Four Years Later (10 page)

“I already told you. They think I’m going to try and get into your panties,” I say, wincing the moment I blurt out the words. I’m putting it mildly. Wade’s been on me since he realized I didn’t fuck one of the tramps he brought over last weekend. I woke up Sunday to his endless shit. He thinks I’m hot for Chelsea.

His thinking would be correct.

She stills, her eyes going wide. “Are you?”

“No.” I’m halfway lying, shaking my head. I don’t know what I want from Chelsea exactly, but I do know one thing. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Do you always have to use that word?”

“Yeah.” I grin. Fable still gets on me about my mouth. She’s actually cleaned hers up. Sort of. “I fucking love that word. Always have.”

A ghost of a smile appears, curving Chelsea’s delectable lips. “I think you say it just to irritate me.”

“I probably fucking do.” I glance around, the chill of the night air biting into my skin. She’s gotta be cold, too. “Where’s your apartment?”

“Are you avoiding our conversation again?”

“What’s to avoid? I told you what you wanted to know.”

“So they think you want to get in my panties.” She stumbles over the word
panties
, which is cute. She contemplates me for a minute, her gaze intense. “What if I told you I don’t wear any?”

Her words startle me so much I cough. Like, start hacking so hard I have to bend over to try and catch my breath, my hands on my knees as I stare at the dew-covered lawn before me. The image of my pretty little tutor not wearing any panties beneath those jeans that look painted on her body almost pains me. Makes my fingers itch to touch her. Undo the snap and slide the zipper down and see if she’s telling me the truth or not.

“So.” I clear my throat. “Are you wearing any? Panties?” I ask when I finally find my voice again. I stand up straight, hands on hips, my lungs still burning.

She smiles.
Fuck
, she’s cute. “Yes. I am. Sorry. I tricked you.”

Well, hell. That’s a disappointment. “Come on.” I go to her, grab her by the crook of her arm, and start walking with her. “Which building is yours?”

Chelsea points it out and I take her there, following her up the stairs as I check out her butt. Again. My mind is now filled with images of her with no panties on. Picturing that perfect ass of hers naked makes my cock twitch.

“So I’ll see you Wednesday?” I ask as she unlocks her door. I’m leaning against the rough stucco of the building, noticing that her fingers shake the slightest bit as she tries to turn the key. It takes her a couple of attempts before she flips the lock and opens the door.

I wonder if I make her nervous.

“Yes.” She flashes me a quick look. “Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

“No problem. Maybe we could … meet again sometime.” What the fuck do I mean by that?

Don’t go there, Maguire.

“To work on your assignments?” She turns to face me fully, her hand clutching the door handle. She could just slip inside if she wanted to. There’s no need to finish this conversation.

But here she is. Talking to me. Showing interest. There’s more going on between us than I want to admit. She feels it, too. I know she does.

“Yeah,” I say, lying through my teeth. I want to see her again but not to work on assignments. “I usually have practice tomorrow night but since I’m suspended from the team, I’m free. But only if you can get together, of course.”

“Of course.” She offers me a grim smile. “But I have to work.”

“What time?”

“I go in at eight and work till two.”

That shift sucks. It’s not safe for a girl to be out that late, especially a sweet, innocent one like Chelsea. “How about earlier? We can … have pizza. Or whatever you like.”

This sounds like a fucking study date. And I don’t do study dates. I don’t date period. I wonder if she’s caught on to what’s happening yet.

“And I’ll help you catch up. Before I go to work.” She sounds wary, like she doesn’t trust me.

“Yeah. That sounds good. What do you say?” I feel hopeful. I
sound
hopeful.

“How about I come to your place around five?” she suggests.

She can come all she wants, whenever she wants. As long as she’s coming with me.

Shit.

“Sounds good.” I go for my usual, casual tone. I wonder if she’s falling for it.

I wonder if she thinks I’m a complete dick. I would if I were her.

She smiles, her eyes soft. “Yes. Sounds good,” she repeats. Chelsea’s looking at me like she doesn’t think I’m a dick at all. More like she’s looking at me as if she could actually … like me.

That thought carries me all the way home.

Study Date #1

Wade is gone. The house is kind of clean. As clean as it can get the day after a spontaneous party and with three dirty guys living there. Well, two live here and the other crashes on our couch all the time. I made those two assholes I call friends clean it, then I went behind them and picked up, wiped down, or threw away what they missed.

Des left hours ago. The guy has his own place, but he’s always with us. It used to not bother me, but lately I’ve been getting sick of it. He’s dealing out of my house and that sucks. Fable would flip the fuck out if she knew.

So I don’t tell her.

Wade’s at work—he’s an associate at your local discount mega-store, ringing up customers and wishing he were anywhere else. Poor Wade. Poor Des.

Lucky me.

Tonight, it’s just gonna be me and Chelsea and my homework assignments. Oh, and a pizza I’ll order when she gets here and a six-pack of Coke I picked up at the liquor store on the corner. I probably should have got diet, since that’s what girls usually prefer. Empty calories and all that bullshit—I’ve heard Fable say it before.

I really wanted some beer, but that shit is all gone from the house. Not a drop of liquor survived last night’s so-called get-together. Besides, I know Chelsea wouldn’t like that. She doesn’t approve of my extracurricular activities. I don’t have to ask her to know that’s the case. Not that she judges. She’s just not comfortable with it.

She’s innocent. Sort of naïve. I get this feeling she’s been pretty sheltered so far, and I think back on what I said to her last night.

Maybe I can corrupt you.

I want to corrupt her so bad it’s killing me. I saw the way her eyes darkened when I said it. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out for a quick lick. I’d remained neutral, but deep inside I’d gone all hot and sweaty and lusted for her. It would be my absolute fucking pleasure to corrupt her. Show her what she’s been missing. Touch her here, there, and everywhere. Kiss her until we both can’t breathe.

I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

So I stop thinking about it. At least, I try. Glancing around the house, I check out the overstuffed dark brown leather couch and notice a new, jagged scratch on one of the cushions, the coffee table with fresh scratches on the surface, and the missing lamp on the end table since some jackass broke it last night.

Hell
. Despite all the cleaning, this place still looks like a dump.

There’s a knock at the door and I go answer it, trying my best not to look too eager. Chelsea must be early and I’m excited, like a little kid about to go on his first play date. Wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans, I take a deep breath and throw open the door.

To find my mom standing on my front porch with an expectant look on her haggard face.

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.

“What do you want?” I ask, pissed that she’s here, pissed that I’m rude to her.

She rolls her eyes and barges inside, pushing past me so I have no choice but to step back and let her in. “I need money.”

No hi, how are you—none of that shit anymore. She at least used to play at acting as if she cared. “You already spent what I gave you?” I glance outside, hoping I’ll spot Chelsea, but I don’t see her. Besides, it’s too early. She still has at least fifteen minutes, and I have a feeling she’ll show up right on the dot. She’s punctual like that.

“Yeah, I did. It wasn’t enough,” Mom answers, her voice shaky, a little loud.

It’s never enough, what I give her. Money, attention, weed, whatever—it’s never, ever enough. She’s greedy as hell and doesn’t care who knows it.

“I don’t have any more to give you,” I lie, because I flat-out don’t want to dip into the secret stash hidden away in my closet. That’s for emergencies only. Definitely not for my mom’s drug and booze habit.

“You’re a goddamn liar.” She rounds on me, her mouth like a thin slash across her face, her dull green eyes narrowed slits. “Call your sister. Get some money from her and that rich shit she married.”

“I’m not calling Fable,” I say, my voice tight, my blood boiling. “If you want something from her,
you
call her.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Little bitch won’t talk to me. I go straight to voice mail every single time. I’m sick of it. Sick of all of you.” Mom waves her hand, stumbling around like she’s going to fall, and I go to her, catching her by the elbows before she drops to the floor.

I look into her face, see that her eyes are dilated and her breaths are coming fast. She’s high.

And not from smoking a little weed, either.

“Stay right here.” I give her a little shove, so she settles on the couch with a grunt and I make my escape to my room. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure she didn’t follow me, I go into my closet and head for my old varsity jacket from high school. A jacket I rarely wore but Fable insisted I get. She was so damn proud of me for being on the football team, especially when we won the regional championships. The smile on her face that night was unforgettable.

The look in my mom’s wacked-out eyes just now was unforgettable, too. I need to get her the hell out of here. Before Chelsea sees her. Before Mom starts bad-mouthing Fable again. I want to scream at her. Ask her why the fuck she’s so selfish. Doesn’t she realize how much she’s hurt Fable? How much she’s hurt me? Mom is a freaking grandma now. Autumn is her first grandchild, her blood flows through the baby’s veins, and it’s like she doesn’t even give a shit.

I’m not sure if she’s aware that Autumn even exists.

I find the wad of cash in my jacket pocket and pull a couple of twenties and a fifty-dollar bill from it. I shouldn’t give her this. I told myself not even five minutes ago I wouldn’t. I’m funding her drug habit and that is such bullshit, but when it comes to my mom, I can’t stop myself.

She’s my bad habit. The one I just can’t seem to quit.

Frustrated with myself, feeling weak and stupid, I go back out into the living room to find Mom pacing around like she can’t keep still. She keeps rubbing her bare arms as though something’s crawling on her skin and she’s trying to brush it away. She doesn’t see me yet, and I stare at her in dawning horror.

There’s something going on here I don’t want to face. I don’t have time to deal with it right now. I’d rather shove money in her hand and send her away. But I can’t keep on doing that forever. Avoiding my mom isn’t going to fix this. Fix her.

Can she ever be fixed?

“Here.” I rush toward her and grab her wrist, making her splay out her hand. I slap the cash into her palm and her fingers curl around it, crushing it so hard it turns into a crumpled wad of green. “Don’t come back for at least two weeks. I’m not your personal bank.”

“Fuck you,” she spits at me just before she turns on her heel and runs out the door.

Shock renders me frozen as I stare out the still open front door. She came and left, just like that. No thank you, no “you’re the greatest son alive,” none of that. Just a demand and a curse—that’s all I get for my troubles.

I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot.

Anger streams through my blood, makes me stalk around the house with clenched fists and a broken heart. Why the hell does she do this to me? Why do I let her get to me every single time? I wish I were more like Fable. She’s pushed Mom right out of her life, and with no regret. Moved on with someone she loves, someone who takes care of her. Created a family out of nothing. And though I’m a part of that family and I know it, it’s still hard. The distance between us makes it harder.

I’m here and the three of them are there. Drew and Fable and Autumn. It used to be Drew and Fable and Owen.

Now I’m just Owen.

Sometimes, I hate that. Growing up, moving on. Being alone. Finding my footing, when all I do is stumble around in the dark.
Fuck
.

I need a hit.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I see I have less than five minutes before Chelsea’s supposed to show up. Just enough time to take a drag off a joint, maybe even a couple of hits if I’m fast. I have one I rolled a few nights ago stashed in the top drawer of my dresser and I go to it as if in a daze. Pull the drawer open, pull the joint out, grab the lighter, and flick it again and again until there’s a flame.

Then I’m lighting it. Sucking up the smoke and the seed, inhaling until it fills my throat, slips into my lungs, and I feel the familiar, pleasurable burn. I exhale, thin tendrils of smoke escaping from my mouth, and I close my eyes briefly. Let it take me away to another place. A simpler time when I didn’t have all this goddamn pressure weighing on me.

I take another puff and then stub out the joint against the side of my dresser, not giving a shit if I’m messing up the wood. Stash everything away quick, my buzz already washing over me, zipping through my veins, settling in my still pissed-off brain and making all my troubles slowly melt into nothing. The haze comes, warm and comfortable and just enough to leave me numb. I want to forget. Forget Mom and Fable and my grades and my job and football. Focus on the here and now and a girl named Chelsea who thinks she’s coming over here to help me with my homework assignments.

That’s the last thing I want to do with her. But I’m afraid that’s all I’m ever going to get.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Her sweet voice calls to me and I leave my room to find Chelsea standing in the middle of the living room, a hesitant look on her face as she looks around. When she spots me, I see the relief wash over her and I smile. Feeling cocky, feeling good, feeling like nothing can get me down now.