Losing Track (13 page)

What little blood that’s left in my brain drains right to my cock. A buzz fills my head, making me lightheaded as I slowly move my gaze over her body. Taking in the beads of water on her thighs, her low-riding underwear resting along her hips, the smooth skin of her stomach, the sexy arc of her waist. When I reach her eyes, they’re staring back into mine, tempting me. Daring me.

“I think we’re allowed some fun,” she says, low and sultry.

I’m so dazed by this girl, I can’t grasp the irritating thought knocking in the back of my head. What the hell? She shifted so quickly—from cold to hot. Wanting nothing to do with me to about to jump my bones.

Red warning lights are flashing right in front of me, but that’s not enough to keep me from needing to touch her. To taste her. Only she does it first.

She presses her damp body up against mine, her curves molding to all the right places. Her breasts push against my abs. Her warm stomach grazes my cock. She’s so petite she should fit wrong, but she’s damn perfect. I can feel her shivering, the slight breeze causing chill bumps to form on her arms as she raises them to link around my shoulders.

Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she bites down, sending a thrill through my nervous system. She slides one of her legs between mine, the top of her thigh glides along the shaft of my dick, and without conscious thought, I wrap my arms around her and cup her ass. Bringing her flush against me.

I lean down and whisper, “You know what you’re doing?”

Her quick laugh spikes my blood. “And then some.”

My eyes squeeze closed, and my hands ball into fists, gripping the thin material barely covering her ass. I can feel her smile as she inches onto her toes and runs her soft lips over my neck. Her tongue lightly caresses below my ear, and I’m about to come out of my skin.

It’s been too damn long since I was this close to someone. Physically. Sexually. And I’m pushing every excuse not to throw her down right now and fuck her out of my head. She wants it, doesn’t matter what
it
is. Casual or what. And I
want
to give it to her…

She reaches down and grabs me. Wraps her fingers around my cock. Grips tightly, slides her palm up and down. I release a shaky breath as she presses herself against the head. Fuck. It feels so fucking good…but when she slips her fingers between the slit of my boxers and strokes me with no barrier, skin to skin, the sensation almost makes me release right here.

“Come on,” she says. “Give me a buzz I can get away with.”

My eyes fly open. I can feel my facial muscles go from slack to tense. She sees the change in my features, and pulls away a fraction. I grasp her wrists and bring her hands between us.

“We should get back,” I say, hating myself as I hear the words leave my mouth.

“Right.” She nods once, hard. “Because…?”

A huff of air
whooshes
from between my lips in a rush. “I’m not going to be your escape, Mel. Your quick buzz to take the edge off.” She moves farther out of my reach and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t think it’s what you need, and I’d be a fucking asshole to take advantage of you that way.”

Her brows shoot up. “Take advantage? Hey, guy, I’m sober. Last I checked, I was of consenting age, too. Clear and free to choose who and when I fucked.” She laughs. “I’m not asking for commitment,
dude
. And I sure as hell don’t want anything serious from you, so don’t worry yourself over that. Taking advantage,” she mutters, shakes her head. Turns toward the bike, stops. Swings around back toward me. “You know what, who the hell died and made you fucking Gandhi?”

My head jerks back. “What?”

She talks fast, furiously, as she pulls her Ramone’s tee over her head. “You’re always spouting off about shit you think you know. Oh, you’re recovered, so you have to share your junkie wisdom with the rest of the world. That does not make you an expert.” She gets her head through the collar and glares at me. “I see the way the staff at Stoney treats you. They think you’re the second coming of Buddha. But I also see all that bullshit you got going on underneath. You’re full of it. And you’re going to try to make me feel cheap? Or like I’m some kind of crack whore because I want to get laid?” She flips me off. “I’ll walk back. Thanks.”

“Whoa…” I chase after her. I did not see this coming. “Melody, wait.” I head her off before she’s past my bike. “I wasn’t trying to offend you…or hell, I’m not rejecting you.” Wrong. Fucking. Word. Her eyes spear me. “It’s not you, it’s me—”

“You got to be kidding me,” she cuts in. “Really?”

“But it’s true, okay? I’m a fucking tool for how I did that back there. But”—I clamp my jaw hard, as if I can stop the flow of asinine shit leaving my mouth—“look. You weren’t wrong when you joked about me being straightedge. I’ve stopped…
every
thing. For me, I had to. There was no other way to get sober. And that includes…” Hell.

Her eyes grow wide. “You’re effin with me. No sex?”

My jaw stays tense as I watch her try to reason through my confession. I need some damage control. Maybe some of the truth—only some—will be enough to repair her hurt ego. But what about mine?

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my hands. “It’s been a long time for me.”

“I don’t believe you. How long?”

Suppressing the image of Hunter…of the last time I saw him…I think of Mandi—the last chick I nailed. It’s difficult to separate one from the other. I know the exact number of days since I last saw Hunter—those are forever etched on my soul, ticking away like a reverse doomsday clock—but I’ve tried
not
to think about Mandi, or any girl I banged back then, since…

“Almost a year.”

“Fuck me.” Melody covers her mouth and says through the slats of her fingers, “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. But, dude. Really? Why?”

Having a hot girl look at you like you’re a freak for not having sex has got to be the worst kind of blow to the ego. This, right here, is the reason why I don’t do more than casual with women. My poor dick may never get hard again.

“I just don’t. Can we leave it at that? I’d really rather not get into it here, half naked and shriveled.”

Mel’s gaze darts to my crotch. Awesome. “Listen. I’m not mocking you. I have mad respect for you. I’m just curious. You’re how old? I mean, you’re not sexually confused or anything.” She picks her pants off the ground and pauses to look up at me with one leg in. “It’s not a bi-curious thing, right?”

“What, no. I’m twenty-five and know for damn sure I’m all about the ladies. No offense to gay guys, but I’m just not gay. Nothing wrong with it—”

“Get off your soapbox. There’s no media to impress here. I get it.”

I reach for my jeans. After pulling them up over my hips, I say, “One thing at a time. Okay? One of my steps is making sure you can take care of yourself. That you’re healthy and shit, before you get into a relationship.” I shrug. “I take my own personal steps seriously. It’s what works for me. I’m not ready to…move on to the next step yet.”

“But, sex has nothing to do with a relationship. I told you, I don’t want to marry you, dude. I’m sure within this past year you could’ve found a few girls who’d be able to fuck you without losing their hearts.” She gives me a teasing smile. “It’s a new century and all. And I know you’re downright charming, but not all women go Fatal Attraction on a guy.”

Despite the awkwardness of this conversation, I laugh. I doubt I could have admitted this to any other woman—though I did try to spare her my humility. But Melody has a way to put me at ease and rile me up all at the same time. It’s an infuriating combination, but somehow balanced.

“Like I said, it’s not about them or you or anyone. It’s about me.” I jerk my shirt over my head, the material only partially sticking to my mostly dry skin, thanks to the heat. “I’ll know when I’m ready. I just haven’t wanted to.”

She smiles even wider. “Yeah. I could see that. I think your partner is disagreeing with you there.” She winks at my dick, and I can feel myself wilt even further.

“Well, I think it’s a universal understanding that a guy’s member has a mind of its own.”

“Member?” She fists her hands on her hips. “Who the hell are you?”

Good question.

As we walk to the bike, I put my hand out to her. “So, no awkwardness. Friends? I can count on you to leave my crumbling male ego intact for the remainder of your Stoney Creek stay?”

She looks down at my outstretched hand, then up to my face. “The Boone Bimbos will hear nothing of this. Your good slash bad boy rep will live on. But, you do know what this means? If we’re going to be friends, more than affable—like, real friends and shit.”

A spike of fear hits me, and I’m not sure if I made the right call. “Do I want to know?”

Grasping my hand, she gives it a firm shake. “This means torture.” At my puzzled look, she continues, “You can’t tell a girl you’re celibate and have her
not
take that as a challenge, Boone. It’s like girl catnip. You might as well have said you were a virgin.”

I can feel my face screw up even more. “Are you serious? That shit works?”

She climbs onto the bike seat and laughs. I can feel the throaty roll of it in my stomach. I love her laugh. “Uh, yeah. We’re going to have fun. And hey? At least it gives me something to do for the next couple of weeks.”

I suppress a smile and nod my head for her to move farther back before I step over the seat. “I should have just gone with gay.”

Her arms slide around my waist. “Oh, dude. That would have been so much worse.”

“Really?”

“You
have
been out of the game for a while. The gay best friend? Shit. A girl’s true challenge is turning the hot gay guy.”

“Bullshit,” I say and crank the engine. I can feel Melody laughing against me.

As I pull out onto the highway, I’m slightly relieved, and slightly in fear for my life. I managed to put the smile back on her face, save any hurt feelings from being rejected. Which may salvage any future chance I may have with her, maybe.

But I probably just put a hurt on myself that I won’t survive.

Melody

Of glass and ice

I REALLY KNOW HOW to pick ‘em.

One glimpse of dude’s ripped abs and bulging package, and I’m tossing my convictions out the window. But at least I’m honest. Hell, what girl could catch site of a hot guy totally hard for her and simply walk away? Too much temptation to have some fun with that one.

It’s better this way, though. I admit, in all honesty, when Boone put on the brakes, I did get pissy. For a split second the rejection stung. But today, I’m relieved. It’s one less complicated mess in my long list of complications that I have to deal with.

I like him. Not a shit ton, because of the whole holy-roller, anti-drug thing. But I like effin with him. He has a wild side buried in there, and I’m a good judge of character. I think there’s a whole personality hidden somewhere below, too.

And while I’m stuck at Stoney, it would be fun to have a project to keep my mind busy. To keep me from going crazy. Helping Boone break out of his cocoon seems like as good as any.

These lame thoughts swirl my head as I make my way to Doc Sid’s office. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be reprimanded for leaving Stoney yesterday. Nurse Bridge caught me coming in through the fence and took me straight to the ward to be tested for alcohol and drugs.

When she concluded I was sober, she sent me to my room for the rest of the night. Just like a pissed off parent. I actually thought she was going to make me pack my bags, kick me out. For a brief moment, I feared I wouldn’t complete the program and I’d be stuck in Florida forever.

I’m still here, though. For now.

Doc Sid’s door is open, and he waves me inside before I can take a seat on the waiting bench. “Shut the door behind you, please,” he says.

All right. I do as requested and seat myself in the chair across from him. His office is bare. No pictures or paintings. No signs of life outside of this place. There’s a couple of plaques indicating he’s qualified for his job, but otherwise, it’s a pretty depressing, sterile room.

This is my fourth time seeing him. I go twice a week, so by my bad math, I’ll have eight meetings with him before I’m released. Just how the state or judge figures I’ll get any help with eight meetings boggles the mind. I think it’s all a money conspiracy. The more people they send to treatment, the more they get paid. Some kind of government pyramid scheme.