Faster We Burn

chapter Fourteen

Stryker

I almost called her or texted her so many times I lost count. But I didn’t know what to say after I’d given her the cold shoulder. If I called her and she came over and we had sex, we’d be back to square one, only I couldn’t go back to that place. The place where I didn’t care so f*cking much. Really, though, I’d never been there. That first night when I saw her, I’d cared. When I’d seen her eyes scared and wide, I’d felt something that was stronger than just a guy wanting to help a girl out of a bad situation. Even then, I’d felt it. I’d never had a chance, really.

I spent the days without her eating leftovers and learning new songs and working as many hours in the frigid temperatures as I could on rebuilding a few engines. I skipped out on Band, much to the anger of everyone. It was Allan’s turn to host, and he was the most upset. I pretended I had food poisoning, but I was sure none of them bought it. Trish called me to basically tell me to get my head out of my ass, which was less than helpful.

The night before classes started back up, there was a knock at my door. My heart did a funny little lurch and I told myself over and over as I walked down the stairs it wouldn’t be Katie.

It wasn’t.

Allan leaned on my porch, holding a bottle of scotch and two cups.

“Figured you could use it,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“I told you, I’m not feeling that great. I don’t think scotch is going to help that situation.”

“You know, food poisoning is often code for: I got dumped.” He shoved his way past me and jogged up the stairs. Nothing I could do to stop him, so I closed the door and followed him.

“I didn’t get dumped.”

“The Stryker I know wouldn’t let anything get in the way of Band. Except a girl.” He set the cups down and poured a little into each, holding one out to me. “I don’t need the details, but I figured you could use a friend and a drink. So here I am.”

I hesitated, but took the cup from him and took a sip. Damn. This was good stuff. Allan might be poor as shit, but he always found money for good alcohol.

“I’m not going to get drunk and spill all my feelings,” I said, savoring the sweet burn.

“Who am I, Oprah? I don’t want to know your feelings. But if you feel the need to share them with me, I’m your man, buddy.” He banged his hand on my back and went to make himself comfortable on the couch.

“We’re both unlucky in love, man. I’m crazy about a girl who doesn’t like penises and you’re in love with a girl who is completely, totally and utterly out of your league.”

“Out of my league?”

Allan looked up from the couch.

“Uh, yeah. Like, you two aren’t even on the same planet.”

I sat down next to him. “At least she’s interested in my anatomy.”

“Ouch, burn.” He held his heart as if I’d stabbed him. I took another sip and sat down next to him on the couch.

“You’ll live.”

Allan and I sat in silence, drinking and wallowing. I’d never wallowed about a girl before. It felt like shit.

He poured more scotch and I started to feel the effect.

“Do you really think she’s out of my league?” I said.

“Well, yeah. Katie is like…Miss America and you’re…you.”

“Thanks, Allan that really clears things up.”

“No, no, that came out wrong. It’s not that she’s better than you; it’s just that you’re not the kind of guy a girl like her would go for. She goes for football players and guys with money and guys with clean criminal records.”

“Wow, Allan. You’ve managed to insult both her and me all at once. Thanks, that was so helpful.” I patted his leg. He threw his head back in frustration.

“Shit. You know I’m bad at this. I told you I wasn’t Oprah. But you know what I mean, right?”

I did. I knew just what he was saying. It was what everyone said when I left the room. It was the reason Katie’s mother hadn’t wanted me to stay. I would contaminate her pure daughter.

If only she knew that her pure daughter was the one who f*cked so many times.

I nodded and swallowed another mouthful of the scotch. Tonight was a night for getting drunk. Blessedly, mind-numblingly drunk.

So I did.



***



Right around the time Allan started crying about how much he loved Zoey, I decided to call him a cab. It was a miracle I could even dial the number on my phone. He nearly fell down the stairs, and I wasn’t much better, but I got him inside and gave the guy the address, slurring my way through it.

“I’ve taken a lot of drunk directions, kid,” he said and I shut the door as Allan started wailing again.

I crawled all the way back up the stairs and collapsed on my couch. Allan had left the bottle of scotch, so I poured myself another drink. The bottle nearly slipped from my hands, but I caught it in time. My reflexes weren’t drunk enough yet.

A knock made me look up. Probably Allan. He’d been thrown out of more than one cab before.

I stumbled to my feet and went to my door to find someone standing there, but it wasn’t Allan.

“Your front door was open,” she said, giving me the once over.

“Ric.” This time she had a thin t-shirt on, thin enough for me to see her nipples, under a leather jacket, with a pair of jeans that were so ripped they could hardly be called pants. There was one particular rip on her thigh that showed a pair of black lace panties.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough night.” She strolled in and spun around to face me. “So I heard you and the pink bitch are on the outs.”

“Don’t call her that,” I said, walking past her, but I misjudged how close she was and our shoulders bumped.

“Hey,” she said, putting her hand on my chest to stop me. “I’m sorry. I just came over to see if you’re okay.” She sniffed, smelling the scotch on my breath.

“Looks like Allan already beat me to it. Scotch?”

“Yep,” I said, stepping away from her hand. “So, I’m fine.”

“Hey.” She reached for me again, putting her arms around me. “It sucks, okay? It’s okay to talk about it.” Her hair smelled like cigarettes and some sort of spicy perfume.

She didn’t smell like Katie.

Hesitantly, I returned the hug and she pressed herself against me and I could feel her tits pressed into my chest. Her hands meandered up and down my back and she breathed softly.

I dropped my arms and broke the hug.

“I don’t want to f*cking talk about it.”

Her blue eyes widened for just a moment.

“Then we don’t have to talk,” she said, her hand moving down my back and dancing on the hem of my shirt. “We can forget all about it.”

“What about Baxter?” I said as she started to pull at my shirt and move closer to me.

“We broke up. He’s not the one I want.” She lifted her chin and I couldn’t look her in the eye. Blue eyes. Not brown.

Not Katie’s eyes.

Her lips were close to mine and I could feel the heat coming off her skin. She was taller than Katie, so I wouldn’t have to bend as much to kiss her.

“You’re the one I want,” she said just before she closed that last whisper of space between us and placed a kiss on my lips. They were dry, and didn’t fit my mouth quite right, but after a moment, I gave in, putting my hand on the back of her head and holding her in place. Her hands went to my shirt, pulling it over my head and throwing it on the floor. Hers was next, and no, she wasn’t wearing anything under her t-shirt.

“Finally,” she said, hooking her fingers into my belt loops and pulling me toward the couch. I kissed her again and let my eyes close as I fell on top of her. Her hands ripped at my belt as her lips tried to devour me. Our noses crashed a couple of times, and she couldn’t seem to get the belt undone, which was odd, because she was the sober one.

“Got it,” I said, taking her hands away from it as she worked at her own pants and I heard a tearing sound as she ripped them even more in her hurry to get them off. Raking her hands on my chest, she yanked me down for another kiss. I shoved my pants and boxers down to my ankles and paused for a second above her.

“F*ck me hard, Stryker. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her boobs were too small and her hips too narrow and her legs too long and her lips to thin and her eyes not brown.

Not Katie.

She put both hands on my dick and guided me down.

“F*ck me hard.”

I plunged into her and her eyes went wide and she made a little grunt. I only gave her a second to adjust before I pulled back and slammed again. Her hands went around my neck and she tried to kiss me. I let her because I didn’t want to look into her not-brown eyes.

Over and over I pounded into her as she urged me on.

Not. Katie. Not. Katie. Not. Katie.

Her ankles didn’t wrap around me, she didn’t make those sweet little sounds, she didn’t dig her fingers into my back.

Not. Katie. Not. Katie. Not. Katie.

“Yes, yes, f*ck me harder.” Her voice invaded my mind and I tried to shut her out by kissing her again so she’d stop talking.

Thankfully, I was able to finish a second later. I pulled out immediately, yanked up my pants and stumbled to the bathroom to turn on the shower.



Katie



Mom didn’t discover my wall until the next morning when she snuck in to clean. I never kept anything secretive in my room because she snooped through all of my drawers. My secret hiding place was in Kayla’s room, under a floorboard.

Her shriek carried all the way down the stairs. “Katie! What did you do?”

I looked at Kayla and Adam. We’d been having a discussion about the worst ways to die. I thought drowning, but Adam was all for fire.

“Looks like I’m in trouble, as usual,” I said, getting up from the couch and walking up the stairs to face my doom.

“What is this?” Seeing her face made me reconsider the drowning thing as the worst way to die. Getting glared to death by my mother had moved its way to the top of the list. She waved her hand at my wall.

“It’s art.” Okay, okay, it was a snarky response and totally set me up for pissing her off more, but I couldn’t help it. Holding back from fighting with her all week hadn’t been easy.

“This is not art. This is graffiti. This is going to take forever to wash off, Katie.” She put her hand to her forehead, like I was giving her a migraine. If I hadn’t already, what I was about to say definitely would set her off.

“I don’t want to wash it off.” I moved to stand in front of the wall, as if I was protecting it. In a way, I guess I was.

“Katie, be serious. You’re not five years old anymore. I will not have this crap all over my walls.”

“Well, it’s not crap, and it’s on my wall. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it.”

Mom’s glare got narrower and meaner and she put her hands on her hips.

“Katherine Ann, you are acting like a child.”

I most certainly was, but it was my go-to defense mechanism when I fought with my mother.

We faced each other, at an impasse.

“I don’t know who you are anymore.” Her voice was more frustrated than mad.

I started laughing, thinking about what Stryker had said.

“Yeah, me neither.” Once the giggling started, it was hard to stop. Now Mom looked worried.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just great.” I gave her a thumbs up as I tried to stop laughing. She backed away from me and picked up the duster she’d been using as an excuse to come into my room.

“Well, when you get yourself together, I want that cleaned off before you go back to school. Don’t make me ask you again.” She closed the door with authority and I leaned back against the wall.

The laughter slowed and I caught my breath. Turning my head, I saw the word “Love” and traced it with my finger.

I should have used paint instead of marker.