“Why? Why does she need it? To buy more booze?”
“Hey,” he said as his head snapped back in my direction. “Chill out. This isn’t a discussion you get to have with me. Take the fucking hint.”
He was right. One hundred percent. And it meant nothing.
“What the hell, Reid? Does she know you’re going through a hard time and can barely lift a tray with a broken arm to work? Does she know you have no furniture in your house and sleep on a mattress top on the floor?”
His pride moved front and center as he glared at me. “Again. None of your damned business, Stella. I can take care of myself. What the hell do you care?”
“I just told you, I do. And I know what you told me about them. So, now, I’m wondering why you’re here wasting away in that apartment to support your deadbeat parents!”
“It’s for my father’s fucking insulin, okay? He’ll die without it. They don’t have insurance and it’s fucking expensive. She’s working and she can’t do it alone, alright? It’s life or death, Stella. He doesn’t get that medicine, he dies!”
I shrank in my seat as I looked over at him. He was fuming, his chest heaving as he clenched his fists.
“I’m so sorry. Reid, I’m sorry.”
“Fine, whatever,” he said, opening the truck door. I gripped him by the waist of his jeans and yanked him back in. Frantic to make it up to him, I grappled for words as he stared at me as if I’d grown two heads. Utterly clueless as to how to make it right, I pulled him to me in the most awkward hug imaginable, and he froze at the contact. Body twisted, I wrapped my arms around him as he blew my hair out of his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked through a mouthful of my hair.
“I’m hugging you,” I said into his neck. Irish Spring drifted through my nose and caused a flood of the warmth I was growing used to, and had started to crave. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
It took a few seconds, but I finally felt his arm circle my waist, his cast at my back. Wrapped in his hold, his chest moved against my cheek. “God, you’re insane,” he said on a chuckle as he let me hold him.
“I know.”
“You’re a grenade,” he whispered at my temple.
“I know.”
“It’s okay, Stella,” he said softly as he ran his fingers through my hair. I was sure he was doing it on instinct, and my initial thought was proven positive when he stopped himself. “It’s okay, Stella. This is just the way it is. This is my life.”
“Your life sucks.”
He laughed loudly as I pulled away and saw we wore matching smiles. Our lips were close. I could practically feel his stubble against my cheek. Even though he was stiff with hesitation, we lingered there, eyes locked. I pulled away and righted myself behind the wheel.
“I’ll take you home, okay? It’s too far to walk. Unless you want to come with me?”
“It’s not a good idea. You know that, right? This won’t make you feel any better.”
“So, you’re coming?” I asked, ignoring his warning.
“To watch this train wreck?” He widened his eyes. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We made good time to the club and actually managed to find rock star parking. The dive was off of 6th Street and was a total shit hole. I could tell it had new owners by the month because the marquee was littered with do-overs.
“This place is a joke,” Reid said as he looked over to me. “You need to be careful where you go down here.”
“Yes, Mom,” I muttered as I locked the doors to the truck and we looked at the place. A few girls wandered in ahead of us, and I couldn’t help the sinking feeling that Reid might be right. For every dropout groupie, there were ten more to take their place. I knew I wasn’t a groupie. And I didn’t have to prove shit to Dylan.
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling the keys back out of my purse.
“What?” Reid looked over at me with raised brows.
“You’re right, okay? This is stupid.”
“Fuck that,” he said, clasping his hand with mine and pulling me toward the door.
“Reid,” I whisper-yelled as he ushered us through the entrance. The band was already playing. Dylan was working the small crowd—mostly girls—who were doing their best to get his attention. Reid walked up to the bar with me in tow and ordered a beer. Dylan spotted us, and I saw his eyes light up until they drifted down to our clasped hands. Seconds later, Reid pulled me into his lap, and I gasped at the feeling of him behind me. His breath hit my neck, and I leaned into it.
“Eat your fucking heart out, prick,” Reid murmured into my ear as Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he wreaked havoc on the mic with “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet. I adjusted myself on Reid’s lap while he casually sucked his beer, his demeanor cocky and self-assured, and I found it sexy as hell. I was sure if I glanced back at his lips, I would see a satisfied smirk. He was clearly enjoying it. I could tell by his possessive hold and the air coming off of him. My hand rested on his cast and my other on his thigh, the back of my head on his collarbone. Eyes locked with Dylan, I couldn’t help but notice how I felt perfectly molded to Reid’s body. We fit. As tempted as I’d been to hear some sort of apology from Dylan, Reid had my full attention. Behind me, he sat his beer on the bar and pushed the hair away from my neck, his whisper causing more gooseflesh to bubble on my skin and a streak of warmth through my chest and between my thighs. “Right now, he’s thinking: God, she looks so fucking beautiful.” His heated whisper had my eyes closing briefly as I tried not to wiggle in his lap. “He’s thinking of how fucking good you would look spread out before him. How amazing it would feel to taste you.” My breath hitched as his fingers roamed back and forth over my stomach. “He’s thinking of how fucking perfect you would feel when he pressed into you.” Turned on to the point of no return, and unsure if it was an act for my benefit, I twisted my head, offering my lips. Reid hesitated before he leaned in and brushed his gently against mine. Pulse racing, I pressed in and felt the groan in his chest before he ripped himself away.
“Stop it, Stella,” he said as he pecked my lips to keep up the charade and spread his thighs, putting me on full display between them.
The song ended as all thoughts of Dylan completely eluded me. I could feel Reid stiff beneath me while my heart galloped.
Dylan tossed his mic on the stage and moved toward us, and I hastily got to my feet.
“Let’s go. Take me somewhere.”
“We just got here,” Reid said with a cocky grin, his elbows on the edge of the bar.
“Not cool, Reid, let’s go. I told you I didn’t need this.” Just as I said it, I heard my name called in question behind me. Reid’s gaze fixed past my shoulder, and I turned to face Dylan. Golden brown hair and deep blue eyes peered back at me.
“What the fuck is this, Stella?” Dylan was still beautiful. He was still the guy I’d spent two months having sex with on a couch. But when I looked at him, all I felt was Reid’s soft lips and the fire in his eyes.
“This is poor form,” I said, defeated. “Take care of yourself, Dylan.”
He took a step forward. “Can I talk to you?” He paused and looked over at Reid. “Alone?”
“No,” I said as Reid stood and took my hand. “No, you can’t.”
“Really?” he said as he looked past me and swallowed.
“Yeah, really.”
“Stella!” Drew, the guitarist for Meat, called out to me from the stage, and I gave him an unenthusiastic wave. “Looking good, baby!”
“Thanks!”
Drew had been my favorite. He’d been a friend. And just as I suspected, all of my time with Dylan and the rest of the guys came back as a fresh scratch, but in just weeks had transformed into nothing more than a memory. I was no longer hurt about Dylan and felt like just as much of an asshole for what I’d just done. Dylan cupped his chin, his features twisted in confusion as he stood there, clueless.
“Let’s go,” I said to Reid, who followed me out of the bar. I let go of his hand and stuck the keys in it before I took the passenger side.