Torn - Part 1: The Torn Series (9 page)

Yet when I did go home with him, I always spent the night.

"You're seeing someone," Tyler said, standing in the middle of the living room. I had finally purchased a decorative privacy screen that I used to block off the futon when I slept at night. Unfortunately it also isolated the television. Tyler's passive aggressive complaints were starting to drive me mad.

I tucked the screen against the wall and moved my sheets aside, making room for him on the couch. He sat with a put-out sigh.

"Sort of," I said, "What's it to you?"

"Well you haven't brought him by. How do you know he isn't no good?"

"Uh, I think I can judge for myself."

He snorted, letting me know what he thought of that statement. But then he surprised me, gently taking my hand in his. "I miss you," he stated simply.

I froze. Part of me knew it was just jealousy talking. But part of me lit up with hope. He was my first love, my first everything, and I had been so sure for so long that we would always be together.

My more sensible side won for once. I pulled my hand away. "You were the one who dumped me."

"I know. I'm just saying." He shrugged and flipped on the television.

Okay, so it wasn't a proposal and it wasn't plea to get back together, but something was there. A possibility.

But did I want it? I'd been living a very different life while we were broken up. Never mind the fact that Mallet had me completely distracted, distant as he was.

Old Alexa would have harangued Tyler immediately about what he meant, about his feelings for her and their future.

New Riley turned elsewhere. The girls were going to a show that night to scope out some of the competition. I'd left their invitation up in the air, hoping to pick up an extra shift at the bar, but my inner turmoil settled it. I needed advice from someone older and wiser and cooler than myself.

And I needed a drink.

○●○●○●○●○

"Look at their guitarist. He's super hot." Jen watched the activity onstage with a mischievous glint in her eyes. I followed her gaze to the man playing onstage as we pushed our way through the crowd. My beer sloshed over my hands so I paused and took a sip.

The guy was good-looking - or might have been with less eyeliner and a few less facial piercings. That confirmed it, Jen and I definitely had very different tastes in men.

She waited for me to catch up in her quest to stand as close to the stage as we could. "Be my wingwomen?" she asked. Robin laughed and shrugged.

I said, "Sure!" I wasn't sure what the job entailed but I was eager to help.

We danced together right at the foot of the stage. These guys were direct competition - they played covers of some classic glam rock songs from the eighties. They were good but I thought we were better.
I can play bass better than that guy for sure
, I thought, giving the bearded fellow a competitive look-over. Maybe it was wishful thinking and I just wanted to imagine my skills were superior, but I would swear he was just a touch off, just a touch slow.

“We’re definitely better than these guys,” Robin said as she elbowed me.

“Just what I was thinking,” I grinned.

Their set wrapped up and we headed back to the bar. “When are you going to make your move?” Robin asked Jen.

Jen’s hair was a lighter shade of purple that week, and she ran a hand through it as she squinted back at the stage. “In one shot’s time!” she announced, and waved down the bartender.

I think those two girls drank more in a night than I did in a year at college. I was impressed and appalled at the same time, but I went along anyway, throwing back the tequila and biting the lime. At least the booze would temper my nervous energy and make me a little braver. I suspected the role of “wingwoman” involved a bit of flirting.

We found them next to the stage packing up the last of their instruments. “Hey boys, great show,” Robin whooped, holding her glass high in the air.

“Some stiff competition,” Jen said with a wink.

“No shit?” the lead singer asked. “You’re Mistresses of Mayhem, right?”

“The ones and onlys!” Jen declared with a curtsy.
I’m not drunk enough for this.
“What are you boys up to this evening?”

The three of them shrugged in unison.

“We’re meeting some friends over at that heavy metal bar on 2nd. Baron’s Alley? You can come if you’d like.”

They lit up at the invitation. “Sure,” the lead singer said with a nod. “We’ll be there.”

“Great!”

Jen hustled the two of us out the door. “Is this a good idea?” I asked once we were outside. The place would be a ten minute walk away - easy in sneakers but I was wearing those damn boots again. “Isn’t this, like, fraternizing with the enemy?”

“Eh,” Jen said with an exaggerated shrug. She was visibly tipsy, and Robin wasn’t far behind. Neither was I. I hooked elbows with Jen for the walk over and we sang lines from our songs loud enough to echo down the street. Some people picked up a line here and there and sang back as they passed. Most just rolled their eyes.

A cool breeze ruffled our hair as we high-stepped down the avenue like a flock of damn models, like we owned the whole street and the whole city with it. Robin held Jen’s other elbow and we strode ahead like superheroes. We were a trio of hot and sexy punk girls and we were invincible.

Baron’s Alley was
loud.
Jen must have deliberately chosen it because she
didn’t
want to talk to that guy. We walked in and had to lean over the bar and scream our orders at the poor bartenders. I swear they were wearing earplugs.

I looked between the two girls, the red light illuminating the slight sheen of sweat on their faces, and I grinned to myself. This was all I’d ever wanted - cool friends, fun adventures.

And less trouble with men. But at the moment at least, they didn’t matter.

We were well and truly hammered by the time the other band showed up. We weren’t actually meeting any other friends - Jen had made that up to make it seem like a low-pressure gathering of people and less of a direct attempt to get into the guitarist’s pants.

I nearly forgot about my roll as wingwoman. Robin was the expert anyway - she got both the lead singer’s and the bassist’s attention centered on her, giving Jen the chance to isolate her target. I meanwhile sat at Robin’s side, giggled and blushed and had little to say.

Not that they could hear us, anyway. I nodded along with the conversation but the only words I could make out were “shots!” and “more shots!”

They were the most important words, anyway.

The bar was spinning a little in my vision when I made my way outside to get a breath of fresh air. I hadn’t seen them leave, but I found Jen out front sharing a cigarette with the guitar player. I looked away as they shared a sloppy kiss and was about to slink back inside when she called my name.

“What’re you lurking around out here for, girly?” she asked. “Don’t like those guys?”

I didn’t want to say “no” in front of their friend, so I just shrugged and said, “It’s loud.”

A wicked grin crossed her face. “What about Mallet?”

My whole face turned red. “What about him?”

“Gonna see him tonight?”

“I don’t have his number,” I admitted, embarrassed.

“What?!” she shrieked. The guitarist chuckled and watched our slurring conversation with amusement, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “I told you he was an asshole. Didn’t I tell you he’s an asshole?” She elbowed the guitar player. “They’ve been fucking for weeks and they don’t even have each other’s numbers. Doesn’t he sound like an asshole?”

“Eh,” he said, “You kissed me and you don’t know my name.”

Her mouth flapped uselessly for a moment. “I… fuck.” She rummaged in her purse. “I’m calling him. I’m giving him a piece of my mind.”

“No!” I tried to grab the phone from her but she flounced away. “I don’t want to bother him!”

“He’s my brother’s best friend,
I’m
allowed to bother
both
of them whenever I want!” She skipped away out of earshot. I covered my face. I didn’t even want to hear what she was saying.
Maybe she’s slurring her speech too badly. Maybe he won’t get a single word.

“She always like this?” her nameless friend asked.

I squinted up at him. “She’s like, the coolest person I know. You be nice.” He laughed again. I guess I was drunker than I thought.

She practically danced back up the sidewalk. “He’s coming!” she sang, waving her phone at me. “He’s on his way right now!”

“Oh my God, Jen!” I gaped at her. “He’s going to think I’m crazy!”

“You’re a Mistress of Mayhem, of course you’re crazy!”

“Okay,” I laughed, “Now you’re getting cheesy. Have fun you two.” I waved and headed back inside.

“Don’t leave the bar, Riley, I mean it, he’s on his way!” Jen said, then giggled. One last glance over my shoulder revealed the two kissing again. I shook my head and returned to my stool at Robin’s side.

I never expected him to actually show up. I thought maybe Jen misheard him, or he said he’d come out just to humor her. The drummer and I were shouting in each other’s ears about our instruments and our song choices when he appeared in the darkened doorway. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, so he must have already been near the neighborhood.

It was all butterflies and earthquakes in my gut when he entered. I stopped mid-sentence and just blushed. The poor drummer turned and looked behind him to see what the hell I was gaping at.

Mallet clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, baby,” he said to me. “Want to get out of here?”

“We were talking, man!” the drummer said, looking up at him. His expression of anger turned to a grimace as Mallet squeezed.

I slid from the stool before it could escalate any further. The poor guy hadn’t done anything wrong just by talking to me. “Be nice!” I barked at Mallet, and he let go with a sheepish grin.

I gave Robin a quick hug and said “See you later,” then scampered past the drummer, too embarrassed to even look at him, past Mallet, and out the front door.

“What’s wrong with you, you jealous or something?” I asked, stumbling on my heels.

“Maybe.”

“You are pretty rude, buddy.” I jabbed a finger at his chest but I missed.

“You’re pretty wasted,” he laughed.

“I had to keep up!” I said brightly, spreading my arms out and enjoying the late-night breeze.

He took my hand. “You don’t have to keep up.” I hiccuped in response. “Is Jen right?” he asked. “Are you pissed?”

“She said that?” I stumbled another step but he steadied me with a hand on my hip. “I’m not, she started it.”

“Yeah? You’re not mad that I never asked for your number?”

“It’s a little weird,” I admitted, “But I’m being casual and smooth like you.” I exaggerated the words, emphasizing them with big hand gestures. “I’m too cool to care, now!”

“You’re too drunk to care right now.”

I snorted. “That, too.” I leaned back against the building with a sigh. “It’s just that you always find me but I can never find you if I want to.” I hooked my fingers through his belt and pulled him closer.

“What can I say, I’m a man of mystery.”

Then he distracted me with a kiss.
I guess that’s the end of that,
I thought, though I couldn’t complain, not while his mouth was scorching mine like that.
This isn’t going to become something more,
I reminded myself.

But that didn’t mean the fun had to be over right away.

“Gonna take me home?” I asked. I could hear my own speech slurring in my ears and cursed myself for not taking it a little easier on the drinks.

“Yes,” he laughed, then whispered, “I’m not gonna fuck you ‘til you sober up, so you’d better drink a lot of water and sleep for a bit when we get there.” He traced my curves with his knuckles - the side of my breast, my waist, my hip. “And I really want to fuck you. Hard. So. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes sir,” I said, biting my lip.

He groaned. “You’re terrible. Get walking.”

CHAPTER 8

“Do you ever sing?”

“Huh?” I idly stroked his arm while he toyed with a piece of my hair, twirling the red and the black together. I was still breathing heavily, coming down from our sexual high. He’d done as he’d said, made me sober up for a while before he would do more than kiss me.

Now I was a little hungover but utterly satisfied - a feeling I wanted to savor for as long as I could.

“Sing,” he said, “You know. Because you said you want to write songs.”

He remembers that I said that?
I was a bit taken aback. I thought all our pillow conversations were going in one ear and out the other. I was starting to feel like I’d misjudged him. “I do,” I said, “I’m okay but I’m not great. Can’t handle big high notes.”

He jabbed me playfully in the ribs. “Could have fooled me.”