The door stuck, so I banged it open with a crash, then stopped short.
“Hey.”
David leaned against the wall, obviously waiting for the bathroom. My ears grew hot so I gave a casual smile. “Hey. Sorry if I took too long.”
He smiled back and I wished I could make him smile like that more often. He lost his broody edge and it made him more approachable. “Nah, I was actually up here looking for you. Want to hang out a bit?”
My heart beat crazily in my chest. “Sure. Where?”
He pointed to one of the bedroom doors. “Here’s good.” He walked in and I took a deep breath and followed. Through the thin wall, I heard moans and banging and realized someone was screwing next door. I tried to play it cool, but my skin was burning and I hoped I didn’t look all flushed and red. So. Embarrassing.
David rolled his eyes at the crude sounds but didn’t seem bothered. “You really gonna come with us this summer?” he asked, taking out his vape pipe and lighting up.
I stiffened. Did he want me to? I couldn’t read his expression, so I shrugged. “Sure. Still trying to convince my mom, though. She’s afraid traveling the country in an RV isn’t a great idea.”
“Probably isn’t, but that’s why it’ll be epic. What if she says no?”
I hesitated. “Not sure. I may do it anyway.”
He smiled again, nodding like he approved. “Cool. You ever sing?”
“You mean like karaoke?”
“Anything. I’m looking to play guitar, but it’s helpful to have a decent singer. Freda’s awful.”
I laughed. “I could tell just from our car rides.”
On cue, a groan rose from the other room. Then a girl’s voice. “Yeah, baby, yeah!”
I ducked my head, trying to pretend I didn’t care, but he must’ve known because he grabbed his phone and began playing music to drown out the noises. “Better?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“So, would you consider singing with me if we get a gig?”
I considered, wondering if I could be brave enough to do that onstage in public. “What if I suck?”
“Then you get fired, or we only play at clubs where everyone’s already drunk.”
We both laughed, and I relaxed. “Sure, I’d give it a try.”
“Cool, let’s do it now.” He scrolled through his phone, and the song “Without Me” by Halsey came on. “You know this?”
I blinked. “Yeah.”
“Okay, sing.”
I twisted my fingers together, shifting my weight. “Now?”
“Why not? It’s just us.”
Which made it worse, I thought to myself. I got ready to tell him it wasn’t a good time, that I was too tipsy or something, but his gaze met mine in a bit of a challenge and I opened my mouth and began to sing. I didn’t try to hit any high notes, just gave him the basic middle strains. I kept my chin up and pretended we were in some smoky bar and I had this one moment to impress him. I had a decent singing voice, but other than chorus, I’d never tried to sing in front of someone. Finally, I stopped, curious to see what he was going to say.
“You’re good.” Warmth rushed through me. “You got the job.”
“Singing for my supper,” I teased.
He didn’t tease me back. His expression changed, the room got tight with tension, and my stomach dropped. Then he walked slowly over to me until he was super close. His breath smelled like mocha and smoke, and his eyes were dark and serious, and then he was leaning his head over and he kissed me.
I’d only been kissed a few times before, on a dare or because I was desperate to see why everyone thought it was a big deal. Mostly, they were sloppy and wet with tongue and awkward fumbling that turned me off.
But this was nice. He didn’t try to grope or shove his tongue in my mouth. Just kissed me with a firm pressure, as if testing me out. When I tentatively opened my lips wider, he finally held me, and his grip was firm and strong, so I let him take it further. It didn’t take long for his palm to cup my breast, and though it felt good, my brain began to churn, and suddenly the bed in back of him seemed too big and overwhelming, like it was taunting me.
I pulled back, unsure why I’d changed my mind, then panicked when I realized we were alone in a bedroom at a party where I didn’t know anyone. I’d seen my share of Lifetime movies where girls got raped at strangers’ houses and no one ever backed them up. I was just about to push him away hard and run, but he stepped right back on his own, staring at me with a surprisingly intent and sober gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“I just—I’m not ready for that. Yet.” My cheeks burned. My virginity had never bothered me before, but I figured he’d laugh or make a teasing remark.
Instead, he nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s cool.”
I relaxed, twisting my fingers. “You think?”
“Yeah. You should be able to do stuff on your own terms. I guess most people I know aren’t like you.”
“I’m not a prude or anything,” I rushed to say.
“I know. I like that you’re different. Most of my friends need sex and drugs to cope with shit, you know?”
I cocked my head, fascinated by his deep, thoughtful voice and the way he looked at me. “Like what?”
“Pain. Too much fucking pain.”
The darkness was back, shadowing his face. I didn’t know what he was thinking about, but it was bad. I wanted to go and take his hand, but I felt frozen, not sure what to do. He got up and pocketed his phone, then motioned toward the door. “We better get downstairs. Freda will probably be looking for you.”
“Yeah.”
I followed him out, my emotions sharp and jagged like cut glass. The rest of the night was good and we climbed back in the car at exactly ten thirty to get me back by eleven. I sang along with Freda, and Connor passed around a joint, and it was pretty much perfect until the cop pulled us over for speeding.
I figured we still had a shot, but he smelled the weed and found the bag stashed in the glove compartment.
Everything turned bad from there.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Francesca
I’m not sure when I realized I wasn’t like other girls. I never got giggly over boys or spent endless hours dreaming about Tim Collins—the hot jock the entire school adored—asking me to prom. I only remember trying hard to care about all the things my friends did, like makeup and kissing and being noticed by the popular crowd. But even back then, I think I realized I was missing some type of gene that made me feel romantic love. I didn’t understand romance novels, poetry, or chick flicks, and was more interested in those underdog movies like Cool Runnings or Rocky or even Wall Street (I loved Gordon Gekko and think he got a bad rap).