25. Drew

TWENTY-FIVE

drew

I sat on the tailgate of some pickup truck, staring at the people dancing by the bonfire. Alone. I'd tried to talk to Nora about Max on the drive through the woods to this hillbilly party, but of course, she didn't listen. By the time I had parked my car amongst the other rundown SUVs and trucks, she was annoyed. The second I'd stopped the car, she got out and stormed off.

I'd spent the last thirty minutes sitting here, scanning the crowd of drunk kids for Bellamy. He was nowhere to be seen. I checked my phone, and there were no texts from him. Half an hour passed before I spotted Nora stumbling across the field with a bottle of vodka dangling from her grip. She collapsed onto the tailgate beside me, swiping dark curls away from her face.

"You okay?" I asked.

She tipped up the bottle, taking a heavy gulp before offering it to me.

"I'm driving." Because I didn't want to get drunk and lose all inhibitions around Bellamy. Not like I had many to begin with. "Nora." I grabbed her arm when I noticed her eyes were glassy. "What's wrong?"

"Monroe came and spoke to me."

"Oh."

"Yep." Another gulp. She was going to get sick.

"Look, you're better than those Barrington pricks anyway."

She gave me a hopeless look. "You're Barrington, Drew."

I laughed. "Yeah, and I'm a prick."

"You are not."

She stared down at the bottle in her lap, picking at the label. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Max... It's just Bellamy…"

"I know." Since day one, Nora had warned me off Bellamy. I understood why she wouldn't take his word, but on something so serious? "Can I ask why you hate him so much?"

She exhaled, then took another swig of vodka. "It's not hard to hate him, Drew. He's awful." No, it wasn't, but at the same time, it really wasn't hard to want him. "He's not awful to you, though, so you don't see it."

I stared across at the crackling fire, watching the way it danced over the field, casting shadows over the tree trunks. "I'm sorry about Max."

"I thought he liked me." She tipped her bottle up, the liquid glugging against the glass. "Why do we end up liking guys we shouldn't?"

If only I knew the answer to that. "It's some ingrained part of female DNA to go for guys who will inevitably screw us over."

I checked my phone again before typing out a message to Bellamy.

Me: Where are you?

Another pickup pulled into the clearing, and I strained to see if it was Wolf's.

"Why do you keep checking your phone?"

"I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed, then widened. "You're waiting for him? Oh, no. No, no." She pointed the bottle at me. "I know that look. Don't be falling for that asshole, Drew."

"Calm down, Nora."

My phone vibrated.

Dickhead: Can't make it. Sorry

My stomach clenched as something that felt a lot like disappointment settled over me.

Nora leaned over my shoulder, then glanced at me. "And now you look like a kicked puppy. I do not get it."

I put my phone away and shoved the vodka against her chest. "Just get drunk, would you?"

And Nora didn't just get drunk. She got shitfaced.

It was almost midnight when I helped her into my passenger seat while she giggled and hiccuped. "Max is a dick," she slurred.

"Yep."

I fastened her belt while she tried to push me away. "I'm fine."

When I got in the car, I realized I had no idea how to get out of here or where I'd come in. All I saw around me was a wall of trees. I picked a random track, figuring it would come out somewhere. It didn't.

We ended up in the middle of thick woods, my headlights shining out over the edge of a cliff.

"Shit," I mumbled, putting the car in reverse. "How do we get out of here?"

The electric glow from a phone screen lit up the inside of my car. Nora swiped her fingers over the screen, squinting against the light. "If I use that app, I can find my house." She squinted harder. "Wait. Dickhead?" She tossed the phone at me. "That's your phone." Then she fumbled in the door pocket for her own.

I glanced down at the phone in my lap. A map was on the screen with a pop up at the bottom that read: Friends. And one contact was listed. Dickhead. I stared at the screen, confused as hell because I didn't even know what app this was, so how in the hell had Bellamy's contact ended up in there? "What the..."

"Why are you tracking Bellamy? That's creepy, Drew."

"What? No." Tracking him… "I've never even used this app, I don't know how—" Then I remembered that one time when Hendrix had gotten my phone.

That motherfucker.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The slick asshole. Bellamy had been watching me. Which meant this was how he'd known I was at the Waffle Hut, known when I was walking home from Jacksons so he could dump him on my porch. Known every time I was in Jackson and Olivia's house. Well, now his raging jealousy made sense, and I was going to kill him.

"So, he's tracking you . Okay. That's psychotic, Drew!" She kept fiddling with her phone. "But it's kind of hot. I hate him, but…" She waved a hand around, and I threw the car into drive.

"Just get us out of here, Nora."

When I finally pulled up in Nora's driveway, my gaze drifted to Bellamy's house. I could not believe the asshole had actually put a tracker on my phone, but really, it shouldn't have surprised me, seeing as he'd broken into my house. Twice. I rounded my car, stopping mid-stride when I noticed the figure sprawled on the drive. "Uh," I closed my car door, silencing the chirp of crickets. "Is that Bellamy?"

Nora stumbled through her yard. "Probably."

Probably? Why was he just lying there? Outside. In Dayton. Mug victim practically stamped on his forehead.

I followed Nora up through the grass, grabbing her shoulder to keep her from veering off into the bushes. "Is he dead?"

"No. He just does that."

"And you don't think that's weird?"

"Well, duh, it's weird." She hiccupped. "He's weird, weird, weird. And bad, bad, bad." She touched her hand to her lips on a giggle. "My lips are all tingly."

"Wow. All right, AA. Just…" I opened her front door, and she staggered into me on her way inside.

Getting her up the stairs was no easy feat. We almost stacked it about three times before we made it to her room, and the second she set foot inside, she face planted onto her bed.

"Are you going to throw up?" I asked.

"Nope. Throwing up is for amateurs."

And I'd rarely seen Nora actually drink.

I tugged her shoes off, then put the wastepaper bin beside the bed, just in case.

Hopefully, she wouldn't throw up because her mom actually gave a shit if her underage daughter went out drinking, and Nora would get in trouble.

She was already snoring by the time I snuck back downstairs and out the front door. I stood on her porch staring at Bellamy's form, still lying on the drive like a complete weirdo. Tracker. He had put a tracker on my phone, the asshole.

I cut across the dark street. "You put a tracker on my phone!"

"Actually, I didn't physically put shit on your phone." The soft ember of a cigarette glowed red before dimming. Bellamy didn't smoke...

"You're a dick." I continued up his drive. "There was me thinking you were stalking me, and you were literally next-level stalking me."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer…"

I stopped and glared at him for a second. "Did it piss you off? Seeing me at Jackson's house all the time?" I hoped it made him livid. Nothing less than he deserved.

"When I knocked his ass out, I pictured him fucking you all those times you were over there, so yeah. I'd say it pissed me off."

I swear my ovary twitched a little, and the fact that it pissed him off appeased my own temper. "Karma."

"For him..." He took a drag from the cigarette. "Yeah."

My gaze drifted over the exposed strip of skin above his jeans. The streetlight overhead played over the deep V that disappeared beneath his beltline, and I hated that something so simple could cause my body to heat. "Why are you lying on the ground?"

"Why are you standing up?" He turned his head on the pavement, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. I took in the hard set of his jaw, the straight angle of his nose, and through the dim light, I barely noticed his red, swollen cheekbone.

He brought the cigarette back to his lips, his gaze never leaving me as I dropped to the asphalt on a sigh.

"You get in a fight?"

His gaze swung away, and he sat up, lifting a bottle to his lips. "Yep."

"Well, you're just indulging in all the bad things tonight." And I knew a little about indulging in things that were inevitably bad for me.

He might smoke, drink, and fight. And me? I was sitting here because I wanted to indulge in him . My own personal vice. I plucked the cigarette from his fingers, and before I could place it to my lips, he stole it back

"That doesn't look right on you. I don't like it."

" I don't care what you don't like."

He shifted on the pavement, resting his elbow over his knees as he looked at me. "You're a shitty liar."

Maybe I was. I brushed my fingers over his battered cheek and wondered who he had gotten into a fight with, why he hadn't turned up tonight... "You know, getting drunk alone is kinda tragic."

"Yeah. Well. Dayton is fucking tragic."

"It is," I whispered, a sudden tightness forming in my chest. I felt bad for him. This town was my temporary hell, but for him, it was a permanent home, and that sucked. "What are you doing after graduation?"

"Don't know. Maybe go to Alabama State." He paused. "What about you? You going to some rich-kid school?"

"Cornell."

"New York?"

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft chirp of crickets and the hum of traffic on the highway in the distance. My entire body thrummed with awareness in his proximity, and I wanted to just reach out and touch him.

The bottom of the bottle clinked against the pavement, then Bellamy shifted, placing his warm palm on my leg. "Did you wear that skirt for me?"

The way his fingers played over my skin was like static teasing over me. "What if I did?"

His hand went to the back of my neck, pulling my face close to his. The hint of clove and whiskey washed over me, and the pull of his lips felt like a magnet, one I didn't even fight. "Then I'd tell you, you look hot," he said, his fingers knotting in my hair.

I wanted everything this boy had to offer, and that was bad. So bad... "And what if I didn't?" I whispered.

"Then, I wouldn't do this." His lips pressed to mine, his grip on my neck tightening as he shifted, lowering my back on the pavement as he settled himself between my thighs.

"Those poor choices still coming back to haunt you, baby girl?" His palm glided up my thigh, bunching my skirt, then stopped.

I gripped his shirt, the heat of his body almost burning me. I could no longer convince myself that Bellamy was a poor choice. "No."

He smiled against my mouth before biting me. "Good." Then his hand sank between my thighs, slipping beneath my panties.

One touch and I was already coming undone. My hands slammed down onto the pavement to steady myself as his fingers worked deeper.

"I've never wanted a girl the way I want you." His lips were at my throat, his free hand gripping my jaw. Everything about the way he touched me was possessive, animalistic, and every part of me craved it. Needed it... "And it pisses me the hell off." His teeth sank into my skin on a deep groan, and that in and of itself nearly sent me spiraling over the edge.

A rock song blared from his phone, and he ignored it, pressing his fingers deeper, harder, driving me closer and closer to losing all control. Then it rang again and again.

"Shit…" He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers still in me as he placed it to his ear. The noise of a kid wailing echoed into the night, and he yanked away from me.

Bellamy's brows pulled together. "Okay. I'll be there in…Shit. Just give me like twenty minutes, Arlo. Okay...." More wailing. "Yeah. I know. I'm leaving now. Twenty minutes, buddy."

He knocked the liquor bottle over when he stumbled to his feet. "I've gotta go get my brother."

I stood up, tugging down my skirt. This was so not dignified. "Okay."

Bellamy was already halfway through his yard.

"What are you doing? You're drunk," I called after him. "And it's one in the morning."

He turned around, continuing to walk and nearly tripping over the sidewalk. "That's why I'm walking."

"Really?" I threw out my hands. "Get in my car, you idiot." I turned and stalked across the street to my car, still in Nora's drive, Bellamy staggering behind me.

He directed me through another rundown neighborhood to another rundown house, leaving me in the idling car while he jogged toward the front door. When someone answered the door, I wonder why his little brother had called him instead of their parents.

A tiny shadow emerged, trudging down the drive alongside Bellamy.

Bellamy opened the door, ushering Arlo in and buckling him into the backseat while the kid stared at me, red eyes and wrinkled forehead. "Hey, Gas Station Lady." He crossed his arms over his chest on a huff.

Bellamy closed the door, then climbed back into the front.

"He seems pissed," I whispered as I reversed away from the shitty looking house.

"His friend pissed in the bed." Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face. "That's why he called me crying like someone had tried to murder him. Cockblock..."

"What's a cock block, Bubba?"

Bellamy face-palmed on a hard sigh. "It's a…Jesus Christ..."

"It's a kid who wets the bed?" I offered.

"Why?"

I frowned and looked at Bellamy, who was no help. He just smiled and waved a hand through the air like I was supposed to magically come up with an explanation. "Well...why is your name Arlo? It just is." I turned onto the highway, driving past the swarm of cop cars at the 7-11.

"My name's Arlo because my mom liked it.

"And I like cockblock." I frowned. I'd literally just told a kid I liked cock block.

"Peehead sounds better than cock block," Arlo mumbled. "Cock block sounds like something you'd call a rooster." He huffed again. "I like peehead."

The kid was exhausting. "Okay, let's change it then. Peehead it is."

We drove through another of Dayton's rundown neighborhoods. I rapidly flipped through radio stations, trying to find something at one am on a Friday night that didn't have lyrics involving hoes and bitches.

"I need to know one thing, Gas Station Lady." Arlo blurted. "Are you gonna poop on my brother?"

Bellamy snorted, covering his mouth as he looked out the window.

I glanced in the rearview at the kid who was now scowling toward the front of the car. "Uh, no."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. It's not my thing."

"Bubba, you said she was gonna poop on you!"

"Arlo...Just leave it alone."

After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, I pulled up to Bellamy's house. An old pickup that wasn't there when we left sat parked on the drive, and it was almost impossible to ignore the heavy breath Bellamy dragged in. "Go wait on the porch, okay?" he said, glancing over the headrest at Arlo. "Scooter's out there."

The kid unbuckled himself and hopped out of the car, darting through the dark yard to the side of the house.

"So," I said, lifting a brow at Bellamy. "I'm going to poop on you?"

His chin tucked to his chest on a short laugh. "The kid has to hang around Hendrix… Don't judge him."

"Enough said." I was still scarred from the turd picture he'd sent me.

He stared at me, his gaze dropping to my lips, and I thought, for a minute, he was going to kiss me again, but the front porch light cut on, and his hand shot to the door. "Later, baby girl."

And he was out, jogging across the yard toward the house.

At that moment, Bellamy didn't seem like the bad boy. He was a guy who was willing to walk twenty minutes through the slums of Dayton to get his little brother. Just because his friend had wet the bed.