False Start

by Rebel Farris

  “This’s your practice, I don’t want to intrude,” I protested, waving it off. “I don’t even play your kind of music anyway.”

  “Whaddya play?” Spencer asked, leaning forward in his chair. He propped his chin on his joined fists, his brown eyes intent on me under his green curls.

  “Mostly blues and classic rock.” I shrugged.

  “I’ve gotta hear this,” Spaz added. “I bet she plays circles around you, Spence. No one would ever accuse you of being brilliant.” He twisted toward Spence. His brown mop of hair brushed his shoulders with the movement.

  “Shut the fuck up, Spaz. No one would ever call your bass skills brilliant either.” Spencer looked to me. “You can use my setup.”

  “I couldn’t. I’ve never played in front of anyone other than Mr. Vaughn, my tutor, and the professors at school. I didn’t even realize that Sloane could hear me.”

  “Undiscovered talent, I love it.” Spaz clapped and rubbed his hands together with a scheming look. “Get over there and show us whatchu got, woman.”

  “I’ll give you a beat,” Monk offered with a soft smile.

  Monk was an Asian kid of some descent with bleached, spiky hair and soft features. That was the first time I ever heard him talk. Dude was seriously the silent type. The only time he ever really made a sound was with his kit in front of him. It added gravity to when he did speak and made me want to do what he was asking.

  “Make me proud, Bumpkin,” Law said as he smacked my thigh and pushed me up and off his lap. I rolled my eyes at the stupid nickname. It still pissed me off.

  I walked over, picked up Spencer’s Gibson, and started tuning it. I checked the microphone as well.

  “Oh shit, she’s gonna serenade us too.” Spaz lit a joint, and the smell of marijuana filled the garage. “I’ve gotta get high for this,” he said, his voice strained and higher-pitched from the inhaled smoke.

  I turned to Monk, who’d settled behind his drum kit. “Give me snare every four-count, and double time softly on the hi-hat. Go slow, like this.” I tapped out a beat on the guitar. “You can improv when you feel it, but let’s give it several bars to get a feel for playing together.”

  He nodded, his expression all business, and began setting out a rhythm. I started playing “Texas Flood,” the famous song written by my equally famous mentor and tutor. I closed my eyes and moved my body sinuously with the seductive blues beats.

  We played for a solid three minutes before I turned around and stepped up to the mic. Everyone was silently watching me, but I didn’t feel the nervousness I expected. Instead, I felt electric. Like I was plugged into them and feeding off their energy.

  I belted out the words, feeling their meaning in my bones. I’d played this song so many times since Jared left me, feeling every note echo my very soul’s lament.

  Monk set off on a solo, and I backed him up with soft, repetitive notes. We were feeding off each other. I moved to him, drawn in by the synergy, as we built the music up together.

  Turning to the mic, I rasped out the end of the song, putting as much emotion into the vocals as I had my guitar playing. When we finally rounded the song to a close, I felt bereft.

  Our small audience cheered and whistled, but it didn’t mean as much to me as when I was feeding off the beat that Monk was laying, lost in the music. Holding the audience enraptured, that was my sweet spot. I wanted to stay there forever.

  “Holy shit, anyone else wanna start playing blues music?” Spaz asked.

  “Yeah, I knew she had talent,” Sloane added, her voice soft as if she were in awe. “That was something else, Laine. You have presence. I feel like I just witnessed the first performance of the next legend.”

  “I think she should join the band,” Monk said, and everyone looked to him. When he spoke, people listened, for sure.

  “I don’t really have time for it,” I argued.

  “You’ve been here for all our practices this week, Laine,” Law rebutted. “You have time.”

  “I could move to rhythm, and Law could focus on vocals,” Spence said, ignoring my protest.

  “I’m in,” Law said with zero hesitation.

  “Agreed,” Spaz declared. It looked like I wasn’t getting much of a say. “Looks like you’re in the band, chica. Welcome to One Dollar Bet.”

  Law jumped out of his seat and walked toward me. As soon as I had the guitar strap over my head, he pulled it from my hands and set it down on the ground. Before I knew it, I was upside-down, hanging over his shoulder.

  “We have something we need to take care of.” He adjusted himself, heading for the door. “We’ll be back later.”

  “Ewww, Law,” Sloane complained. “Do you have to be gross?”

  “Put me down, Law,” I protested.

  He bit the side of my thigh, making me yelp. “I know you want to go gay for her, but don’t be jealous, Sloane,” Law called, as he hauled me outside and into the house. He didn’t stop. He walked straight through the back door, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom—aka his bedroom.

  I hadn’t been in here before. It was clean and nicely decorated. A stark contrast from the messy boys’ rooms, with pinned-up posters of half-naked chicks that Evan and Nic had. Law had actual paintings, white walls, and black bedding. The room was blanketed in darkness as he kicked the door shut.

  “I wanted to slow things down with you.” He slid my body down the front of his. “But every time I’m with you, you floor me.”

  “I bet you say that to all your girls,” I joked, trying to make light of his serious tone.

  He shook his head. “You’re not whiny or needy like other girls. You’re chill, independent, feisty,” he said with a smirk.

  “You don’t need to woo me, Law,” I said dryly.

  “You’re incredible, and fuck if I don’t feel the need to worship you.”

  He leaned in, his tongue flicking along the seam of my lips looking for access. I opened for him, and his tongue moved to tangle with mine. He started trailing kisses down my neck. My head fell to the side to allow him access. He grasped my wrist at his shoulder and trailed my hand down his abs to the front of his jeans.

  “This is what you do to me,” he said, pressing himself into my hand.

  I moaned in reply. “Are you going to shut up and use that on me, or what?”

  “You have more talent in your pinky nail than each of us will ever have in years of practice,” he said, ignoring my comment and shoving my hoodie off my shoulders. He smoothed his hands down my arms in the softest graze. Goose bumps formed over my skin in its wake. “Yet you sit there quietly in the background, content.”

  He pulled off my shirt, then my bra. Then started trailing little kisses and nibbles between my breasts, down my stomach. He slowly unzipped my pants, following the zipper with his tongue. He was melting my brain, coherent thought fleeting.

  “I see you,” he said looking up at me as he removed my pants, helping me step out of them. He ran his hands up the back of my legs, squeezing my ass while guiding me to his bed.

  I was laid out in the center of the bed. Law leaned back, fully dressed and looking my naked form over from head to toe.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He shook his head a little. “I need to own—” His lips crashed into mine, like the contact would say what he couldn’t. I was breathless when he broke away. “Do you trust me?”

  I nodded, biting my lip, although I wasn’t sure why he asked.

  He jumped off the bed and went into his closet. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him. When he reappeared, he was wearing only jeans. I’d never seen him without a shirt. He was covered in tattoos on both arms from shoulder to fingers; his torso was blank, aside from an old-fashioned revolver tattooed on his right hip near the defined V of his muscles exposed by his low-hanging pants. Holy God, was he sexy.

  “His name is Law, and he always carries his six-shooter,” I said, mostly to myself. I laughed and lowere
d my voice to do my best spaghetti western impression. “Listen stranger, did you get the idea? We don’t like to see bad boys like you in town.” I quoted A Fistful of Dollars, then added, “I apologize for laughing at your donkey, just keep that thing put away.”

  He gave me that crooked smile that showed off his dimple and I was toast. He muttered something that sounded like, “Fucking adorable.” He was holding something in his right hand. The moonlight, filtering in through the sheer black curtains, glinted off shiny metal as he approached me.

  “You ever used something like these before?” he asked, dangling what appeared to be leather handcuffs connected by shiny silver latches in front of my face.

  I shook my head.

  “Are you okay with me using these on you?”

  I nodded. The thought of being helpless and bound with him both thrilled and scared me.

  “Words, Laine. I need your words.”

  “I’ve never done anything like that, but if you want to—” I bit my lip, unsure of what else to say.

  “You ever heard of a safe word?”

  I shook my head again, but at his frustrated look, I spoke. “No.”

  He crawled onto the bed, leaning to sit on his knees.

  “Well, we decide on a word, right now. Something random that you would never say during sex in a million years. And if you don’t like something I’m doing, then you say that word. I’ll stop immediately, no questions asked. Okay?”

  “You mean like barnacle or something? I can’t imagine ever saying that.”

  He chuckled softly. “Yes, that’s perfect.” His eyes turned serious as he studied me. “So, you’re good with this?”

  “Yes… I’m curious.”

  He pulled my hands out from under me, one at a time. He kissed my wrist and latched the smooth, cool leather around each one. He pulled my arms above my head and attached the cuffs to the headboard, then trailed his hands and lips down my arms.

  “I don’t think you know what you do to me, Bumpkin. You’re perfect.” He nibbled my earlobe. “And you’re mine.”

  The anger I normally felt at that name was overshadowed by the conflicting emotions I felt about his possessive declaration. It was the second time he told me that, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  The things he did to me after erased all thoughts of that. It was mind-blowing, but really there were no words. I didn’t know that was what sex could be like. I was thoroughly impressed when over an hour and six orgasms later, I lay on my stomach, motionless. My bones felt like liquid. I couldn’t move. I teetered on the edge of passing out from exhaustion.

  “I think I’ve discovered your hidden talent as well tonight,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse from screaming. I wasn’t a screamer by nature, but he knew how to bring it out of me.

  He chuckled as he moved to release the cuffs from my wrist. He smoothed his hands over the skin beneath as he unbound them, one after the other.

  “It was my pleasure to be of service, ma’am,” he said in his best Clint Eastwood imitation.

  I gave a half-hearted laugh but couldn’t muster the energy for any other reaction. He definitely got my spaghetti western reference.

  He lay down next to me and pulled me into his arms.

  “I think I need to start running with your sister in the mornings. I can’t keep up with your pace.”

  “It would be good for you, but I’ve another form of exercise I was going to introduce you to.”

  I groaned. “No more sex.”

  He chuckled again. “Not what I was talking about, but there will definitely be more of that. No, I want to show you something. Do you have time this week? During the day?”

  “All my classes are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I’m off on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Though I’ve my guitar lessons every day at three.”

  “Tomorrow morning works, then?”

  “Yeah, sure. As ever, I’m curious. I’m sure one day it’ll be the death of me. Probably with you and your dick at the helm.”

  He laughed and kissed my temple. “That mouth of yours,” he said, shaking his head slowly and smoothing his hand down my back, lightly massaging the overworked muscles.

  Now

  We gather around the long, rustic-style dining table that I had custom-made years ago. It’s just over fifteen feet long and surrounded by small two-seat benches. It’s not fancy but serves as a gathering place for my large extended family of friends. It could fit up to twenty people, and we’re using more than half that capacity now with the twelve people present.

  “…that’s the first thing she said to me when we met,” Nic explains. “And she was serious, too. She thought I was so stupid that I couldn’t tell the difference between porn and a mainstream movie. She’s a real piece of work. Thank fuck it’s over.” He shakes his head.

  “That sucks. She’s always cast as the nice girl, too. I’m not going to any more of her movies,” Cat states. “Unless you’re in them, of course.”

  “What a twatwaffle,” Holly says. “You probably acted circles around her. Seriously, her shit sucks.” She raises her fist for Nic. “I got you, Boo.”

  He pounds her fist with his, and they both make simultaneous explosion noises while spreading their fingers wide. I snort a laugh. Those two are like two peas from the same pod.

  Chloe blurts out a laugh. “When have ya actually seen any of her movies, Holly? I didn’t think ya were into teen rom-com.”

  “I’m not. That’s why her shit sucks,” Holly says before shoveling another bite in her mouth.

  “What kind of movie is it, Nic?” Cora asks. “I can’t see you doing a teen flick. Aren’t you a little old?”

  “It’s suspense.” Nic shrugs. “It’s not for teenagers, but it’s more mainstream than my usual stuff.”

  “Cool. Do we get to go to a premiere?” Chloe asks with stars in her eyes. Chloe is a film major at UT, so movie stuff is right up her alley.

  Even though I’m sandwiched between Caleb and Dex, the dinner isn’t as awkward as I expected it to be. Until Caleb’s hand slides under the table to rest on my knee. I narrow my eyes at him, and he smirks back with a challenging lift of his chin. I scoot away from him until his hand drops and end up pressed against Dex.

  Dex looks at me curiously, and my eyes dart to my lap in a silent plea. He smirks as his arm wraps around my back and pulls me into him. His lips brush my forehead before his mouth moves to my ear.

  “Already planning to use me?” Dex whispers.

  My gaze darts to his. I roll my eyes and give him a subtle shake of my head. Inside, I’m relieved, because if anything good is going to come out of being stuck with Dex, this would be it.

  He leans back. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” he says to Caleb. “Dexter McClellan, Audra’s dad and Maddie’s boyfriend.” His face transforms into a toothy grin.

  I turn just in time to see the uncomfortable look on Caleb’s face before he reverts to a neutral expression. He reaches out and shakes Dex’s offered hand.

  “Nice to meet you, sir. How long have y’all been together?” Caleb asks, eyeing Dex’s hand as Dex runs his fingertip down my shoulder and upper arm.

  “Quite a while, actually,” I respond and tilt my head back to look at Dex, leaning against his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, honey?” Oh, God, I want to slap myself for saying that. Ugh, honey? Dex’s lips land on mine in a chaste, closed-mouth kiss that startles me. My mind blanks for a moment as my focus fixates on the contact. Electricity zings from my lips down my spine, making my skin prickle with goose bumps. Holy fuck, no. I pinch his leg, and he jerks away.

  “You met the week before—”

  “Cat!” I bark, and she halts her commentary.

  “It was love at first sight, too. She can’t keep her hands off me,” Dex adds with a meaningful look to me, like I’ll pay for that pinch.

  “Gross, Dad,” Audra grumbles. “I’m trying to eat.”

/>   I silently laugh.

  “They’re adorable together,” Chloe says with a sigh. Sitting across from Dex, she has her head propped up on her wrist and a dreamy look on her face. I make a mental note that we’ll have to tell her the truth. Evan, who’s sitting next to her and across the table from me, is shaking with silent laughter.

  “That reminds me,” he says on a gasp. “I was reviewing the security tapes before dinner. You do remember there are cameras in all the common areas, right?” He struggles to keep the laughter out of his voice. “But the real question is, what were you thinking about, Mads?” His eyes dart from Dex to Caleb, then back to me.

  It takes my slow brain a second to run through what happened today, and when it hits me, my face turns fifty shades of red. I drop my head in my hands to hide from everyone who has now silenced their own conversations in favor of listening to us.

  “What the fuck’re you doing to my friend, Dex?” Holly asks. “I’ve never seen her blush, but around you, she turns into a human fuckin’ mood ring?”

  Marcus snickers.

  “I don’t think I have anything to do with this,” Dex responds, confusion apparent in his voice.

  “Probably more than she’ll admit,” Evan adds.

  I drop my hands and cut my eyes to Evan in a glare.

  “Holy shit, she is blushing,” Nic adds.

  If it’s possible to get any redder, I do.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen Little Neddie blush before. I’ve gotta see this tape.”

  “Seriously, you have to spill, Ev,” Holly adds. “I need some good shit to hold over her head.”

  Evan laughs. “Maybe later—”

  He’s cut off as I spring from my seat and lean across the table to grab his shirt by the collar. Glasses and dishes clatter and drinks spill, and I don’t care because my mind is focused on stopping my best friend from sharing some pretty embarrassing shit.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say through clenched teeth, my face inches from Evan’s. “Delete it. Now.”

  Hope starts banging on the table from her booster seat and babbling excitedly.