Page 80 of Getting It Twisted

The driveway is empty when I arrive. I bang on the door and call for his name. No reply. Shit, shit . . . What do I do? Where is he?

I turn around with my hands raking my hair. The old neighbor with the dog is passing by the road, and I hurry over to them and yell, “Hey! Have you seen Nathan?”

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on that boy.”

“I lost him, I’m sorry.” I gesture to the road. “Did you see what direction he went?”

“Well, why don’t you look at it like this: Where would he go if he was feeling lost?”

If he was feeling lost . . . Shit, he’sthere, isn’t he?

“I think I know where to find him now. Thanks.”

“Don’t lose him again, boy,” the old man says, waving at me as I speed away.

When I arrive, Joshua and some other guy I don’t recognize sit by the entrance. They both stand as I approach, and the guard dog—still leashed to the wall—starts growling and barking.

“Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” Joshua drawls, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Who do you think? Nathan. I need to see him.” I take a step closer, but Joshua and his friend block my way.

“Whoa, who said you were invited?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“He looked pretty messed up when he stumbled in here, you know. What did you do to him?” Joshua takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke in my face. “Thought you two were an item.”

“We are.”

“If you were, he wouldn’t have come here, would he?”

“Are you gonna let me in or not?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to see you. Maybe he’s busy, doing what sluts do best.”

“Move, or you’ll be sorry,” I growl.

His face breaks into a grin. “Hey, you found out? No wonder the guy’s a little messed up in the head, am I right? Who knows what went on out in that house. Ain’t no one ever seen who the baby daddy was.”

My hands ball into fists. “Step. Aside.” Nathan is in there, and there’s no way I’ll let these assholes stop me from seeing him.

Chapter 17

Nathan

So I ended uphere after all. What a joke.

Half-dressed, writhing, and panting on a leather couch with a man on top of me. Part of me is someplace else, floating away with the beat of my heart, swimming in the pleasant buzz of drugs in my veins.

Wait . . . who is sliding his tongue into my mouth and palming my crotch? Who does that manly, musky scent of mint, sweat, and cologne come from?

Sideburns scratch my cheek, and a jean-clad thigh parts my legs, and . . . Yeah, it’s him. That biker . . . The bouncer from the party. The guy I tried to pick up at Moe’s Den all those weeks ago. I don’t remember his name, so in my mind, I call him Moe. Not that it matters what his name is. For tonight he’s just my ticket to the fuck I so desperately need.

The heat of his hard body presses against mine, down onto the couch where countless others have no doubt gotten their fill before me. Girls with short skirts and smudged mascara. Guys with bared collarbones and slack, open mouths.

I groan into the kiss, but something feels off . . . or maybe just different. With the cocktail of drugs in my system, I can’t really tell.

---