“Bring me some brown sugar and one of those bottles of sparkling cider Molly likes.”
“Will do.”
I hurry out to my car, eager to get out of the house before Molly gets back with her friend Carissa. Thirteen-year-old girls with crushes are not as cute as they seem. Most thirteen-year-old girls these days have been exposed to enough internet porn to think they know what they’re doing. Carissa’s crush on me only seems to grow stronger the more I avoid her, but the alternative is making friends with her and that’s just plain disgusting.
I pull out of the driveway and head to the local pub where Chris and I use to chill out every Wednesday night, before he decided to go solo last year. Everything’s changed since then. We’re only twenty-one, but look at us. Chris has a kid he’s fighting to know. Jake is getting married. We’re fucking adults. And what am I doing? I bought a fucking house.
I enter the bar and immediately take the second-to-last stool from the end of the bar. Chris used to sit in the last seat and old habits are hard to break. Link, the bartender, nods as he finishes pouring a beer for a guy with a long gray beard. I don’t recognize the guy, but I haven’t been here in over a year. He could be a new regular.
Link slides the beer in front of the guy then heads over to me. “What’s up, bro? Long time no see.”
Link has more tats and piercings than Chris and I combined, which is saying a lot considering Chris is fucking addicted to ink. I only have nine tats. I’ve been holding off on getting the tenth one because I’ve convinced myself that it’s going to be some fucking special occasion.
“Get me a Pliny,” I say as we shake hands. “I’m so fucking over this holiday shit.”
“You need some pussy,” Link says as he reaches into the fridge under the bar and pulls out a cold Pliny the Elder. “You remember my girl Tara? Her friend Chrissy is coming in to pick up something in just a few minutes. You should hit that.”
As easy as that, he’s just pimping out his girlfriend’s best friend, like he’s so sure she’s just going to do whatever the fuck I want. Well, she probably will, but the point is that I’m not the only one who does this. I’m not the only one who thinks of a woman as a means to an end. Fuck Chrissy and feel better about myself, maybe relieve some stress. Is it normal to think of another human being as a tool to be used as a fucking form of therapy? I don’t know. But after five beers and two shots of whiskey, when Chrissy walks in with her pink scarf wrapped around her neck and her tight jeans hugging a luscious ass, I don’t fucking care.
I stare at the way her breasts rest on the bar when she leans over it as Link reaches into a cup next to the cash register and pulls out a set of keys. He hands her the keys and she squints at me as she turns to leave.
“Make sure you keep the fire going until we get there tomorrow morning,” Link says to her. “That cabin is cold as fuck right now.”
She nods without looking at him, her eyes glued to me. “You’re Chris Knight’s—”
“Bassist,” I say, trying not to let her see how annoying it is that hardly anyone knows me as anything other than Chris’s bassist. “And you’re Chrissy. I’ve heard all about you. You need some help getting the fire started in that cabin?”
She smiles shyly and for a moment I think she’s going to turn down my offer, then she nods.
I plunk down a hundred-dollar bill and my car keys on the bar. “Bring my car tomorrow?” I ask Link and he nods, then I slip my hand under her scarf and her blonde hair to grab the back of her neck as I lead her outside. I do this partially because I’m unsteady on my feet from the alcohol and partially because girls love when you grab them by the neck. It all goes back to that ownership thing. It’s fucking ridiculous how predictable women are.
A dull pang of guilt registers in my belly. I should be driving to the grocery store to get Grandma’s Thanksgiving goods, but I can’t drive drunk. Might as well burn off this alcohol with my favorite kind of cardio. I’ll be back at Grandma’s tomorrow morning in time to help with whatever she needs for T-Day dinner.
When we reach the parking lot, I’m a little put off by her white Lexus. Either this girl has money or she’s driving someone else’s car. As if she can read my thoughts, she blurts out, “This is my mom’s car.” She hits the key fob to disable the alarm and I seize this small moment of distraction to grab her face and kiss her hard. She whimpers as I push her against the car and press my body against hers.
She tastes like black licorice and it almost triggers my gag reflex. I hate licorice. I pull my face back and stare at her for a second as she attempts to catch her breath.
I feel nothing.
Everything is exactly as it should be.
“Let’s go,” I whisper and she hastily sets off to the driver’s side.
I slide into the beige leather passenger seat then lean my head back and close my eyes as I try not to reach into my pocket for my phone. No drunk texting tonight. Tonight, I’m going to fuck Chrissy into a stupor. I’ll worry about the rest tomorrow.
Chapter Six
I wake up just after 7 a.m. with Chrissy’s cheek resting on my abdomen just above my dick. She’s lying crosswise on the bed and my hand is on her back. Her ass is even nicer with her clothes off. My head is killing me and I have a vague memory of Chrissy telling me that Link, his girlfriend, and Link’s family would be here in the morning to celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s 7 a.m. We still have time for one more goodbye fuck.
I slide my hand over her ribs and reach over to grab her breast. She groans softly as she turns over to face me, her head still resting on my abdomen. Her make-up is smeared all over her eyes and her lips look a little swollen, but definitely still fuckable.
“Sit up,” I order her and she looks confused.
“What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock. Sit up.”
Her eyes widen as she sits up on her knees. “They’re gonna be here in less than an hour!” she cries. “We have to clean up.”
Her eyes dart around the dimly lit bedroom in the cabin, which isn’t really a cabin. It’s a tiny house on a farm forty-five minutes outside of Raleigh. Though it does look like a cabin from the outside, there isn’t a mountain in sight.
“Calm down. An hour is plenty of time.”
I sit up and grab the back of her neck. She looks me in the eye as my other hand slides between her legs. Her panic melts as I stroke her clit. I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her up until we’re both standing on our knees on the mattress facing each other. She whimpers as I plunge two fingers inside her wet pussy to unearth her moisture. I hook my middle finger inside her, using my thumb to keep pressure on her clit as I massage her g-spot. Her shoulders begin to curl inward as she gets close to climax, but I tighten my grip on her hair and pull her head up.
“Do you want me to finish you?”
“Yes!” she cries, panting between gasps. “Yes, please.” I ease the pressure off her clit and her mouth drops open as I remove my finger from inside her. “No, no, please. Please finish,” she begs as she reaches for my hand.
I grab her hand and force it behind her back as I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I’ll finish you, but first you have to sit back and do what I say.”
She nods her head and immediately obeys when I instruct her to lie back with her shoulders against the headboard. I’m out of condoms so I’ll have to make do with what’s available. I straddle her chest and her eyes widen at the sight of my cock in front of her face.
“That’s … that’s kind of big,” she whispers.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”
I slide my hand behind her head, to control the movement and to protect her head from the headboard, then I slide into her mouth. I go slow at first, to let her adjust to my girth, but she soon reaches around to grab hold of my ass and push me farther inside. The pressure of her lips and the warm wetness of her tongue are perfect, but her teeth are killing me.
“Open your mouth wider,” I groan and s
he mutters something I can’t understand with my cock in her mouth. “Fuck.” I can’t fuck her. I’m out of condoms and I’m not making that mistake again, but I can’t take the scraping. I pull out of her mouth and her lips look red and stretched. “Turn around.”
She quickly turns onto her belly and I grab her waist to pull her hips up into the air. I shake my head to shake off the doubts then I glide an inch into her pussy, just to get my dick wet, then I pull out. She gasps as I slide my heat between her cheeks and press gently against the opening.
“Feel free to scream,” I say as I slide inside, just a smidge farther with each stroke.
She buries her face in the pillow with the flannel pillowcase to muffle her screams and I’m glad for that when I hear my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I should let it ring, but my thoughts bounce to all different sorts of scenarios. Maybe Grandma’s calling about the brown sugar I was supposed to bring her last night, or Molly is calling for her cider. Or maybe it’s Senia finally coming to her senses.
I quickly pull out of Chrissy and reach for the phone. When I glimpse the name on the screen, I can’t believe my eyes. It’s Elaine. She knows I’ll never answer her calls, so I’m not sure why she even tries. I hit the ignore button and I’m not at all surprised when I look down and see I’ve lost my erection.
I look back at my phone and see a voicemail notification from Molly. I press the play icon and listen: Tristan – wait! Oh, sh—’
I laugh as I imagine her dropping her phone. I’ll call her back once I’m out of here.
“Who the fuck was that?”
“You have a dirty mouth,” I tell Chrissy as I hurry up and start gathering my clothes off the wooden floor to get dressed.
“Are you leaving?” she shrieks as I pull on my pants.
“You said your friends are getting here at eight. It’s seven thirty.” I pull on my shirt and shoot off another text to Senia wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving. She can’t ignore me forever.
“Don’t you at least want my number?” she says as she jumps out of bed and follows me to the front door naked.
“No.”
“Fuck you!”
“Already fucked you and it wasn’t that great.”
She swings her open hand at my face, but I open the door in time to block it. Her hand smacks the inside of the door hard enough that it makes me a little nervous.
“Your hand okay?” I say with a chuckle, but I quickly slam the door shut as she reaches back to take another shot.
I laugh as I turn around and Link and his girlfriend, whose name I can’t remember, are coming up the paved stone walkway.
“You bastard,” Link says with a smile as he slaps my keys into the palm of my hand. “I knew you’d hit that.”
“You guys are pigs!” his girlfriend shouts, elbowing Link in the stomach as she makes her way to the front door.
“Do you always have to resort to violence?” he barks at her.
“You might want to give her a few seconds to get dressed,” I say over my shoulder.
Link shakes his head, a smirk materializing beneath his painful grimace. “Happy Thanksgiving, bro.”
“Same to you.”
I slide into the driver’s seat and immediately attempt to call Molly. After four rings, I get her voicemail greeting.
Why are both Molly and Elaine trying to reach me?
I hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat as I pull away from the cabin and start off down the long dirt road that leads off the farm and onto the highway. I speed along the highway back to Raleigh, shaving a good ten minutes off the forty-five-minute drive.
When I pull up next to the curb outside Grandma Flo’s, I’m not surprised to see Elaine’s shitty Nissan parked in the driveway. If it weren’t Thanksgiving and if I weren’t so worried, I’d peel the fuck out of here. I rush out of the car, not at all looking forward to seeing Elaine when I’m hungover and wearing last night’s clothes. But I guess it’s better that she thinks I’m a worthless drunk who’s pissing his millions into the toilet. The less she knows about me the better.
I race up the front steps then open the door, preparing my psyche for the inevitable rage that will follow the sight of her emaciated face. The living room is empty, so I quickly move to the only logical place for Grandma to be on Thanksgiving morning: the kitchen. The kitchen is also empty and the turkey is still swimming in the bucket of brine. Grandma usually gets it into the oven by 6 a.m. Something’s wrong.
Chapter Seven
Senia
The gods of Thanksgiving and I have a secret pact: I eat all their tasty offerings and they agree to not let me vomit or gain more than five pounds. Unfortunately, they never seem to hold up their end of the bargain on the weight gain and, when December rolls around, I find myself renewing my pact with the treadmill gods. But I think I may have been a bit overenthusiastic in my commitment to consuming the tasty offerings of the day. I feel sick, which gives me the perfect opportunity to skip out on family karaoke hour so I can handle some covert business.
Once Claire is deeply entrenched in a karaoke battle with my cousin Nico, I sneak out of the family room and race upstairs. It’s a few minutes past one in the afternoon. Tristan texted me about six hours ago. I know I’m going to regret this.
Me: Thanks for the kind message. Now kindly stop texting me. I’m not interested in being one of your concubines.
I actually get a pain in my chest after I hit send. I know I’m supposed to hate Tristan and I’m sure as hell not supposed to talk to him, but I can’t help but feel like I’m misjudging him. Like we’re all misjudging him.
That’s so stupid! That’s exactly what guys like him want girls to think. Oh, poor misjudged Tristan who fucks anything that breathes.
I met Tristan a little more than three years ago after a show they played in Durham. Claire and I had been friends for a total of five weeks, but I already knew, from the moment she shared her love of Vampire Diaries with me, that she and I were destined to be best friends forever. She actually had to drag me to the show. I was pretty shy before college. Most of my friends throughout junior high and high school were math geeks, like me. Unfortunately, none of my high school friends ended up attending UNC Chapel Hill. Starting from scratch is difficult for any eighteen-year-old, but for a kid with moderate social anxiety, it’s torture. Thankfully, Claire supported me through my drink-till-you-don’t-give-a-fuck stage of development. So, of course, the first thing I did when I arrived at the club in Durham to watch Chris, Tristan, and Jake perform was get shit-faced drunk.
Needless to say, my eyes were glued to Tristan all night as crazy thoughts of marriage and babies – and hot sex – raced through my socially inept and highly inebriated brain. Eventually, about halfway through the show, he finally cast his smoky gaze in my direction and smiled – a smile that I would later learn he and Chris refer to as their crowd smile. But, let me tell you, when he directed that smile my way … I’m not ashamed to say that I think I may have peed a little.
I am definitely never going to text him again. Unless it’s to send him a pic of my awesome bunion, as I promised Claire.
Never. Again.
Tristan: Whatever you say.
Great! Now I feel like an asshole.
No. I will not allow him to do this to me. I will not text him again.
I sigh as I lie back on my bed and close my eyes. I try to push the images from that day outside Yogurtland out of my head, but it’s no use. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past twelve days. It was so different from all the other times Tristan and I have come close to having sex. It was almost as if seeing me on the phone with someone else spurred some competitive streak inside of him and he needed to outdo Eddie. And, let’s be honest, as amazing as Eddie is in bed, he could never be Tristan.
What the hell am I thinking? Stop it, Senia!
Oh, great. Now I’m yelling at myself inside my head.
It wasn’t just the sex. He wanted to know
who I was talking to on the phone. That’s not just sex, right?
No, it was sex combined with typical male territorial issues. It wasn’t just sex. It was a fucking pissing contest. I am not anyone’s property! Especially not anyone’s property to piss on.
Okay, that settles it. I am not texting him back.
Me: Are you okay?
Tristan: No. I’m at the hospital.
Me: What’s wrong?
Tristan: Can I call you later?
Shit! I’m so stupid. I stare at the text for a few minutes before I begin typing. The bedroom door flies open and Claire walks in. I quickly tuck the phone underneath me before I can finish typing my response.
“What are you doing in here?” she asks, looking winded and flushed from singing.
“Nothing. Just trying to digest the twenty pounds of food I’ve eaten. No better way to make sure it goes straight to my ass than lying down and doing absolutely nothing.”
Claire raises an eyebrow. “Why are you acting like I just caught you masturbating?”
I laugh as I sit up and discreetly push my phone underneath my pillow. “Please. You’ve caught me masturbating plenty of times.”
“Oh God, please. I don’t want to talk about you touching yourself.”
“Whatever. Let’s go downstairs. I think I’m ready for some more pumpkin pie.”
I glance over my shoulder at the pillow and shake my head as I close my bedroom door.
Chapter Eight
The emergency-room doors open and I race through, clutching the note Molly left on the refrigerator: Went with Grandma to hospital. She wasn’t breathing. Get here quick. Don’t call me. I dropped my phone in the toilet.
The entrance to the emergency waiting room is right before me. I storm in and find Molly sitting in a chair in the far corner with Elaine two chairs away from her. Molly’s eyes are closed as she leans her head back against the wall. Her light-brown hair is pulled up into a messy bun at the top of her head – the way she always does it before she goes to bed. Elaine looks at me and I quickly look away as I head for Molly. I shake her knee and she jumps a little as she opens her eyes.
“Shit!” she cries as she’s startled awake.
I’ve told Molly that she needs to stop cursing so much, but that’s like trying to tell a fish to stop breathing water. She grew up with me as her role