We’ve been in my room all day. It’s late. The stars and moon are shining brightly from outside the window. I’m tired of staring at the computer screen. Lyric looks bored as hell, lying on her stomach on my bed, messing around with her phone.
“I think I need a break,” I tell her, swiveling in the chair as I rub my weary eyes.
“Don’t get discouraged.” Lyric tosses her phone aside and rolls off the bed, tugging the hem of her dress down.
The fabric is black and red with stars on it and it’s just the right length that I get an eyeful every time she bends over. I try not to look when she does, but ever since the incident in her father’s office a few months ago, I’ve been struggling with my attraction to her, something I’ve yet to tell anyone about, even my therapist.
If I were a better guy, I’d tell her to be more careful when she bends over. But I’m not a better guy. I’m a confused guy who got his first welcomed hard-on while she was sitting on his lap. I want her, yet I’m afraid to want her, afraid to feel that way about her, so I try not to look.
“I’m not discouraged.” My fingers fall to the keyboard. “I just need a break. I’m bored.”
“You’re bored. Wow, that’s a first.” She comes up behind me and places her hands on my shoulders, digging her fingertips into my shirt, massaging my muscles. I tense from her touch, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as her scent immerses me. “You’re usually so uptight. You need to relax, dude.” She rests her chin on my head as she keeps rubbing, driving my body into a confusion infused frenzy.
“What’s up with the constant dude remark?” I ask as I click off the computer screen. “You’re always calling me that.”
“That’s because you’re my dude, buddy, bro.” She laughs then kisses the top of my head. “Now get up. If you want a break, I’m totally going to give you a break.”
“Where are we going to go?” I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, hyper aware that her eyes wander to the bottom of my shirt when it rides up, checking me out.
I feel slightly better about the whole dress thing, but at the same time guilty. And afraid. So fucking afraid all the time, like I have no clue what to do with my emotions for her.
She bites her bottom lip before blinking up at me. “Hmm … let me think. Somewhere adventurous, of course.” She taps her finger to her bottom lip. “How about the Silver Box? I haven’t been there in forever, and I heard there was a few cool bands playing tonight.”
“But what if it’s noisy and crowded?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.” Her bottom lip pops out as she peers up at me through her eyelashes, using the move she recently learned that gets her way. “Pretty please, come with me.”
Sighing, I retrieve my hoodie from the back of the computer chair. “Fine, but I need to talk to Lila about my brother first.”
She scoops up her leather jacket from the bedpost. “Why? You’re not letting her in on our plan, are you?”
I slip my arms through the sleeves then zip up the jacket. “No. But he turns eighteen in a couple of days, and she said it might be easier to find him then.”
“I hope so.” She slides her jacket on and opens the bedroom door. “Now, let’s get this party on the road.”
She links arms with me and we head down to the kitchen. When we stroll in, Kale and Everson are sitting at the kitchen table, eating fruit and arguing about sports.
Everson is more reserved, like me, but freaks out over anything that has to do with football, like now as he talks animatedly about some touch down by the Minnesota Vikings, one of his favorite teams.
Kale seems mildly interested, but still argues with him. He’s always kind of marched to the beat of his own drum, wearing a lot of comic book inspired attire, but thankfully, after he turned fifteen a couple of months ago, he stopped with the capes.
“Hey, have you two seen your mom and dad?” Lyric asks, stealing an apple from the fruit basket on the table.
Everson scowls at her. “Jesus, make yourself at home, Lyric. You can’t just come eat our food and interrupt our conversation.”
Kale, who’s usually a talker, freezes mid-bite of his orange slice, and stares at Lyric with his jaw hanging open as she bites into the apple. I have a theory that the poor kid might have a crush on her, since the mouth agape trait is a common thing when Lyric’s in his sight.
“Sorry, Everson,” Lyric says, stifling a smile as she wipes a trail of juice from her chin.
“We were talking football,” Everson tells her, like it explains his rude behavior.
“Okay. Chillax. I just asked a question, which you never did answer.” Lyric skims back and forth between the two of them. “Do either of you know where your mom and dad are?”
Annoyed, Everson points over his shoulder toward the living room. “They’re in there, whispering secrets about Ayden. They think they’re being sneaky about it, but we heard them when we walked by.”
I trade a puzzled look with Lyric, and then we simultaneously duck out of the room and make a beeline for the living room. I’m about to walk right in, but Lyric throws out her arm and pushes me back behind the wall. Then, she places her finger to her lips, shushing me as she huddles against me, leaning to the side to eavesdrop.
I sigh, torn between letting Lyric listen, and not feeling guilty about doing so myself.