by Madison Diaz
He’s a good-looking guy. He has high cheekbones, slanted eyes, and beautiful tanned skin. He has these soft-looking lips that hypnotize me when he runs his tongue over them. He’s tall. Not taller than Ethan, but enough. I prefer he doesn’t tower over me the same way Ethan does anyway.
He uses the crutches to maneuver his body forward and up the sidewalk where someone holds the door open for him. I should have done that, but I’m too busy studying his arms in that plain white tee and the hint of muscles underneath. He’s wearing basketball shorts which, I assume, are much easier to pull over his cast.
I stand once he enters the restaurant. He smiles that kind, inviting smile of his with those perfectly straight teeth. "Wow," he says, now standing in front of me. "Somehow you're prettier than I remember."
His compliment makes me blush, but I don’t say anything as I gesture to his chair before sitting. He sits, angling his crutches against the wall next to him. His dark brown eyes connect with mine again as he smiles even wider. "What kind of pizza do you like?" he asks, eager to feed me, I guess.
I shrug. "Anything. You're buying."
He nods with a grin. "My kind of woman. All pizza is good pizza." He bites his lip as he looks up at the menu behind me. I take that moment to study his Adam's apple as it bobs when he swallows. My eyes trace a trail back up again to those almond-shaped eyes. "Pepperoni? Classic. Can never go wrong."
My eyes connect with his again as he gives me another genuine smile. If I don’t watch myself, I’ll get attached to his smiles. Good thing our interactions are ending tonight. "Pepperoni's great."
His nod is short before he stands up. He ditches the crutches and limps the three steps between him and to the counter. I sigh nervously before I glance out the window to the moving cars. This is good. Standard date with an average guy. The way we met might not have been ideal, but it happened, and we can’t change it. I wouldn’t want him to know the true reason I was at the scene in the first place. Why I was the one who found him.
But I like this. I like the idea of going out on an innocent date with an unknown man. In my fantasies, he'd sweep me off my feet. We'd have an amazing date over pizza and beer before he'd suggest we walk around downtown. He'd show me all the beautiful places he liked. Eventually I'd fall in love with him and know from then on, my life would get better.
This isn’t a fantasy world, though. This is life. The truth is I’m out with another man while my shitty boyfriend is MIA. He’s probably having sex with some other girl right now in some other city. I don’t know what he does or where he goes. I just know he expects me to be waiting and eager for him when he gets back.
At the beginning of our relationship, missing him was fun. I'd get jealous and riled up. He'd come home, and I'd scream, then he'd yell. We'd throw punches and he'd pull my hair until we were banging on the floor of the living room. I thought we were passionate and truly in love, but of course, we weren't. We aren’t.
I’m no longer young and naive. I've grown tired of it. Our type of relationship holds no substance for me, but what can I really do? I have a job, but he pays for our apartment. I have no contact with anyone in my family. I have nowhere else to go. If I left him, he'd just find me like he always does. He'd end up dragging me back to his caveman lair where he'd punish me for trying to leave. I hate him.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Nick asks as he places a beer in front of me. I glance down at the glass before focusing on his cute face again. He slides back into his chair like the cast on his leg isn’t even a bother. He’s a trooper at least.
He looks to the kitchen where he gives one of the cooks a head nod as if he knows them.
"Nothing," I manage to mumble.
I grab my beer and take that first sip. I’m not much of a drinker, but it must be a Lone Star. So, Nick’s a Lone Star drinker. Not surprising considering how normal he seems. Average Joe type of guy. Nice. Approachable. If we had sex, he wouldn't be rough.
He doesn’t pester me about not answering his question. He just nods as he sips on his glass. It’s nice to be in charge of a conversation with a man for once. If I don’t want to talk about something, that’s it. Subject dropped. "So where do you work?" he asks.
"Hotel up the street," I answer vaguely. He nods again in response. "Where do you work?"
His smile turns playful. "I wait tables at a restaurant near UT." Nice, equally as vague. "It pays the bills. They let us perform there sometimes."
"Perform?"
"Yeah. My band. My boss is super supportive, so he'll let us put on a show and invite other local talent to open or headline. It doesn't matter. As long as it's stage time." He takes another sip of beer. "He also understands about my school schedule and our attempted tours."
"Attempted tours?"
He laughs at my confusion. I've never met a musician before. "Yeah. My sister books gigs in different cities, then we all pile into my friend's car and drive around. The money's shit, but it's all about the experience. For now, anyway."
A smile tugs at my lips before the cashier lays a big ass pizza between us. "Anything else, Nick?" she asks, speaking directly to him. I've been here a few times, but nobody knows my name. How do these people know him, and I've never even seen him before the other night?
"Nah, we're good. Thanks, Sabrina." Shit, he knows her name too. She touches his arm before turning away, giving me the cold shoulder. It makes me smile. Maybe Nick isn’t ordinary after all. I think he’s good-looking and sweet, but I didn't think most women went for that sort of thing. I thought most women went for assholes like Ethan, but I guess I’m the messed up one.
"Old girlfriend of yours?" I ask with a smirk.
He blinks before laughing. He’s so adorable. It makes me want to kiss him. Nobody needs to know. "No. She's my sister's friend."
I wiggle my eyebrows. "Hot. I think I've seen a few clips with that title."
He bites his lip but chooses not to say whatever he’s thinking. He probably thinks I’m weird for saying something so inappropriate. He grabs a slice of pizza and puts it on his plate. I follow his lead but rip my fingers away since the bread is still way too hot. We sip our beers again in silence, and I study his movements. He pours way too much parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes onto his slice.
"You're interesting," I blurt before I can stop myself.
His hands freeze as he looks up at me again. "How so?"
I shrug. "Everything." Why am I breathless? "It makes me want to know more about you."
He smiles. His hand tentatively reaches across the table and grips mine. I look down at them clasped together before meeting his eyes again. If Ethan saw this, he'd go crazy. Being here with Nick is too risky. "I want to know you too, Leah." When I don’t pull away, he rubs my forefinger with his thumb. "We're leaving town this weekend. There's this show in Dallas, but I want to see you when we get back."
I’m blushing again. I’m sure of it. I want to see him when he gets back too. I want to hear all about his show. I want to stare into his dark brown eyes and forget about my stupid, pathetic, trashy life. His head tilts to the side. "Would that be okay?"
I shrug. "I don't know. My life is kind of complicated."
"I can do complicated," he says in an instant, and my heart flutters. We stare at each other, smiling, lost in the moment. "Please, Leah. You're beautiful, the most stunning girl I've ever seen. I can't let you slip through my fingers after you saved my life. It's fate."
I blink. No one has ever said anything this nice to me before. Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous. Slowly, I trail my thumb against his and watch the hope in his eyes bloom as I nod. "Okay." I smile. "Since you owe me and everything."
Chapter Three
Nick
How quick is too quick to fall in love? Yes, I’ve only been on one date with Leah, but when you know, you know, right? Carrie blames my newfound devotion on my dry spell. Michael blames it on my love of the chase. Sean blames it on inspiration for a new song, and he’s most likely closest to th
e truth. I don’t know Leah. I still don’t even know her phone number. She had asked me when we'd be back and promised to call then.
God, I really want her to call so I can hear that honey-sweet voice again. It’s been playing repeatedly in my mind for almost a week.
She’s a mystery. Completely closed off. Any personal questions I asked were skated over quick like she hadn't even heard me. The way she smiled when I told her how beautiful she was made it seem like no one else had ever told her that before. That must be a crime. Or she’s from heaven. Who knows? It’s still possible my skull was fractured in that car accident and I’m currently in a coma at the hospital, dreaming up the perfect girl.
The door to the green room bursts open as my sister comes strolling in. Carrie’s rocking her standard look with the basic tee and skinny jeans. Her hair’s up in another messy bun like she’s allergic to brushing it or something. She’s honestly too cool to be my sister.
"Alright, dipshits, we go on in five." She looks right at me. "Fix your boner for Miss Blondie before you get out there. We still need you on your game."
I nod then salute. "Yes, ma'am. All boners on standby."
"Can I still have a boner?" Sean asks. Carrie respond by karate chopping him in the stomach. Probably the best response she could have given him. Michael lets out a frustrated huff before walking out of the room early like the douche he is. We quickly follow behind.
My lovely sister carries a stool for me because she has my back like that, and Sean carries my guitar. The last band finishes their song the second we can see them from the wing. I get a few sympathetic glances as the band passes by and off stage. Carrie nudges me as she runs out and puts my stool in the correct spot, adjusting the microphone stand. I get settled, and Sean hands me my guitar before he sets himself up closer to the back with his bass. Carrie goes to the back for the drums, and Michael stands ahead of me with his guitar.
Usually I’m upfront, singing the main vocals, but tonight Michael will be the star of the show, and he’s shaking. I still have faith in him, though. He may have been the last to join our group when Eric left, but I believe in his talent and his dedication to making good music.
The lights flood back on. There’s an awkward stir as everyone's eyes settle on me for a moment in my sad stool. Carrie was right about it being a distraction, but what am I supposed to do? I didn't ask to get run over.
Michael's voice rings through the speakers. "How's everyone doing tonight?"
The forty people we have in the crowd clap and cheer. I look back at Carrie, who winks. We’re lucky. Rooms like these with little to no pay usually had us perform in front of a dozen or so people. This venue does a good job of packing the room when they book unknown bands. Thank you, Stanley. I'll send a fruit basket tomorrow morning.
"Great. We're the Controlled Youth, and…uh, here we go." Shit, he started off so strong too. Carrie does the one, two, three, then Michael starts strumming on his guitar. He watches his fingers at first, and then he remembers we told him not to do that, so his head whips up to the audience. I chime in for a few beats until Sean and Carrie carry into the tune of one of our most successful songs so far.
It’s easy to follow along and move. Heads are bobbing as Michael does his best up front to get people into it. We follow Carrie's pace and play through our set with no significant drawbacks. The crowd even responds positively to some of our new shit. It goes much better than expected.
After a few celebratory shots and pitchers, we end up back in our hotel room. Two hundred bucks richer. It’s way more than we got last time. I wonder if it’s because we got better, or for driving all the way up here for another show.
Michael takes the couch like he always does. Carrie takes the bed near the window and makes a giant wall between us with pillows. She said I moved around too much, and she’s snoring within minutes.
I stay awake for a while, staring at the glow from the streetlight peeking through the blinds as I think about Leah. Will she call me the day I come back? Will she still want a date? How complicated is her life, and how willing am I to take on someone else’s baggage?
I want to see her. Even if she never calls me again, I'd check every hotel in the area until I found where she works. I'd bring her flowers and tell her how beautiful she is every day if it meant I could get one more date with her. My feelings for her might be a little too intense when maybe all I really need is to get laid, but it doesn’t matter. I'll follow my heart even if it ends with satisfaction in my dick, as long as it’s something.
✵ ✵ ✵
Leah hasn’t called. We got back from Dallas two days ago, and I’m convinced she won’t call. I worked, slept, and went to band practice, constantly checking my phone. I answered any unknown numbers in the hopes it was her. No such luck.
This time I almost don’t even check my phone when it rings. I just got home from a late night at work, so I’m making a lazy dinner. My phone keeps buzzing on the counter until I finally sigh and limp over to pick it up.
Leah’s Work pops up on my screen, and I almost fall over in shock.
"Leah?" I answer, failing to keep the desperation out of my voice.
She giggles, and fuck, a week of not speaking and the first thing I hear is the sexiest laugh in the fucking world. "Yeah." Her voice is soft and so damn hot. "It's me."
"You called from work again."
She pauses. "Yeah. It's easier to call this way."
I smile like a doofus. Why does she have this effect on me? "Where are you? Did you call me from up front, or in the break room, or from an office?"
"I'm in a room."
My eyebrows go up. "Oh." She’s in a hotel room. Does she live there? Did she slip into the room to use the phone really quick? Why don’t I know anything about her?
As if sensing my questions, she elaborates. "Yeah. When I tell my boss, I need to make a private phone call she lets me into our least used room near the back."
"That's nice of her."
"Yeah." Her voice gets lower that time. Almost breathy. I stop stirring my ramen noodles and quickly turn off the burner, sensing something’s happening here. "Where are you?"
"In my kitchen."
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking…talking to you."
She hums a laugh into the phone, and it goes to my cock. "I know you're talking to me."
I laugh, and it sounds incredibly awkward. "Right… What are you doing?"
"Sitting on the bed…talking to you."
I’m supposed to laugh at that, but I’m wound way too tight from the sound of her voice. "That's cool." I know I sound lame as hell, but I can’t help it. Gorgeous women don’t usually call me and talk sexily into the phone like this. "Are the beds comfy there? Maybe my grandparents could stay next time they visit or something." What the fuck am I even saying?
She hums thoughtfully. "They're alright. This room just has two twin beds, so I'm sure they wouldn't want that. We have a few rooms up front with a king or queen."
I don’t know what to say. "Sounds nice."
"Yeah." Another pause. "How was your day?"
"Good. I worked."
"Are you still in your uniform?"
My eyebrows rise again. "No."
"What are you wearing then?"
"Uh…” I look down like I could forget I’m wearing boxer briefs and sporting a tent. "Just my underwear." She hums again, and it sounds so close to a moan that I almost come in my boxers. I close my eyes, willing myself to be brave enough for this shit. "Do you like that?"
Another painful pause. I’m a second away from apologizing before she speaks again "Yes." It’s official. She’s one hundred percent hitting on me.
I leave the food and run (okay, limp) to my room like a teenager about to have phone sex for the first time. I close my door in case my sister decides to pop by unannounced, then get into my bed. "Are you still in the kitchen?"
"No."
"Are you still in your underwear?"
&nb
sp; "Yes."
"What are you thinking about?"
"You." She laughs again. Her laugh sends butterflies to my stomach. "Wondering what you're wearing."
"Still wearing my uniform. Boring polo with the logo on the front pocket and some jean shorts." She sighs. "It was hot today."
"Yeah. It's summer."
"I know." She’s quiet for a second. "Are you glad I called?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Were you thinking about me?"
"Every day." I don’t want to sound desperate, but I can’t control my words anymore. "My friends were making fun of me. My sister said I was like a lovesick puppy lusting after a girl who's out of my league."
I hear the smile in her voice. "You're lusting after me?"
I smile too. "Yes. So bad. I can't get you out of my head."
Her breath hitches, and then she moans. Holy shit. She moans right into the phone. I palm my dick through my underwear, wondering what I should say next. I've only seen this girl twice, and I’ve only had one extended conversation with her. I want to shift this conversation to where she somehow ends up at my apartment and we can continue in person.
She speaks again. Her voice all breathy and filled with lust. "Are you touching yourself?"
I’m losing my shit. I thought she wasn't going to call me ever again. "Do you want me to be?"
"Yes." My hand instantly slides into my underwear to grab hold of my cock. I close my eyes, so I can think back to her beautiful face and those breathtaking eyes and sexy lips. I ask her if she’s touching herself, and she chuckles with another 'yes.'
It‘s hard not to pound down on my dick. I move my hand slowly, so I won’t come before she does. "What are you thinking about?"
"You," she breathes. "I wish you were here right now. Tell me what you would do."
I don’t skip a beat. "Oh, fuck, Leah. If I were there right now, I'd be running my hands all over your sexy body." She lets out another tiny moan. It sounds desperate. How can someone like her be desperate for someone like me? "I'd slowly peel away all your clothes, licking and sucking every part of your body I can get my mouth on. I'd suck on your pretty nipples. Fuck. I bet your nipples are perfect. What do they look like?"
