Let Me In

Let Me In

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used factiously.  Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.
Copyright © by Leigh Jackson
Cover photo © by Leigh Jackson (special thanks to Ryne & Meagan)
Cover design by Leigh Jackson

To my husband,
who pushed and nagged until Tuck and Kori
became real people. 
I love you.

And to my mom,
who instilled a love of reading in me. 
I strive to be like her.

Prologue

              “Oh, baby, yes!  You’re so damn hot.”  I t
urn my head as Mark, a guy from one of my classes, finishes and thrusts into me one last time.  I barely avoid his lips on mine, turning at the last moment to allow them to brush against my cheek.  I feel empty and alone, even though I’m naked underneath a pretty attractive guy.
              I muster some energy and make Mark believe that I enjoyed myself more than I actually did.  He rolls off of me with a smug expression plastered across his face.  He drops the condom in the garbage beside his bed and rolls over to face me, pulling me close to his chest. 
             
Great, he’s a cuddler.
 
              “I’m so glad you agreed to go out with me tonight, Kori.  I’ve liked you forever.”  He presses a kiss against my forehead and settles in to sleep.
              My insides ice over as his words sink in.  I thought I had made it clear that I wasn’t looking for a relationship with Mark.  Apparently I will have to remind him that we are not a couple.  Before I can open my mouth to clarify our non-existent relationship, I hear the deep rhythmic breathing that signifies that Mark has drifted off to sleep.  I give him ten minutes, then I sneakily slide out from under his arm and gather up my clothes.  I quickly get dressed, grab my purse, and head out the door.
              When I reach the safety of my house, I lean my head against the steering wheel and shut my eyes in defeat.  I battle the tears that well up in my eyes.  I don’t ever cry, and I refuse to shed tears over the shape of my life. 
              I feel so alone and hollow.  I keep people at a distance, allowing only a select few to get close and see the real Kori O’Malley.  Or at least the version that I pass off as the real me.  I hate what I have become – a vacuous entity who flits from person to person in an attempt to overcome the shit hand that life has dealt me.  I hate what I am, but I have no clue how to change.  Changing would involve letting somebody get close, and I can’t do that.  People either leave me or hate me.  My own mom and dad are proof of that.  If they couldn’t stick around and love me, no man will ever see me as worthy of anything more than I am willing to appear, which is a good tumble in the sheets.  It’s best to keep things simple and not offer any more of myself than I’m willing to allow people to see. 
              I square my shoulders and step out of my Bronco, letting the Southern night sounds embrace me.  I walk into my house with resignation, determined to continue living the way that I want, making no apologies to anybody.  Things could always be worse.  I rub the scar on my side as I think about how much worse things could be.  Yep, my life really isn’t all that bad.  I’m alive; what more could I possibly need?

1

Tuck

             
Shit, she is hot.
  That is my first thought when I see the next singer step up on stage at open mic night at Sawyer’s, the local bar here in Alexandria.  She walks up on stage in a pair of well-worn blue jeans.  They are faded and ripped and hug her ass in that way that makes you want to stare at it like it’s the best thing your eyes have ever seen.  Although I don’t think it is the jeans that make it look so good; she could have been wearing coveralls and I would be able to tell her body was hot.  She has on a tight v-neck tshirt that clings to her body and makes me long to run my hands down to her waist to see how she would feel underneath my hands.  Her long, dark hair falls down her back in loose waves, not in that contrived curly style that so many girls wear now.  Her eyes are cast down at the stage that is sticky from watered down alcoholic drinks.  My breath catches in my throat when she raises her eyes as she settles herself in front of the microphone.  I can’t tell the color from the distance, but they are ringed with long, thick, dark lashes.  I let my study of her slip to her mouth, which is arguably the most beautiful part of her body.  She has lips that are full and lickable.  The kind that would feel good pressed against mine.  Or even better, wrapped around me. 
Fuck.
   
              She positions her guitar in front of her and rests her right arm on top of it.  “Hey, guys, I’m Kori.”  Even her voice is sexy.  The way her mouth moves as she talks is over-the-top hot.  I can’t wait to watch her sing.  “How are y’all doing tonight?”  Her innocent question is asked in a thick Southern drawl and makes every guy in there catcall and yell out lewd suggestions.  I want to kick every one of their asses.  She ignores all the idiots and keeps on talking.  “I’m gonna sing my version of one of my favorite Maroon 5 songs, “She Will Be Loved”.  I hope you like it.” 
              As she starts strumming her guitar, she becomes lost in her music, and I become lost in her.  She seems to disregard the fact that she is in a bar full of drunken college students.  She sings like she is completely alone and free.  She puts every bit of her emotion and heart into the song.  She is good, damn good.  She takes the song and makes it her own, giving it a little bit of rock and a little bit of soul.  It is no longer a pop song; it is
her
song. 
              I twirl my beer on the tabletop and study her as she sings.  My friend Chase jolts me out of my reverie by punching my arm.  “Man, she is hot!  I’m going to buy her a drink when she gets off the stage.”
              I laugh tightly.  There is no way in hell that I am going to let Chase anywhere near her.  He is my best friend, but he is definitely a douche when it comes to women.  His bed has seen more action than the Playboy mansion.  “You and every guy in here want to buy her a drink.  You think you stand a chance?”
              “Hell yeah, I stand a chance!  Trust me, she’s going home with me.”
Shit. 
Once Chase sets his mind on a girl, she is always his.  No matter that he is a giant prick, women seem to eat that shit right up.  Not that I am a saint, but he just doesn’t give up when it comes to getting a woman to say yes to him.  And this girl is different.  I can just tell.  Maybe it was the way she makes me feel as she is up on that stage singing and playing her guitar.  She talks about that girl with the broken smile as if she knows what it is like to be her.  It makes me want to be the one to make her smile and hurt anybody who has ever hurt her.  What is wrong with me? The Tuck Hayes that the world is familiar with is more of a love ‘em and leave ‘em type guy.  I have never even been in a relationship, not unless you can consider a night in bed and sneaking out before they awake the next morning a relationship. 
              As she ends the song, the final word “goodbye” reverberates throughout the bar.  She gives a shy smile and nods as the crowd goes wild.  She is definitely the best performer I have ever heard at open mic night, and I have been a regular at this bar since my freshman year.  It makes me wonder where she is from since I have never seen her here before. 
              I stand up quickly as she makes her way off the stage.  Chase looks at me and raises an eyebrow in question.  I ignore him; he doesn’t have dibs.  I make my way to the bar on the pretext of getting another beer.  Who am I kidding; I am hoping to get a chance to talk to her.
              I feel, rather than see, her come up behind me as she makes her way to the bar.  She has her guitar in her hand, and the way she carries it she makes it appear as though it is an extension of herself.  She steps to the bar and speaks to the bartender. 
              “Hey, Kai.  Can you put this back there for me?” 
             “Sure, Kor.  You were great up there tonight.  You want anything?”
             “Yeah, a water would be great. Thanks.”
             He nods at her and looks at me.  “How bout you, Tuck?  You want another beer?”
             “That’d be great, Kai.  Corona.”  I look over at Kori and smile.  “You really were great up there.  I’ve never heard that song done like that before.  You completely ruined Maroon 5’s version for me though.”  I wait for her to look at me before I say anything else.  She probably thinks I am trying to pick her up.  I’m sure guys try this with her all the time.  I’m not trying to make her another number on a list, but I am afraid that is what she would think.  I am not sure why I care if I impress her or not, but something about this girl just seems different.  I don’t want her to be just another notch on my bedpost.  Not that I don’t want to sleep with her; I do.  I am just thinking it might be nice to get to know her a bit also. 
              She seems to be considering whether or not she wants to respond to me.  Finally she turns to face me, and I look at the most beautiful pair of green eyes I have ever seen.  They are surrounded by thick black lashes, and I have the sudden urge to see those green eyes in a different setting.  I want them to look up at me with lust and desire in them.  But something is telling me that this girl is different; she isn’t going to succumb to all my normal jackassery and sleep with me. 
Slow, Tuck.  Pace yourself.    

2

Kori

              Performing on stage has always made me feel exposed, vulnerable.  Music is a catharsis for me; it always has been.  Anytime my life is feeling exceptionally shitty, I just pick up my guitar and everything seems to evaporate.  Oh sure, all my problems are still there when the music fades, but for however long I hold onto that guitar, all is well with the world. 
              This is my first time to sing at Sawyer’s.  I am good friends with one of the bartenders, Kai.  He had encouraged me to sign up for open mic night.  I came with a few of my friends, and when my turn came up, I was extremely nervous.  Then I stepped behind that microphone, and all my anxiety faded away.  This is where I belong.  There is no doubt in my mind.  All of the people in the crowd could disappear, and I am left standing there, stripped down to my soul.  That was what always left me feeling so exposed. 
              After I pass my guitar to Kai for safekeeping behind the bar, I am potently aware of the guy standing beside me.  Energy and aliveness are radiating off of him in waves.   
              “You really were great up there.  I’ve never heard that song done like that before.  You completely ruined Maroon 5’s version for me though.” 
              I have heard every line possible from guys after I perform in bars.  Most of them are just trying to get a quick lay; a few of them actually are sincere, but I am never interested.  This guy sounds sincere, so I should be polite and respond to his compliment.  I turn toward him to thank him and freeze at the sight of him. 
Holy hell, he is gorgeous.
He has the kind of hair that every girl wants on a guy, all tousled and sexy.  His black hair is accented by the palest blue eyes that I have ever seen, eyes that you want to dive into and never come out of.  They are like an icy ocean that is lit by the sun in the early morning.  His mouth is quirked in a half-grin as he waits for me to respond to what he has said.  My eyes travel down his body on their own volition.  His faded tshirt bears the name of a band I have never heard of, and it is stretched tight over his pecs.  I can see a hint of a tattoo peeking from under each of his sleeves.  I have always been a sucker for arms on a guy, and this guy has strong, muscular arms.  The kind that can wrap themselves around you and make you feel safe.  I have always longed for arms like that to be around me.  His faded blue jeans hang low on his hips and meet a pair of scuffed boots.  All-in-all, he is a mighty fine example of a man.
              I stammer to find the words to respond to him.  “Th-thanks.  I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  I flush as I feel his gaze travel up my body and settle on my eyes.  This definitely isn’t like me.  I don’t get flustered, especially not over a guy.
              “I come here a lot, but I’ve never seen you sing at open mic.  Is this your first time or did I just miss you before?”
              I give a small laugh.  “No, this is my first time here.  I’ve played some other bars around town, but I’m friends with Kai, and he convinced me to come play.”
              He nods as if he approves.  “I’m glad he convinced you.  By the way, I’m Tuck.”  He holds out his hand for me to shake. 
              “Kori,” I murmur as I shake his hand.  His hand is warm and strong.  I can feel the roughness on his palm that gives testimony that he is a real man, not one of these pretty boys that I despise.  I fight back the shiver that has forced its way down my back.  My hand feels bereft as I reluctantly release his hand.
              “Yeah, I remember,” he says as his mouth stretches into a full smile.  I laugh as I realize that I had introduced myself on stage. 
              “So, Kori, do you go to State?”
              I twist the cap off the bottle of water that Kai handed me and take a big sip.  I set the bottle down as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.  Tuck’s eyes follow the path of my hand and settle on my lips.  I wet my lips with my tongue and watch his eyes widen.  I allow myself a little thrill as I realize that he is affected by me. 
Good, because I think I might just be affected by you, too.
 
              “Yeah, I do.  I’m a senior.  How about you?”
              “Yep, I’m in my last year as well.  At the sake of sounding like every other guy who has probably talked to you in a bar, why haven’t I ever seen you on campus?”
             He is right, he does sound like every other guy.  It is a pretty standard pick up line, and it is one that I have heard countless times.  It usually grates on my nerves to hear it because it sounds so unoriginal.  But there is something about it coming out of Tuck’s mouth that makes it sound like more than a line.  Like maybe he really is curious as to why he hasn’t seen me on campus.
            “I don’t live on campus, and unless you’re a music major, I doubt that we would have very many classes together.”  I watch as he presses his beer bottle against his lips and takes a sip.  I follow the movement of his Adam’s apple as he pushes the liquid down his throat. 
Hell, even his throat is sexy.
 
I am so out of my league. 
                He gives a quick laugh, and his eyes dance merrily. 
Hot.
  “No, I’m definitely not a music major.  I’m a business major.”
                I raise my eyebrow in disbelief.  I would have never pegged him as a business major.  He seems so high-strung, while relaxed and low-key at the same, with just a hint of bad-boy hidden underneath.  Definitely a contradiction of extremes.
              He seems amused by my response.  “What, do you have something against business majors?  Business makes the world go round, missy.”
              I hasten to explain myself.  “No, I don’t have anything against them.  I’m just surprised.  You don’t look like the type to be a business major.  You’re…um…”  I wave my hand in his direction in a way that clearly says,
You’re freakin’ hot. 
I am so glad I stop myself before I say that aloud.  I don’t often have a filter on my mouth, so I am thankful that there seems to be one in place tonight.
              He leans closer to me.  “I’m what, Kori?  What were you gonna say?”  It is as if he knew precisely what I had been thinking.
              I shake my head adamantly.  “Nothing.  I guess I was just expecting pressed khakis and a polo shirt, that’s all.”  I bite my lip as I look over at him, waiting for him to say something.  I find myself confused when I see his eyes dark in anger. 
Shit, did I piss him off?
  Then I feel a hand at my waist and I stiffen.  I turn around to see a tall guy with a buzzed head leering down at me.  It is as if a switch has been instantly turned on inside of me.  This is the type of guy that I am comfortable dealing with.  I know exactly what I am getting into with this type of guy.  The arrogance radiating off of him is palpable.  He leans close to me and puts his mouth within inches of my ear.  “You were amazing up there.  Let me buy you a drink.”  His thumb is making a circular pattern on my lower back. 
              I pin the newcomer with a withering stare.  “If you’re fond of that hand, and I’m figuring you probably are, I suggest that you remove it from my waist.  Trust me, you’ll need it for later tonight when you go home…alone.”  I firmly grab hold of his wrist and remove it from my waist, applying more pressure than is probably necessary.  It really pisses me off when a guy feels they can touch me without my permission.  I don’t even know this jackass, but he thinks he can come up and touch me.
              “Damn, baby, you’re a little hellcat aren’t you?  That’s okay, I like it rough. Hell, I’ll like it any way that you want to give it to me.”  He smirks at me and cocks his eyebrow.  I’m sure lots of girls have dropped their panties just from that look alone.  It is past time for somebody to put him in his place.  I look over at Tuck and am confused by the expression on his face.  He looks pissed off, but at the same time, he seems resigned as to what is happening.  There also seems to be a bit of amusement lurking in those icy blue eyes. 
              “Sure, I do like it rough.  And dirty.  But with a man.  And since you don’t seem to be a man, just a little boy, then you need. To get. The fuck. Away from me.”  I draw out the last part of my diatribe to ensure that he understands just where he stands with me.  Not that there should be any confusion on his part.  But just in case, I decide to clarify a bit more.  “I’m not interested.  Not now, not ever.  I’m sure your little pickup routine normally works for you, but it’s not going to work on me, so you can just quit wasting your time.  Go find somebody who is half-drunk and won’t care that you’re an ass.”  And with that, I turn my attention back to Tuck and give him a small smile.  He might be ready to get the hell away from me, and I can’t say that I could blame him.  Guys don’t usually like to see another guy get ripped by a girl.  I guess it goes back to that whole “Bros before hos” mantra.  If that is the way Tuck is going to play it, then that’s his loss.  Although there is a small part of me that will be disappointed if he leaves that easily.  I really want to explore my response to Tuck.  Sure, I am attracted to him, but any warm-blooded female would be.  There is a little niggling part of me that is convinced that there is more to it than just sheer attraction.  And since that part of me doesn’t speak up too often, I was being tempted to actually listen to her this time.  I typically avoid relationships at all costs.  Not that I am a virgin, but all of my sexual encounters have been done on my terms; I have always left before the guy could get too attached.  Attachments would just lead to disappointments, and I have experienced enough disappointment in my life to last me until I live to be a thousand.