The pain building low in my belly would fade. The pulse of want would too. It was worth it for one night.

  I didn’t lose it until one of her hands dropped. Slowly. Slim fingers traced the side of my neck, a stray thumb caressed my jaw, fingernails scratched oh so lightly across my collarbone. And I was okay with that. I was even okay with her stepping in closer to me while she did it. But when a stray pinkie innocently grazed my nipple, I was so not okay with that.
/>
  The bitch was fucking with me.

  So I tried to kiss her. It seemed logical. She wanted to turn me on. It was fair play.

  Reese dropped back a step, stopped dancing, and looked at me hard. The brief moment of anger was eclipsed by sadness. And that made me lose my shit.

  I left.

  *

  The arousal faded quickly when I started walking. That surprised me. But my skin still tingled, my hands shook, every muscle seemed to vibrate. I’d felt like that for hours, days. Like currents were running through me. Since the moment I’d seen Ryan strapped to a chair in a warehouse in Chicago. No, before that. Since I’d found Breno and Christopher back in El Dorado Hills. From the moment Breno had hugged me.

  After that, it was a thousand small moments. Christopher’s hand on my arm. Breno’s soft, caring looks. Ryan’s constant need to make me real via contact. Reese reaching out to me in her sleep. All human connection. Not the way Alexis touched me. With her, I knew she wanted something. Same with Vito. It wasn’t about me. It was about them. But when Christopher or Breno or Ryan, hell, even Reese, touched me, I knew it was out of love.

  That simple need to be touched by someone else had been denied to me for half a year. I hadn’t known I’d missed it.

  Reese knew. And she exploited it. I didn’t know why.

  So I walked. And kept walking. It didn’t make it hurt any less. And my hands didn’t stop shaking. I thought walking might make me tired. Weary enough that I could go back and crawl in bed and not hear Reese breathing softly beside me. But I knew I would hear her. Even now, I could feel the whisper of her chest and thrum of her heart. And I ached so bad just to let my heart beat with hers.

  So I kept walking.

  It was somewhere between midnight and dawn when my phone rang. There was a brief rush when I thought it was her. It wasn’t.

  “Yeah?”

  “Cooper. Where are you?” Christopher.

  “The French Quarter.” I was fairly certain that was true. I’d been circling the same blocks for hours.

  “Are the twins with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “We’ve been trying to reach you guys for thirty minutes.” He sounded worried. And frantic. And tired.

  “Ryan found a girl. I don’t know where Reese is. What’s up?” I asked.

  “We’re here. Near the hotel.”

  “Cool. Get a room. We can meet for breakfast in the morning.” Why did I sound so normal? I didn’t feel normal.

  “We can’t.”

  “Why? Oh, shit.” They couldn’t exactly park the truck and leave it unattended. “I’m on my way. I’ll drive for a while so you guys can sleep.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “Sure.” I hung up.

  Maybe driving would accomplish what walking couldn’t.

  I found Breno and Christopher idling with their hazards on a block from the hotel.

  “You guys look like shit,” I said.

  They exchanged an exhausted glance and didn’t bother replying.

  “You don’t mind driving?” Christopher asked.

  “It’s fine. Get some sleep. I’ll call if I need someone to take over.”

  “Thank you,” Breno said.

  I shrugged and climbed behind the wheel. I probably should have paid attention to where I was going. Because other than the po-boys, I hadn’t picked up much from Micky Knight. Just place names. Not where they were or where they went. The streets I recognized I turned on. The signs pointing to places I’d read about I turned toward. Not a great navigational tool. Which was how I ended up on the Pontchartrain Causeway. Dawn teased me for the first few miles. After that, the sun broke. The water got lighter. Lake Pontchartrain was not a sexy body of water. Kinda blue. And watery. Like Tahoe, except I was driving over it, not around. And it didn’t look nearly as deep.

  After that, I just followed the highway. The car ahead of me seemed to know where it was going so I stuck with them. I realized I was tired when I nearly fell asleep at the wheel. My head started to fall forward and my whole body twitched. Then my heart started going triple time. Not good. After that, I couldn’t not notice how dead I was. The signs blurred into green blobs with smudges of white. The cars ahead of me coalesced into a stream of silver and black and gold above a gray-black strip.

  I was fucking dangerous.

  The dash lit up with an obnoxious squeal that made me jump. Great, I was also out of gas. I pulled off at the next exit praying for somewhere to stop. The god I didn’t believe in was looking out for me. Capitalism, that is, not any of the others.

  I pumped gas. And managed to stay upright while doing it. I was a champ.

  The convenience store was kind enough to be made entirely out of glass. Safe enough. I ignored visions of having fifteen million snatched out of the truck and pushed into the store. A high school kid behind the counter continued to play on her phone, not at all distracted by my presence. She was a champ too.

  I grabbed a coffee guaranteed to make me have to pee long before I was back in New Orleans. Also two Red Bulls and three Mountain Dews because they didn’t have AMP. What the fuck backwoods town didn’t have AMP?

  The girl glanced up from her phone after I’d stood in front of her for a full two minutes.

  “Yeah?”

  I nudged the drinks in response. Words were hard.

  She threw a number at me. I threw some money at her. We had an understanding. It was nice.

  “Where’s New Orleans?” I asked. Then amended, “Like how far? And do I just follow this road?” I couldn’t remember if I’d made any major turns.

  “Two hours. Maybe more. That way.” She pointed. No more information. I waited. She broke first. “Stay on the freeway. After the state line, you might want to ask someone else.”

  “State line?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where the fuck am I?”

  “Mississippi.”

  “Fuck me.”

  She didn’t have a response to that.

  I was crossing the parking lot, juggling my coffee and soda and energy drinks—she hadn’t offered a bag and I hadn’t asked—when someone behind me called out.

  “Hey, hey, bud.”

  I figured he wasn’t talking to me.

  “Hey, you.”

  A quick and subtle glance at the pumps suggested he was talking to me. There were only two cars. Trucks, that is. Mine and something big enough to survive a zombie apocalypse. It was older and muddy and dented all over. I kept walking. Slowly. Didn’t want to show fear. But all I could think of right then were rapid-fire words like Mississippi and song lyrics and, strangely, the image of a map. I was in that middle section where it was all red.

  How the fuck did I end up in Mississippi? Gay slurs had been funny back home. Would they be as laughable here? All those books and movies and songs and shows I’d grown up with. Hick towns and backwoods bars and rednecks. Did I not pay any fucking attention?

  “Hey, buddy. Stop, would ya?” And then there was a hand grabbing my shoulder.

  I turned to look. Right then, he was my worst fucking nightmare. He hadn’t shaved in about two days. His lip bulged with dip. He had a weathered face upward of fifty with tired, dark eyes. He smelled faintly of whisky like it had spilled on his worn shirt and he hadn’t bothered to wash it. Coffee and sour tobacco on his breath.

  “Oh, hey, what’s up?” I tried to be nonchalant.

  “You ain’t from ’round here.” For real, he said ’round here.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Might wanna look out.” He lifted a hand. He was gonna hit me. I knew it. I took a step back.

  “Whoa there, bud. You dropped this. That’s all.”

  I looked at his hand. It was holding my wallet.

  “Shit. Thanks.” I tried to take it. My hands were too full.

  He glanced at my hands. Then back at my face.

  “You’re a girl.”

  I debated lying. Was it better to be a dyke or an effeminate gu
y?

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Sorry, you just looked a bit like a fella.” And he actually looked sorry.

  “No worries. Happens a lot.”

  “Oh, well. Shoulda been payin’ attention.” He shook his head like it was his fault.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Oh, uh, right then. That your truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll walk ya. Looks like your hands are full.” He still had my wallet.

  “Thanks.”

  “Where you headed?” He started walking with me.

  “Uh, New Orleans.”

  “Vacation?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Alone?”

  “Got friends there,” I answered.

  We reached the truck. There was an awkward moment where we realized I couldn’t get my keys.

  “Here.” He took the coffee out of my hand.

  “Thanks.” I opened the door, dumped the bottles and cans on the seat, and turned back for the coffee.

  “You okay there? You seem a little jumpy.”

  “Fine.”

  “You sure? I’m not tryin’ to make you nervous.” He handed me the coffee and my wallet.

  I decided to be honest. Probably the lack of sleep.

  “You hear horror stories. Gay kids in Middle America and all that.”

  He smiled. Kinda slow. Like it took him a second to get what I was saying and even longer to figure out that a smile was a good response. “Don’t gotta worry ’bout that. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “I’m Gus.” Of course his name was Gus.

  “Cooper.” We shook hands.

  “Good to meet you, Cooper.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “Now you be careful drivin’.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for grabbin’ my wallet. I would have been screwed.”

  He just smiled, nodded his head once, then I was back on the road.

  *

  The girl in Mississippi was wrong. It took me three hours to get back to New Orleans. And, not surprisingly, the insane amounts of caffeine I’d consumed had me jumpy, sleepy, and kinda nauseated.

  I called Christopher and Breno, but they didn’t pick up. Neither did Ryan. I really didn’t want to call Reese. But it was either that or hurl and pass out in the truck. And that was only worth it if I’d consumed my weight in alcohol. Not even then, really. So I called Reese. She didn’t answer either.