“Fuck, man, you were supposed to be the DD,” Pierce tells Travis, clearly irritated. “Stacy wants to give me a ride now.” He chuckles and does the chin lift thing to Travis.
“You’re such a pig,” I argue.
“I’m a man, Char, but I don't disrespect them. You know me better than that.”
“Whatever. I’ll drive him,” I volunteer, the words coming out before my brain can register what I’m saying.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, Pierce, I will. I’m a big girl. Besides, he’s your friend, right? It’s just a ride,” I scoff. “You can get his car tomorrow or something.” I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me tonight; I’m normally not this bold. It’s empowering, though, and I’m giving myself an internal high five.
Pierce looks between Travis and me for a minute before he throws his hands up in the air.
“Fine, but if something happens to her, it's your ass, Travis.”
“Pierce, cut the guy some slack.” I have no idea why I’m defending him or insisting on giving him a ride. I think it’s because of the sadness I see in him. It’s nice to be the responsible one for once. I’m doing this to prove something to myself. Hell if I know what it is, though.
“Let’s go.” Not giving Pierce a chance to fight about it anymore, I grab Travis’ hand and pull him toward my car. My parents always rent a vehicle for the summer, and thankfully, this year I got my own. He follows behind, dragging his feet and stumbling every few steps. Not as sober as I thought. We get to the car, and I open the passenger side door. He falls into the seat and reclines it so he’s lying down.
“So, it would be helpful if I knew where you lived,” I prompt, backing out of the parking space.
“Do you know where Pierce lives?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in the apartment next to his.”
“Okie dokie. Buckle up.”
He must know Pierce pretty well if they live next door to each other. I want to ask him, but before I’m even out of the lot, he’s passed out and snoring. I put some music on and drive the twenty minutes to his place. Once parked in the visitor spot, I walk around to his side and open the door.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” He doesn’t respond, so I try again, “Travis, we’re here.” I nudge him a few times, and he finally sits up. “Let’s get you inside.”
After several stumbles and me using every ounce of strength I have to hold him up, we get to his door. He fumbles with the lock a few times, but finally gets it open, and we walk in together.
“Thanks for the ride. And Charlotte, I’m really fucking sorry.”
I start to respond but am cut off when he pushes past me and runs down the hall. It’s not long before I hear him throwing up. I look through the fridge and grab a bottle of water then walk to the bathroom. He’s stopped vomiting and is sitting up with his head resting on the wall, defeated.
“You don't have to stay. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but I want to make sure you don’t choke on your puke and die or anything. I couldn't live with myself if that happened.”
His eyes pop open, and he tilts his head to examine me. I see a tiny upturn of his lips before he stands and drags his feet to what I assume is his bedroom. I dig through his bathroom cabinet until I find some aspirin. Following the hallway, I enter his bedroom. He’s lying face down on his bed, shirtless. I hand him the pills and water, trying my best not to stare at the hard planes of his back.
“Here, take these.” I watch the muscles flex, and swallow the drool I’m sure is about to fall out of my mouth. I get the answer to my question; the tattoo goes all the way up to his shoulder. It looks like some kind of pattern with flames.
He takes the pills and finishes the water. Without another word, he plops his head back down and is almost instantly snoring. I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I shut his light off and walk back to the kitchen where I spot his cell phone on the island.
I contemplate my next move and decide to go for it. If I can pull it off, it’ll be the most rebellious thing I’ve done. I dial my dad’s number.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Hey, Dad. Is it okay if I stay at Beth’s?”
“I don’t know, hon.” His voice is hesitant, and I know I have to beg.
“Please, Dad? I’m having lots of fun and some of the other girls I used to go to school with are staying there, too. Please?”
“Okay, fine,” he relents. “Hey, how come you’re not using your phone?”
“Uh, my battery died. You can call me on this number if you need anything. Bye, Dad. Love you.” I hang up before he can ask any more questions.
Chapter 2
Charlotte
I WAKE UP THE next morning to that strange feeling someone is watching me. I squint open an eye and see Travis sitting on the coffee table looking at me. And he looks pissed. I gasp and sit up, brushing hair out of my face.
“Umm, hi?” I say.
“Umm, hi?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “What are you still doing here?”
Okay. Now I’m pissed. I put my ass on the line more than once last night for him. I throw the blanket off and point at his chest.
“Ya know, for someone who saved you last night, you sure have a shitty way of showing appreciation.”
He smirks at me. Smirks. Ugh. Asshole.
“What the hell is so funny?” I squeeze my hands into fists and breathe through my nose.
The nerve of this guy. He makes me feel emotions I usually hold inside. I never talk about Caroline. I always keep her memories to myself. I hate getting pity from people, so her story stays locked away, but last night I told Travis about her. Everything with him is intensified. I don’t yell at people or let the way they’re looking at me upset me. But with him, it’s unnerving how he’s made me feel in the short time I’ve known him. Especially my hormones; they’re on overdrive from just looking at him.
Like now, he’s shirtless with a pair of grey basketball shorts on. In the light of day, I can see the flame tattoo better, and it makes him even hotter.
He stands and walks toward the kitchen. “Nothing’s funny. I like your panties by the way.”
“Shit!” I grab the blanket and cover myself. I totally forgot I took my wet jeans off last night. “You’re an asshole.”
He laughs as I grab my pants and head to the bathroom with the blanket around my waist. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against it. What the hell am I doing? I thought it was a good idea last night. God, I’m an idiot. I brush my teeth with my fingers and finish freshening up. I open the door a crack and don’t hear anything, but my stomach can sense the food. I go to the kitchen, and when Travis turns around, he has a plate of bacon and French toast in his hand. Damn. He put a shirt on. My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles simultaneously.
“Hungry?” he asks, clearly amused.
“Starving, and you made my favorite, how sweet of you.” I take a seat at the kitchen table and thank him when he sets a plate down in front of me.
“Well, it’s the least I could do,” he replies, so quiet I almost don't hear.