Her voice was small and nervous at first, but then the pure joy took over—and it was totally badass. She started tooling around with harmonies, and then took the mic from its stand and started dancing around, hopping from foot to foot. The whole bar started hollering. Somebody started a rhythmic clap.
“And heaven knows I'm miserable now!” she sang, all smiles. It was totally ridiculous to see such a happy girl screaming such sad lyrics, but no one seemed to care. It all felt weirdly in place with our emotional rollercoaster of an evening. The little hipster dude even ceded her the last chorus, joining in the clap parade. Suddenly, Doll shaded her eyes. She looked around the room for a moment, and then her eyes found my corner of the bar. She grinned wildly and pointed in my direction.
“Oh, yeah,” Blaine was saying, as he scooted the two bootfuls of what was basically grain alcohol towards my waiting wallet. “I'd say this one's a keeper, hoss.”
After taking several bows, Doll raced back over to us and wrapped her sweaty arms around my middle.
“I thought someone didn't like karaoke,” I teased, prodding two fingers into her belly. Now, it was her turn to swat me away.
“I shouldn't have judged,” she panted. “I dunno what came over me! I love that song!” Ashleigh eyed the boot of blue booze and raised an eyebrow at me before pulling the drink closer. In one highly unladylike move, she gripped the glass by its heel and tilted a substantial gulp of Hurricane down her throat. I watched her neck move up and down as she swallowed, and tried not to get any ideas.
“Woo!” she hollered, after washing down some more of the blue concoction. “This place RULES! I LOVE COLLEGE! YAY, PG FUN!”
I was yanked up onstage for the following: June and Johnny Cash's version of “Jackson,” then, “Thriller,” then “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Doll wanted to make sure that we covered all the bases. Around us, hours flicked by and the rest of the bar grew disinterested in us. After the third pair of blue boots, even Blaine's response time started to lag.
At one point I looked up and we were the only two customers left. The sour-faced karaoke DJ was putting away his big black binders of song choices and Blaine was taking out the trash, but Doll was still warbling her way through a song I didn't recognize by Britney Spears.
“She's so lucky,” Ash croaked. “She's a star, but she cry-cry-cries...”
It had been years since I'd unconsciously stayed out so late. And as much as I didn't want to admit morning (and with it, the fact of my AWOL Dad, or my beat-up stepmother, or whatever the hooligan Longhorns had gotten up to last night)...it was totally time. I approached Doll slowly, like she was a skittish cat. I gently peeled the mic from her hands and led her towards the parking lot.
“Last two are on me, you party animals!” Blaine called from the back room. I saluted a thank you. Doll was suddenly so tired it seemed she couldn't stand—her eyelids fluttered, and she wavered back and forth like she was threatening to do a trust exercise. Finally, I just bent over and picked her up. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. I could feel the bones in her rib-cage, the pillows of her breasts, the rhythm of her breath rising and falling.
“Should I take you to Carson's?” I murmured into the crook of her ear. I was shockingly upright, given the three gooey cocktails. But then again, we'd been at Derby's for hours and hours, and had likely danced out some of the alcohol. And I could probably beat Tiny here in any kind of tolerance contest.
“Take me to your place,” she whispered. It was barely a grunt. But I realized that I, too, was exhausted—definitely way too exhausted to argue. I'd take her to my apartment. It'd felt bigger since Denny had cleared out, anyway—leaving behind a four bedroom for a mere three guys. With a thrill mixed with a bit of dread, I realized: I'd be waking up next to her tight little body tomorrow morning. She'd be all mine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ash
My head was pounding, but it wasn't quite a headache yet. It was the prelude to a headache, one I assumed was coming later. Light pressed down on me from all sides, and I reached for something soft. Something familiar.
“OW!”
“Fuck! What?” The world crashed in, a blur. This was not my bed, or my pillow, or even my dorm. Then the big fat memory strolled in: karaoke.
Fuck. Me.
“I'm sorry,” I heard Landon say, as he hopped out of bed. “I was on the floor. My roommate Kyle put a dude on the extra bed. It's just—my back, and there's this game tomorrow...I didn't think you'd mind.” His sleepy face was at once contorted with worry. He bit his lip. I realized he'd been spooning me. A vague, dreamy sensation told me that we'd slept together all night long.
“Do you feel okay?” my step-brother asked, approaching the bed slowly. He wasn't wearing a shirt, I noticed. His six pack—which had seemed almost painted on in the car last night—looked impressively real under the lazy light of daybreak. I wanted to reach out and press my palm against his abs.
“Yeah,” I said instead, stretching my arms. Then it occurred to me to be self-conscious—I probably looked like a fucking train wreck. Put a few cocktails in me and I'm suddenly Girl Gone Wild. I stuck out my tongue, as an experiment.
Yup. Still blue.
“Landon,” I started. “Look—I'm really sorry about—whatever it is I did last night. I honestly didn't mean to...”
But he was already shaking his head and bending his knees so our faces were level again.
“Hush,” he murmured. His eyes were all concern. Shyly, he reached out and placed a palm on the wild, tangled thatch of my un-brushed hair. I felt...safe.
“You can stay here as long as you want,” he said. “And like, no funny business. Obviously.” He cracked a dorky grin. When his body shifted, I caught a whiff of his smelclass="underline" sleep, and something muskier—the echo of Old Spice, applied the night before. His big brown eyes drank me in with tenderness. Something told me it was now or never.
I raised my chin, just slightly. It was easy. Our mouths fit together like puzzle pieces. He explored me gently at first, mouth pressing forward and back. I pictured an undulating jellyfish. I opened my eyes for a fraction of a second and saw that something like a smile hovered around his eyebrows.
I leaned back on the twin bed, inviting him forward. This time there was no hemming and hawing, no need to pretend. I wanted him and he wanted me and no one else was around this morning—ta-frickin-da. Gently, he rose above me and pressed his hands forward so he rested against the mattress. I slithered my fingers out from below the covers and made to tug his boxers toward me.
Still, he said nothing, even as he obeyed my little commands and began to climb into bed. His body was warm and hard and heavy on top of me, even with him bearing most of his weight in his flexed thighs. I let my exploring fingers dance all over his surface this time; he kissed me, and I tangled myself in the shaggy tips of his hair. He kissed me, and I dug my fingertips into the wings of his shoulder blades, the taut expanse of his middle, then the muscular, pert pans of his ass.
Landon rocked back on his knees once my hands began to fiddle with his waistband. He straddled my middle, and took a moment to gaze down at me. I wanted to laugh. We'd been fighting. I'd been hating his guts. Our family was ruined...yet, look at us now, world.