I lift my head and finally meet Kalli’s gaze. She’s as close as she can possibly be without touching me, and I wonder how that sliver of space between us can feel so small and so big at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I shake my head. “Don’t. No one should feel sorry for me. I spent a lot of years being a spoiled prick. And I’ve still got it a lot better than most.”
She toes off the ankle boots she’s wearing and pulls her socked feet up underneath her on the couch. Then she leans on the arm she has perched on the back of the couch, her cheek resting in her hand. She’s still not touching me, but she feels closer. If we both happened to breathe in at the same time, we’d make contact.
She says, “There’s this funny thing about empathy. It’s not actually in limited supply. Just because other people have it worse doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be understood. To feel comfort.”
“Says the girl who took only one night of comfort for herself.”
“If you had any idea how big a step that was for me …”
“I don’t have any idea. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
She lifts her head from her hand, her fingers trailing down her cheek. But just as I start to hope, her expression goes blank, and she draws that hand in a fist to lean against. And I know … she’s not going to tell me anything.
Still careful to keep our bodies separated, she bends toward me and places a chaste kiss against my cheek. It’s light, so damn light, but I swear I can feel the exact texture of her lips. The bow at the top and the tiny grooves that form when her lips pucker. It should feel good to have her lips against me, but instead it’s torture. Not just because I want more. But because everything about this kiss feels like an apology, the metaphorical ‘but’ before everything goes to hell. A goodbye.
Then she’s pulling back and climbing to her feet.
“I’m going to go get my own chaser.”
She walks to the kitchen without looking back, and the words come to me then, as fresh and easy as if I hadn’t been quelling the urge for nearly a year. I picture the stroke of my pen on the page, the messy script as I always hurried to scrawl the words down before they left my head. The notes I occasionally drew in above, already imagining how it would sound against the strum of my guitar.
I need a chaser for you, babe.
Something to take the sting away
I’m trying not to chase you, babe.
But my heart wants its own say
No. That’s not quite right. Its own way? Maybe … But my heart just won’t obey.
I’m still thinking over options, cycling through rhymes in my head for a song I’ll never let myself finish when the party returns to the living room. And in a gesture that no one misses, Kalli sits on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. She’s in the open space between the girls with names I can’t remember and Avery and Jack. Carefully alone, just like she prefers.
As everyone pours out their two shots, I pour two of my own even though I technically won. Because suddenly, I understand exactly why Lennox wants to be drunk on Christmas.
I need a chaser for you, babe.
Something to ease the sting I feel.
I wish I didn’t have to chase you, babe.
But you’re a burn that just won’t heal.
Chapter Fourteen
“Merry Mustache!” Lennox and I scream at the same time. She jumps up from her spot on the couch, hands on her hips. I follow, and when she’s left looking up at me, she climbs up onto her seat cushion so that she’s higher.
“I said it first,” she says.
“I’m pretty sure we said it at the same time.”
“So what now?”
We look at each other, and I’m grateful when her eyes don’t flick to Kalli. She’d given me one sympathetic look about four shots ago, but since then she’s been my partner in crime, in complete lack of sobriety. Our eyes bore into each other, and somehow we come to a nonverbal agreement.
“Everybody drinks,” I say.
“Yep.” She ends the word with a particularly forceful p. I finished my beer a while ago, but rather than getting another and continuing to mix beer and liquor, I decided to embrace the inevitability of getting completely shit-faced.
I pour us both a shot of tequila, and we cheers before we tip them back.
We’re not the only ones trashed. Mick was already quiet, so nobody noticed he had passed out until it was his turn to pick his Secret Santa gift. Lennox had tried to wake him, but the dude was gone. So, Lennox chose his gift for him. Then she got right in his face and said different types of alcohol until he finally groaned and tried to push her away after a particularly loud and drawn out, “Whiskey.” We took that as indication of his guess, and miraculously, his present was indeed whiskey.
That shot was the last straw for one of the you-have-a-name-and-I’m-a-dick-for-not-remembering girls. She convinced one of her other friends to head home, but the third stayed to flirt with one of the preppy dudes. Whose names I have also forgotten. I’m apparently an equal opportunity name forgetter.
I’ve been avoiding looking at Kalli. Because the more I drink, the more likely I am to do something stupid at the sight of her. Like leap over the coffee table, throw her over my shoulder and drag her into the kitchen where I can pay her back for that kiss on the cheek. I could fight those walls of hers. Press my body to hers. Whisper the things I want to do in her ear. I could make her change her mind.
But just because I could do it, doesn’t mean I should. For one, I’d feel like an asshole (though likely only up until the moment she gave in, then I’d just be thinking about her, how fast I could get her alone). And more than likely, it would end exactly the same way our first encounter had. Her gone, and me wanting to bang my head into the wall to relieve the ache of pent-up want.
Jack has gradually moved closer to her, inching his chair forward every once and a while in a ploy to get closer to the table, but I know it’s about her. Because it’s probably what I would do, too. I’m tapping my fingers against my knee to keep myself from tensing up in frustration, and eventually I find myself tapping out the same beat again and again. It’s the rhythm to go with the words I’d thought of earlier.
This drunk, with my mind full of Kalli, I don’t think about all the promises I’d made to myself to let go of the music. I’d made a choice when we I came back to Austin, cutting short the band’s tour last summer. The gang had all been really cool about it. No one threw a fit that I’d ruined our summer plans. Rook went back to the tattoo parlor early. Owen took the opportunity to catch up on partying. And Bridget … well, that’s when things had started with us. In the beginning, I tried to juggle it all. We played a few local gigs, bars where we’d gotten our start a few years prior. But there was a reason we had organized the summer tour. We were bored with playing the same old places, tired of feeling like we weren’t going anywhere.
Then things got busy. I was jumping through hoops to get into the business program last minute. Mom needed help. There was all the shit with the lawyers and getting ready for Dad’s trial. I had to skip a gig here and there, and though Owen and Bridget could both sing, they weren’t used to singing lead, and neither of them really cared for it. Then they weren’t so cool about it (not that I blame them). A few blow up fights later, and I decided that I had to cut myself off. It wasn’t possible to keep the music and become the man I needed to be for Mom and Gwen. I’d come home. I’d made the decision to be here, and I had to see it through.
So, I quit the band completely. That was around the time that Bridget got particularly difficult, too, so I welcomed the break. But I learned fast that quitting the band in name only wasn’t enough. When I wrote in my spare time or played the guitar for Gwen, I could feel the bitterness creeping in, whispering that I’d given up too much.
By the time Dad was convicted, I’d forced myself to make a clean break. I am no longer Wilder the musician. I’m the Wilder who goes to sc
hool and works part-time at an accounting firm. I’m the Wilder who’s going to get a good, well-paying job and take care of his family. I’m the Wilder who’s determined to prove that I have more integrity than my father.
I can’t be the Wilder who writes music anymore, even if that music is about the most fascinating girl I’ve ever met.
But still, my finger taps on. And I let it.
Finally, it’s Kalli’s turn to pick her present, and I have an excuse to watch her, to drink her in. She bends to choose the last remaining gift, and her curves are burned into my brain. Lush and round, I know what it feels like to have my hands on her thighs, her ass, but that doesn’t make the itch to touch her any less maddening.
She settles back onto floor, and just as she’s about to tear away the wrapping paper, my phone starts ringing. The song is a familiar tune, heavy on the drums. The kind of alternative rock I used to enjoy playing myself. I drag my hands over my pockets, but I don’t feel my cell. Confused, I stand, searching again as the song carries on.
“Try your jacket.” It’s Kalli who says it, and when I look over at her, the phone goes quiet. My phone had been in my jacket pocket that night downtown. She’d been wearing my jacket, and she’d looked so damn good in it.
My phone starts ringing again, snapping me into action, and I grab my jacket, fumbling clumsily through the pockets until I get lucky.
Vibrating in my hand, the phone reads Mom, and my stomach sinks. As I hit answer, I step over piles of used wrapping paper, weave drunkenly around the coffee table, and head for the kitchen. “Mom?”
I plug my other ear with my finger to block out the noise of the TV as I step out of the room. I can only pray I don’t sound too drunk as I ask, “Mom, is everything okay?”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and I start to panic.
“I’m sorry to do this, honey. I know I told you to go to the party and have fun with your friends, but …”
“What’s the matter? Did something happen?”
“Everything is fine. But the hospital called. They had two nurses call in sick, and they asked me to come in. I would say no, but because it’s the holiday, it’s time and a half.”
Shit. I nod for a few seconds before it occurs to me that she can’t actually hear that. “Sure. Of course. You should do it. I’ll —” What will I do? She can’t go unless I can stay with Gwen, but I can’t drive home. Not like this. I’ll just have to call a cab. I’ll figure out how to get my car back tomorrow. “I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay?”
There’s another extended silence before Mom answers, “I’m sorry, Wilder. I really am.”
“Don’t be. I was getting ready to call it a night anyway.” Not entirely true. But I’m probably better off this way anyway. No sense torturing myself being so close to Kalli and being unable to actually have her. I’ve been enough of a masochist for one night. “See you in a bit.”
I hang up the phone, and shake my head. I take a deep breath and try to gauge how drunk I am. The room seems to move slower than the shaking of my head, and yep. Definitely drunk.
I sigh and walk back into the living room.
“What’s up, Dazzler?” Lennox asks.
I hold up my phone and say, “I’ve got to go actually.” I glance at the time; it’s just after midnight. I wonder how long it will take for a cab to get here once I call.
“What happened?” Kalli asks, and my stomach tightens at her interest. Our eyes meet, and I have to struggle to remember that she’s the one who keeps pulling back.
“My mom got called into work and needs me to watch my little sister.”
I cross to the couch and pick up my jacket, checking my pocket to make sure I’ve still got my keys.
“You can’t drive,” Kalli says. I bristle a little, annoyed that she gets to pick and choose when she’s interested in me.
“I’m not planning on it. I’m calling a cab.”
I pull up the Internet on my phone to search for a cab company when Kalli says, “I can take you.”
I frown. I mean … don’t get me wrong. I like the idea of leaving with her, but I just don’t get why. This girl twists my head around so good, that I’m surprised it hasn’t popped off yet.
“You’ve had nearly as much to drink as I have.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’m not drunk.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That again?” Unbidden, my eyes drop to her socked feet, and her lips quirk in a smile.
“It’s just as true this time as it was last time.” She climbs to her feet, and starts heading toward me. The closer she gets, the harder my heart beats, like it’s trying to leap right out of my chest to get to her. She slips past me and bends down to get her boots. Right in front of me. Her perfect ass is just there, and I really don’t have the willpower right now not to look.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jack cuts in, standing from his chair. “Just let the guy take a cab.”
“Really, Jack, I’m fine.”
Still standing, she lifts a foot to slip on her boot. She teeters a little, and I grab hold of her elbow to steady her. As much as I hate to admit it … “Maybe Jack is right.”
“That wasn’t because I’m drunk. That was because I’m standing on one foot trying to put on a shoe. I promise that I am one hundred percent okay to drive. I don’t feel the slightest bit drunk.”
She does seem sober. She stands with her hands on her hips, looking up at me, and her eyes are clear, focused. I’d been determinedly not watching her for the last hour or so. Maybe she’d been cutting back, and I hadn’t noticed.
“Touch your finger to your nose,” I say.
She rolls her eyes, but does it.
“Now switch and touch it with the other finger … now switch back and forth.”
“Is this really a thing?” she asks between touches.
“Faster.”
She scowls, but obliges, her eyes boring into mine as she alternates touching her nose with her right and then left hand again and again. She never misses a beat, her movements perfectly in control.
“Are you even human?” I ask. She stiffens and stops touching her nose. “You must have an incredibly high alcohol tolerance. Or lightning fast metabolism.”
“Something like that.”
I take in her face. There’s no hesitation. She doesn’t seem like she’d be doing this out of pity or for some other reason I can’t pinpoint. “Sure. Okay. If you don’t mind, a ride would be great.”
She nods and turns toward the door. I give Lennox a quick nod, and then a silent wave for the rest of the room. “Thanks for inviting me, Len. I had fun.”
“No problem, Dazzler. You’re welcome back anytime.”
I glance at Kalli to gauge her reaction to that, but her back is to me. I take a few steps toward the door, catching up with her, and rest a hand on her back. I’m about to murmur a thank you, but her steps falter and she sucks in a breath. “You okay?”
She steps sideways, sliding away from my touch, and adds, “Um … give me just one second before we leave.”
I drop my hand to my side, and her gaze scans the room. She’s looking for something, but I’m not sure she knows what it is. She skips past a sleeping Mick, and Lennox, and the other girls. Finally her eyes land on Jack, and he’s staring right back at her, still standing from when he’d protested earlier.
She squares her shoulders, and moves toward him, and for a moment I’m entranced by the sway of her hips. I’d enjoy the sight a lot more if she weren’t moving away from me and toward him. I can’t hear what they’re saying as they talk, but he’s got his head bent low toward hers, and they’re entirely too close for casual conversation. I watch them, and I swear my spine feels like steel and my skin actually starts to itch with impatience as their conversation stretches on. This isn’t some simple goodbye or a quick word. They’re having a full-fledged discussion, and when Kalli reaches out and lays a hand on his arm, I have to close my eyes to keep my co
ol.
Once again, she’s driving me fucking crazy with her mixed signals. She volunteers out of nowhere to take me home, and I think … maybe … but damn it. She’s still touching him, and I skip from impatient to furious in seconds. I get that she’s got issues. I’ve not exactly been looking to date anyone since the disaster that was Hurricane Bridget. But I don’t get the back and forth, and I don’t have fucking time for these kinds of games. Not even for her.
She’s still touching his arm, nodding as he talks, occasionally opening her mouth to reply. Then he smiles, slows down, and lifts a strand of hair from her shoulder. And that’s the last straw for me. I grip the doorknob and haul the front door open.
“I’ll be outside,” I say to the room in general, and then I bolt. My feet pound against the creaky stairs on my way down, and I’m sure I’m waking up everyone who lives below Lennox.
You twist me up, twist me up so good
I should cut you loose, slip off the noose
But with you, it’s a lot of should and would
And I’d sure as hell quit if I thought I could
Goddamn it. I can’t get away from her, not even in my head. And even though I know it’s wrong, that I’m going to regret letting myself think about the music later, I don’t try to shut it off. Because I might not have had her back in that apartment, but in the music, I don’t have to share her with anyone else.
“Wilder!”
Her voice carries from up above me, clear and almost crooning. I don’t stop, continuing my way down the stairs until they give way to the sidewalk, and I can march out into the parking lot where it finally feels like I have a bit of distance.
I can hear her booted feet tapping against the stairs as she follows, and I swear to God, they almost match the rhythm I’d envisioned for the song. That’s when I know I’m either a lot drunker than I thought or going crazy.
“Wilder, hold on.”
I slump against the bumper of my SUV, and blow out a breath. The temperature has dipped since I went inside, and my breath frosts in front of my face.