Page 45 of Saints & Sailors

He gestured to his mass of wavy locks. “This?”

I nodded, seemingly in a trance the longer I looked at him. “Yeah.”

Bonham freed his hair, going and taking mine in his hands and preparing to give me a bun. The look in his eye as he went to work on me was handsome and intent. I didn’t believe for a second that Bonham was truly who everyone else painted him as. He was probably just like me, wild, untamable, and not meant to follow all the rules.

I couldn’t love him, nor could I ever date him.

We would be a disaster.

People always leave, and Bonham was the leaving type.

He didn’t have to sweet talk me or pre-warn me that we wouldn’t be a fairy tale. Things like that weren’t my style, so it was easy to swallow the truth of the matter of it never happening. Dreams were for the weak and hopeful, not the ones who knew the harsh and bitter truth of life.

Prince Charming could go fuck himself.

Bonham draped his arms across my shoulders after finishing his task. “There.”

“It’s either the Beam or the weed, but you’re not so bad,” I told him.

His face split into this incredibly sexy grin that sent heat between my legs and left my knees going weak.

“You’re different, man, I can just tell,” Bonham came and whispered in my ear.

I should’ve let him take me right then and there, but I had to open my great big mouth. “So are you.”

Bonham bobbed his head. “I’m whatever you all want me to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“The guy who does what he wants because he ‘doesn’t follow the rules.’ The guy who has no future. The guy who has to settle for girls like you because everyone else turns their noses up.”

His words almost passed me by, until a few of them stuck. “What do you mean girls like me?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but Cameron’s…a good girl. You, you’re much more aware of yourself. If a guy crossed you, you’d probably cut his balls or something. Cameron would probably try to bring him to Jesus or whatever.”

I was pretty fucking wasted, but I was lucid enough to discern that Bonham was in love with Cameron. I mean, how could he not be? She was ideal: beautiful, caring, kind, and not up to messing around to pass the time. She’d probably want her first time to be special like nice girls often did.

I wasn’t like Cameron.

Girls like me…did things like what I was doing.

I was just a girl with a pretty face and an ugly soul. Nothing special to write home about.

Girls like me.

“Cameron’s what all guys dream about,” Bonham was saying. “But when you’re me, you don’t get a chance because girls in her position think you’re shit. I probably am shit, but I’d be pretty good.” He added his next line so low it sounded like a deep seeded wish of his. “For her.”

If ever there were a reality of fairy tales and princesses, Cameron Camburn was the quintessential girl to fit the bill.

I should’ve been offended, or felt some way.

Instead, I didn’t give a shit. I grabbed my bottle and tilted my head back, and pretty soon, I was gone.

Rancid.

My mouth tasted rancid.

Waking up Saturday morning, I felt slightly hungover and in dire need of a shower.