Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,6
past few months. Don’t you think if I could forget her, I would have by now?”
Scott drops the guitar to the futon we picked up from a girl he fucked before she moved to L.A., and stands. “I think you’ve been fixating on her since the first time she walked into Barrie’s. For fuck’s sake, man, you turned down Lindsay.”
He hadn’t. And Lindsay is a little bit indiscriminate—she was just as happy coming back to the apartment to fuck Scott as she had been when we were both on the table.
It did make the next morning awkward.
“Can we keep her out of this?” I demand. Scott’s eyebrows climb, but he doesn’t argue as I reach into the almost empty fridge for a beer. My nerves are dancing.
“Text her, dude,” Scott says, and his tone is somewhere between amusedly resigned and annoyed. I glance at him, and he extends the phone.
“She’s outta my league,” I mumble, and take a pull on the beer. It’s shitty, lukewarm Bud Light but it’s what we had the money for this week.
“Fuck you,” Scotty spits, and stalks from the room. I swallow the beer and follow him. He’s in the back bedroom, the one that’s ostensibly his, but rarely used.
“You know what I mean,” I grit out.
“And I’m fucking sick of it. We aren’t that shit anymore, Rike. Get it through your fucking head.”
“We aren’t country club socialites either,” I snap.
Scotty gives me a disgusted look. I get it. I’ve known Scott longer than anyone else in my life. With our history, I know exactly what he’s thinking.
We’ve fought a long time to get away from the past we share. And for the most part, we have. Scott left it behind, threw himself into his work and his music. He’d forget it completely.
I can’t. I’ve never been able to forget where we came from, or why we can’t ever be more than that shit. It’s why I’ve stayed away from Peyton.
“You let them win,” Scott says, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over his head. It ruffles his blonde hair, giving him the just-fucked tousle girls can’t keep their hands off. “Every fucking time you say we can’t be more, you let them win. And I’m fucking tired of that. We’re out—no one gets to decide what we are except us. If we want to be damn rock stars, that’s on us. If you want Red, that’s on you. But no one can take that shit from you but you.”
He stares at me, green eyes brilliant and furious, and I swallow hard. Nod. I dig my phone out and tap out a quick message. A stupid knock-knock joke I heard a few days ago on the morning show.
Hold it up for Scotty to see. “Happy?”
He grunts, and pushes past me. “It’s a start.”
He’s pissy and he’ll sulk for a few days. I expect it. I knew he would when I said it. I’m just stupid enough that I said it anyway.
The phone vibrates in my hand and Scott twists to give me a knowing stare. “That was quick.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, and thumb over to the message.
P: Took you long enough. Was beginning to think I’d need to find a new bar to keep things from being awkward.
I grin, and type a quick response.
R: I’m the one who got shot down the other night. Shit like that will hurt a guy’s ego. Make it up to me.
P: How?
I hesitate for a moment, and then.
R: Dress casual. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.
P: Slow down, Jokes. Where you think you’re going to pick me up?
Well, fuck.
***
She agrees to meet me at Barrie’s after her last class the next day, and I sit on the bouncer’s stool—not that we’ve ever actually used the bouncer to turn people away. My leg bobs nervously, and I clench a hand on it to still the nervous energy.
Why the fuck doe this girl wind me up so much? It’s more than just her beauty—although that helped.
It’s that she’s the first thing in a long time that I’ve allowed myself to want.
A car slows, a sleek gray Lexus and I see Lindsay, all straight hair and pursed lips as she watches. Peyton spills out of the car and shifts her bag on her shoulder. “I’ll get a ride home.”
Lindsay makes a small sniff. “Just call and I’ll swing back by.”
Peyton makes a face at her friend and steps away from the car, coming to stand in front of me with a small smile.