When he launches for me, I take drastic action. As fast as my quivering legs will take me, I bolt to the only window in the room. With every step I take, I pray it's unlocked.
It is—thank fuck!
I yank it up with barely a second to spare before diving over the ledge. Slater curses when he narrowly misses snagging my ankle, my scamper into the freezing cold night coming up trumps.
Fighting to ignore the brutal contact my package made with the windowsill, I scurry away from him. “Think about it; I did you a favor.”
On my hands and knees, I crawl to the very edge of the roof. My stomach lurches into my throat when I peer down. Other than leaping into a thorny bush, there’s no other way for me to get off this roof. Hearing a rustle from behind, my gaze shoots back. Slater is climbing out the window. He’s even angrier now that he’s been forced to chase me.
His fury leaves me no choice: I have to jump.
After exhaling a shaky breath, I close my eyes and freefall over the edge, praying the bush below will lessen the impact of my fall.
Fuck!
The shrub cushions my leap, but its thorns are an unpleasant addition to my backside and groin. Certain I’ve survived death by the skin of my teeth, I peer up at the second floor. Slater is glancing down at me. His arms are folded in front of his tattooed chest, his eyes colored with hate.
Not even five seconds later, he smirks a dangerous grin before pivoting on his heels and diving back through the window. Understanding the determination in his eyes, I yank off my condom, rustle out of the bush, then bolt down his driveway. Sweat slicks my skin as I sprint to my truck parked a few spots down. Thank fuck I keep a spare key in the unlocked cabin, because my current set is stuffed in my jeans on Slater’s bedroom floor.
By the time I make it to my truck, my balls are sitting in my stomach.It’s fucking freezing tonight.Through chattering teeth, I dive into the cab and fire up the engine. The loud purr of my motor rumbles through the eerily black street.
As I pull out of my parking spot, my gaze lifts to the rearview mirror. My heart rate, which was just settled, kicks back up when I spot Slater barreling out of his house. His face is contorted with anger, and he’s clutching a baseball bat. With his street being a dead end, I have no other option but to drive past him.
His strong stance doesn’t falter when I floor the gas. He’s so hardened with anger, I have to veer onto the wrong side of the road to avoid colliding with him. Even in the dark, I see his arms flex when he swings his bat at my truck. His hit is so powerful, he knocks off my side mirror. Metal crunching against asphalt filters through my ears as I guide my truck down isolated streets.
Slater chases me for over half a mile before he becomes nothing but a blur in my rearview mirror. Relieved, I slump into my seat. It wasn’t my most brilliant idea to sleep with Nikki at Slater’s house. Next time, I’ll consider my options with more diligence. . .maybe.
* * *
By the time I arrive at my dad’s house in Petersburg, news of my night’s antics are already circulating. “You stupid fuck,” is the first thing Noah roars down the phone when I answer it.
I chuckle. “I did him a favor. He should be thanking me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Nick, you knew what it took for me to get you into the band, and this is how you repay me.”
Guilt seeps into my veins. It took a lot for Noah to persuade Slater and Marcus to grant me an audition to become a part of their band Rise Up, and even after witnessing my talent firsthand, they were still hesitant to include me. I can’t say I didn’t understand their reluctance. They formed the band years before Noah stumbled upon me.
Even if Noah isn’t a friend, I’ll be forever grateful for that day. . . . .
“What else can you play?”
I’ve just finished performing the introduction of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.”It isn’t my best performance, but my talent can’t be denied.
When I turn my gaze, I see a dark-haired teen wearing dark jeans and a cotton shirt almost as black as his eyes. “Pretty much anything.”
I refocus my attention on my guitar.I really shouldn’t say “my guitar.” Because I don’t have enough money to purchase my own, I borrow one from the school band. That’s why I only play in the late afternoon when no one is around.
“Are you in a group?” asks the teen I thought had left since my clipped tone implied I wasn’t interested in a conversation.
I don’t bother looking up. “Nope.”
The sound of stomping bounces off the stark white walls of the music room seconds before a pair of black boots enter my peripheral vision. Steadily, I raise my eyes from the motorcycle boots to an equally rigid face. I eye the unnamed teen with just as much curiosity as he watches me with.
He ends our stare-off by asking, “Would you be interested in joining a group?”
When a chuckle escapes my lips, his eyes darken. He’s annoyed by my response. I don’t know why? His clothes alone tell me he isn’t in a band I'd have any interest in being a part of.
“Nope.” My tone is jam-packed with arrogance, hoping my rudeness will give him the hint to leave.
