Page 16 of Lucas

The front door opens before I walk up the stairs and I’m greeted with a tired smile and open arms. Ah, fuck. Mrs. Collins looks exhausted, and it’s a wake-up call. She’s fucking sick and fighting for her life while I’m complaining about mine. I’m a selfish and inconsiderate prick for forcing Trevor into leaving her behind when she needs him the most.

I drop my backpack at my feet and wrap her up in my arms. She’s lost so much weight, I swear I could wrap my arms around her twice. My eyes squeeze shut so I don’t do something stupid and make a fool out of myself by setting forth the waterworks. Fuck, this sucks monkey balls.

“How’s my sweet boy feeling today?” She’s so selfless, always concerned about all of us. I let her go, hold up my hand, and she takes it in both of hers. “Well, that looks fucked, Lucas, but that will heal in time. I was referring to this.” I’m laughing one minute at her fucked reference, but a rush of air hits my lungs when she places one hand over my heart. I have no fucking words. She knows. I’m going to kill the mofo who spilled their guts about my drama, when she visibly has enough on her own plate.

“No need to worry about me, Mrs. C, I got this.” A small smile tugs at her mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She can read me better than any book out there.

“There’s no doubt in my mind, Lucas, but if you ever need someone to make sense of it all, I’m here for you.” I’m gutted when she leaves a gentle kiss on my cheek and walks away. Me? I’m rooted to the floor. I can’t fucking move!

I startle when a hand grips my shoulder. “Let’s go practice, Lucas.” Jet bends down, grabs my backpack and heads downstairs. All I can do is follow on legs that feel like I have weighted them down with cement. I’m angry when my feet hit the floor, but when the sullen vibe in the room smacks me in the face, I let it go. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter who the mole is? Fuck no. It’s irrelevant at this point.

“Okay, you bunch of pussies—sorry, Willow. Let’s get this party started.” I slip on my guitar, hiss out a ragged breath when my hand strums the strings, and give it my all. The rest of the band follows my lead.

Several hours pass and we’re all practiced out. Our bellies are full thanks to the spread Mrs. C made. She claims she got her second wind. She’s amazing! My hand’s killing me, but the pain’s a small price to pay since we sounded really great. Now I’m taking my sweet ass time walking home because I know the liquor’s calling my name and I desperately don’t want to go down that road again.

I’m not paying attention as I almost collide with a warm body that comes rushing out of the coffee shop. Abby. “Lucas, how the hell are ya?”

Hmm, my night just got a little better. “If you come home with me, I promise it will be great.”

She looks nervous as her eyes bounce back and forth between us. Nah, must be my imagination because this girl has nerves of steel. “I’d normally take you up on it, Lucas, but I’m meeting someone tonight.” Well, what did I expect? That everyone in my contacts is sitting at home waiting for me? Hardly. I might be great in the sack, but everyone knows they don’t get too many do-overs with me.

“It’s all good, Abby. Get out of here and go get your man.” She breaks out in a wide grin, waves over her shoulder and climbs into her old beat-up Subaru. Hell, who am I to judge when I’m carless? Not only is Abby the best barista in town, she has many hidden talents that I’m sure her new man is very grateful for. Oh, well. Can’t blame a guy for trying.

Exhaustion takes hold the second I step inside my desolate apartment. Loneliness bleeds through my veins and, for once in my life, I wish I had someone waiting for me. Okay, that was fucked up. Scratch that. Truth be told, I don’t know who the hell I am anymore, and that’s some scary shit.

Old habits die hard, so I grab a brand-new bottle of Crown and unscrew the lid the moment my ass hits the sofa. I prop my feet up on the coffee table, cross my ankles, and take a long pull of the fiery liquid, swiping my hand across my mouth to hide the evidence. Before the songs play in my head, I pull out the elastic waistband of my sweats, snap a pic of my hard cock, and hit send. Yep, I’m an asshole, and with any luck Abby will ditch the guy and come here to give me what I crave.

Moments later, my eyes close in solidarity and I just let the lyrics play on repeat in my head. Not that I’ll remember a fucking thing in the morning, but it’s all good. I have a ton of them floating around in my brain on any given day.

***

Abby

Lucas is addicted to sex,and I’m addicted to Lucas. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to turn him down. I don’t have a date or someplace else I need to be, I just made him think I did. My heart and my body wanted to take him up on his offer. It would have been so easy to follow him to his loft, jump in bed, and fuck his brains out. But then I’d have to do the walk of shame and I want so much more than that. If he knows I’m sitting at home waiting for him to call or pop in, it’s too easy for him.

Instead, I’m sitting at home with a half-eaten TV dinner, flipping through the channels, when his dick pic pops up on my screen. Fully erect and ready for whatever I’m ready to give him. Why does he do this to me? Is he as lonely as I am? I highly doubt it, but then again, why send it to me? It’s like I’m in high school all over again and everyone’s taunting me! Wanting to break me. God, Lucas, you don’t understand how I feel and most likely never will, but this is torture. Not only do I love having sex with him, I also care about the man himself. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I’d say a lot of girls use him for sex. Kinda like he uses them. Fuck! I just answered my own question, and admitting that out loud is so eye opening. I’m better than that. Right? I am, but all my life I’ve felt like I’m not, so how can I change overnight? I can’t. Baby steps. That’s what I need to do. Take care of me and be patient.

I think he’s worth it.

My phone buzzes beside me with an incoming text. I’d like to ignore it, but the daughter in me worries something happened to my parents, so I quickly swipe and I’m met with a pic of Beth’s tits staring me in the face. Oh god, she’s atDistractions. All these girls do is party their lives away.

Damn, now my phone’s ringing since she noticed I checked her message. “Abby, come party with us tonight. We need our DD here in case we get rowdy. Pretty Please!”

“I’m already in my jammies tucked in for the night. You girls need to find someone else. I have a job, remember?”

“You’re only twenty-three and you act like an old lady. Get dressed and come here, there’s tons of guys here. Real hotties.”

It’s still early and I am a bit lonely. Gah, I hate the fact that I’m even thinking about going to the club! I need to get a damn cat so I have someone to keep me company. “Fine, I’ll be there in thirty. And just so you know, I’m not cleaning up puke or carrying your asses tonight.” Beth giggles and hangs up. My only reasoning is I love to dance and I feel like listening to the band tonight.

After brushing my hair, I give it a few spritzes of spray to make it shine. Throw on my favorite shirt, shimmy into my jeans and slip on my knee-high boots before heading out the door. Nothing fancy and makeup-free. But I’m not there to get laid. I just want to have some damn fun for a change.

Forty minutes later, I’m strolling into a crowded bar and my heartbeat thumps to the beat of the music. I might berate my girls for clubbing so often, but I could get addicted to the rush, too. Reason I try staying away.

I don’t need to search for them since they’re waving their arms on the dance floor, beckoning me. I’m sticking to soda for the night so I can keep my wits about me.

After a few sloppy hugs from the girls, I feel the music and begin moving. This is the only time I feel alive. When I let loose and just be. You’d think I’d be self-conscious because of my past, but I’m confident on the dance floor. Ten years of dance lessons will do that to a person. It was just high school that sucked ass.

We don’t leave the dance floor, one song bleeds into the next, and we just do our thing. I’m getting parched but I don’t want to stop. Until hands grab me by the hips and pull me in. They’re so warm and heavy that I don’t fight it, since he’s not grabby and grinding. I just dance to the rhythm of his body and it feels freeing. When he grabs my hand and spins me around, I’m pleased with the results. He looks familiar but I brush it off, since it’s a bit dark in here and I could have seen him here before.

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