Torn - Part 1: The Torn Series (3 page)

“Mal’s gonna make sure you get home safe, Riley,” Jen said.

“How are you so sure
he’s
safe?” I asked with a grimace.

“He’s my brother’s roommate, remember? I know where he lives.” She winked. “And you’ll text me as soon as you get home. Promise?”

I sighed and promised, and Mal laughed. “Have a nice night, ladies,” he said, leading me away and up the street in the direction of our train station. They waved their goodbyes before disappearing back inside.

“The F train, right?” he asked.

I sighed again. “Yeah.”

“Good. Same here. Now are you gonna let me carry that so I don’t look like a jackass?” he asked, indicating the guitar case strapped to my back.

“It’s not heavy, I carry it all the time!” I protested, but he was already tugging the strap over my shoulder.

“You don’t want to be seen with a jackass,” he said.

“You’re being one right now.” I let him take it, anyway. It was a sweet offer, though obnoxiously delivered.

“Are you always this ornery?”

I just gave him the side-eye for that. Who the hell says “ornery,” anyway?

It would be a ten minute walk to the train station. We could end up waiting there for up to thirty minutes. Another forty-five maybe before my stop. It was going to be a long commute.

I needed to make more friends with car-owners. I needed a better job so I could afford a cab. And I especially needed Mal to stop looking at me like I was a tasty little snack.

Another successful night in the big city. Go me.

CHAPTER 2

I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “What were you and Robin talking about?”

We were on the train. Luckily it was arriving just as we walked down to the platform. I was quickly discovering that to be one of the best feelings as a city-dweller. That perfect train-timing. It felt like the stars were aligned in my favor whenever it happened.

I tried to make my question sound innocent but I wasn’t exactly the best actress. I plucked at a loose thread on my skirt as I said it, which almost certainly gave me away.
Curse all my nervous habits.

“Nothing,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Why?” He sat next to me but not too close - the space on the bench was meant for three people. At that late hour, though, the car was nearly empty.

“Just curious,” I mumbled, pulling the thread free and twirling it around my fingers. I could feel him watching me. It only made me more nervous - I twirled it around my thumb until I cut off my circulation, watched the digit turn white before unwinding it and repeating the process again.

Tyler hated it when I couldn’t keep my hands still. He said it made him anxious. Mallet eyed my actions but his expression was neutral.

“She offered me a job,” he finally said with a shrug.

“A job?” I blinked. “What kind of job?”

“Cleaning her pipes,” he snickered.

I sat back in the seat. “Oh.” I wasn’t sure how much of a joke that was.

“Kidding. Goddamn. She wants me to run security for you guys.”

“Oh,” I repeated. That was definitely not the answer I was expecting. “Like, be our bodyguard?”

“Yeah. She saw that asshole touch you when you were onstage.” His fists clenched as he said it. He rested them on his knees and flexed his fingers as if forcing them to relax.
Nice to see I’m not the only one with nervous habits.

“He only touched my skirt,” I said, then mumbled, “Didn’t grab my boob until
after
the show.”

He sat up straighter. “Motherfucker groped you?” He sounded shocked - I’d thought he’d seen it. Why else had he fought that guy? Just because he’d cornered me near the bar?

“Yeah. Hazard of the job,” I said lightly.

“Bullshit.” He was even louder. An older woman on the bench across from us slid further away, placing herself near the door and eying him with disapproval.

I shrugged. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to brush it off and forget it happened. Why the hell had I even mentioned it at all? “You invite a lot of eyes when you get onstage,” I said, “You know that. And dressed like this…” I gestured at my tight top, my short plaid skirt. “You invite a lot of eyes dressing like this, too. Of course some of them are going to belong to assholes.” I blew out a breath.
Stop talking.
I really didn’t want to make a thing of it.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he grunted. “Now I wish I’d hit him harder. Woulda knocked his teeth all the way uptown.” He was flexing his fingers again, audibly popping the joints.

I bit my lip. “Well, thanks for saying that.” At least he wasn’t trying to downplay it, much as I wanted to myself. It was sort of nice that he was angry about it, nice that he took it seriously.

Unlike some.

I definitely didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Did you get that at a fight recently?” I asked, gesturing at the nasty bruise on his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said, “Yesterday. I won, but holy hell could that guy throw a punch.”

“Looks painful.”

“Not really.” He eyed me again, his green eyes lingering on my skirt just a moment longer than was polite. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

I grimaced. “We’re sort of broken up. I still live with him, though, so. It’s weird.” I said it sing-song, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal despite the fact that I was all twisted up inside whenever I saw him. Which was all the damn time.

Mallet chuckled. “Rent’s expensive in this town, girly. Lots of us live with people we don’t like. We have to.”

“That’s pretty much what he said like, right after I moved in.” I frowned at my hands. “He wanted a roommate he knew wouldn’t stiff him on the rent and wouldn’t trash the place. Broke up with me a few days after.”

“That’s fucking cold.”

“You don’t like your roommates?” I wanted to change the subject before the tears started again. They never seemed to end where this break-up was concerned.
Temporary break-up
, I told myself,
I’m not giving up yet.

“They’re fine,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

I jumped to my feet. I just had too much nervous energy to be contained, and bringing up Tyler hadn’t helped. I paced. I couldn’t let it go. “It
was
really cold, wasn’t it?” It was tough to balance in the platform boots with the movement of the train so I moved from one pole to the next, letting my own momentum swing me around before I turned back the other way.

“Know what would make you feel better? Making him jealous.” Mallet’s eyes lit up with amusement. I thought for sure he’d be bored to death with this conversation by now. Then again, I realized my little dance up and down the aisle was more entertaining than I intended.
This skirt really is too short. I’m letting out the hem first thing tomorrow.

“Stay out really late,” he went on, “Make him wonder where you are, what you’re doing.
Who
you’re doing.”

“I’m not
doing
anyone.” I got his point but did he always need to be so crass?

“He doesn’t need to know that.” He glanced out the window as the train screeched to a halt. 63rd and Lex. “Come on. I know a place.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said as he stood. I bit my lip, considering it. Part of me wanted to rush home and see what Tyler was up to and try to engage him in conversation or something. Anything.

Another part of me was - reluctantly - enjoying Mallet’s company.

It helped that he was pretty hot.

The doors slid open. “Guess I’ll just hang out alone with your guitar, then,” he said, stepping through with my case still slung over his shoulder.

I cursed and scurried after him.

○●○●○●○●○

He took us to a crappy dive of a pub called O’Dunn’s. It was the opposite of the bar we’d been in earlier - where Guitar Bar was fairly trendy, O’Dunn’s looked like a hangout for grumpy old men. It smelled clean enough inside, though - just beer and french fries with only a hint of dirty dishrag.

“How late am I supposed to stay out?” I asked, “It’s already past midnight.”

“Could take days.”

“What?!”

He ignored my bewildered response and flagged down the bartender. It wasn’t that I couldn’t take a joke, but they just poured out of him so quickly and naturally.
And I thought I was the queen of sarcasm. Queen meet King.

“Usual for me,” Mallet told the stone-faced old man, “Something fruity for Miss Riley.”

“Just a beer, please,” I said before he could start mixing up some awful concoction. I pointed to the decorative spigots. One had an owl on it. “That one.” Always go for the booze with the animal logo.

“You seemed like a fruity cocktail kind of girl,” Mallet said, sliding up on a stool. I took the seat next to him.

“They’re good if you like hangovers.” I slid back off the stool just a moment later. There was a jukebox in the corner - if we were going to be there for a couple of hours, we’d definitely need some decent tunes.

What the hell am I doing?
I asked myself as I flipped through the options and fed the machine my singles. The adrenaline from the all the excitement of the evening should have worn off. I should have been tired, should have insisted on going home.

Instead I perched next to Mallet and sipped my beer and twirled the seat of my stool back and forth. Tyler never would have done anything like this. It seemed like such a waste to live in the city and spend so much time at home. Studying be damned.

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” He’d ordered us each a shot while I was queuing up some rock music - between that and the one Jen bought me earlier, I was feeling somewhat tipsy.
Lightweight that I am.

I brushed his cheek with my fingertips and he winced as I made contact with the dark bruise that marred his face. “Sorry!” I squeaked. I twirled my seat, brushing my knees against his.

“It only hurts when you jab it,” he said, though he was grinning. He pulled my hand away by my wrist and was slow to release me. I could still feel his hot fingertips on my skin once he squeezed my hand back around my glass.

“You’re sure nothing’s broken, though?” I asked. It really was ugly. Though
he
wasn’t ugly. It would take a lot more than a bruise to make him even approach ugly.

“Oh, my God,” he said. He grabbed my waist and pulled me closer, stool and all. Then he trapped both of my knees between his. “Sit still. Shit.”

I giggled. “I do fidget a lot, don’t I.”

“You never stop.” I was facing him, now, head-on. I could feel the strength in his thighs, trapping me in place like a vise. “It’s wearing me out just watching you.”

“Sorry,” I said again, softly.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, “Own it. Say, ‘fuck yes, I fidget like a manic chihuahua, what of it?’”

I knew he was making fun of me, but that lopsided grin was doing things. Sitting face-to-face as we were, it was hard to think about anything else.
Dammit, he even smells good.
No cologne, just masculine things like cigarettes and whiskey and a hint of sweat from being out on a hot summer night. And he radiated heat.

Or maybe it was just me.

I spotted another bruise - this one on his arm, peeking out beneath the hem of his t-shirt. “Does that one hurt?”

“Which one?” He kept his eyes locked on mine. Focused. Almost like they’d been during his fight. Having that intense gaze targeting me made my knees want to tremble - except they couldn’t, because they were caught between his. “I have a lot.”

“That one,” I said, pointing. When he didn’t look, I reached out and touched his arm. “This,” I said more softly.
I shouldn’t be touching him.
Where was my loyalty?

But Tyler had been out with a couple of girls since we’d broken up - why shouldn’t I get to touch a few muscles?
This is about making him jealous, anyway.

And as my fingers brushed across Mallet’s warm skin, thoughts of Tyler started to fade.
I’m a tough punk chick tonight,
I reminded myself,
I’m Riley, not Alexa. Tyler doesn’t even like Riley.

“Fuck that guy,” Mallet said, as if he’d read the conflict clearly on my face.

“Sorry,” I said, then realizing my mistake, “But not sorry!”

He grinned, and goddamn, it was downright charming. His eyes lit right up. “Good.”

“Are you really bruised all over?” I asked, hoping to change the subject, “Do any of them hurt? Have you ever broken anything?”

“Got another one here.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt up halfway, revealing a six-pack, the likes of which I’d never seen up close outside of magazines.

“Now you’re just showing off.” But I couldn’t resist running my fingertips across his abs - rock hard, as I suspected. I traced the outline of the bruise that marked them. Evidence of his fight. Evidence of the sort of man he was. I was mesmerized.