Chapter 2
Luther
Over the beat of Calvin Harris, I heard a little groan. Could that be coming from the sidewalk? Too fucking cold for any squirrels to be around. Reluctantly—reluctant enough to not put a shirt on—I turned down the music, and walked around the house, wondering if any of the brothers had accidentally fallen asleep during the last party, and were just now waking up, hitting their heads on low ceilings or vomiting up yesterday’s booze.
No one in sight. I made my way to the side of the house, kicking open the screen door for a cursory glance. I was about to go back in when I spotted someone sprawled on the black ice. Oh right, I was supposed to salt that stuff the other day. Whoops.
“Hey,” I called out.
She looked at me skeptically, and replied, “Are you gonna, like, help me up?”
Ugh, I guess. “Sure, sure.” I went over, reluctant to play the gentleman. If I got too close to the ice, I’d slip too, and then we’d both be in pain. Not fair. I held out my hand, and hoisted up what seemed to be a bundle of winter clothing, though when it finally arose, I discovered I was looking into the face of a chick. Glasses, chipmunk cheeks, freckles. Kinda looked like the sort of girl who would work at an ice cream parlor. Definitely not the kind of chick Luther Huxton bags.
“You’re welcome,” I said, and turned to go back in the house.
“Hey, wait a sec,” she interrupted. “Please, I’m sorry about this, but the heat and power are off in my apartment, I have no winter clothes, and my family is trapped in the storm.” She paused, and took a breath. “Trust me, I hate this way, way more than you do, but could I possibly come inside? Just long enough to warm up and make some other arrangements? Then I’ll be out of your hair, and we can both pretend like this never happened.”
I gave her a once-over. It was pretty pitiful; a hoody, in this weather? She’d literally freeze. And the last thing DIK needed was another lawsuit on our hands. I turned around, and gestured for her to follow me inside the house. She scrambled to keep up, and I wasn’t about to help her.
We got back inside, and I went to the fridge to grab a Goose Island. She looked around, and horror crept over her face. Yeah, that was kind of the normal reaction. This place was, to put it kindly, a shithole.
“Do you, um, live here?”
“Sorry we don’t have polished silverware and butlers, madam.”
“No, no that’s not what I mean—“she said hurriedly. “What I’m trying to say is, what’s your name?”
I raised an eyebrow in her direction, and took a long pull of my beer. I didn’t need to reply; she knew exactly who I was. Everyone did. Luther Huxton, legend. She met my eyes over the lip of the bottle, and relented.
“Ok,” she confessed, “I know who you are. I’m Shannon.”
“Cool, whatever.”
I walked away, bored of the conversation. From the corner of my eye, I could see her attempting to find a clean seat in this place. Good luck, babe. I tugged at my steadily dropping basketball shorts, and went to find the remote that controlled the house speakers. I was feeling ready for a little Avicii, a guy who always made me think of dope Vegas pool parties.
“So why are you here?”
I rolled my eyes, and turned around. “What do you mean?”
“Over winter break,” she continued. “Why aren’t you home?”
“I dunno. Just ‘cuz.” Why was she asking me so many things? I wouldn’t have let her in if I knew we were going to play 20 questions. In the distance, I heard a jangle of bells, and called out, “Lucy! Come here, girl.”
My golden retriever came bounding down the oak stairs, and right into my arms. She licked my face. “Ew, bad breath,” I said to her. Not that I cared—I’d love this dog even if she’d just eaten an entire onion. Lucy could do no wrong.
“Aw, what a sweet dog,” the girl said. Fuck, had I forgotten her name already? No, it was Shannon. Definitely Shannon. “Can I pet her?”
“Uh, yeah. Lucy likes everyone.” Shannon began to walk forward carefully, then knelt by my side to envelop Lucy in a hug. Well, at least she had the sense to appreciate a perfect dog when she saw one. I approved.
I stood up, leaving them cuddling on the floor, and went back to the business of the speakers. I clicked on ‘Wake Me Up’ at the highest volume the speakers could handle, and began to dance across the floor, kicking old IPA cans out of my way as I shuffled and grinded the air. Shannon had moved her gaze from Lucy to me, and was staring with abandon.
“What, you never seen a guy dance before?” I shouted over the music. “No, wait, you’ve never seen a guy with these kinds of moves before.”
“No, it’s not—“
“Nerd.”
“I’m not—“
“Jealous? You didn’t even have the balance to walk across some ice.”
She sighed, and said, “Never mind.” Her head turned, dragging legions of brunette curls with it, and her green eyes peered through one of the only clean windows in the house. I followed her gaze, and we simultaneously clocked the same thing: the snow was piling up, and fast. This was turning into a proper storm.
“Do you have an outlet?” she asked. “My phone’s dead.”
I gestured to a working one (I think) that was over a grimy kitchen counter. She grabbed a charger from her backpack, and wiped the counter down with her sleeve. She plugged the phone in and—
Boom. Every light in the house went off. The music died, and Lucy yelped. The darkness was sudden, and total.
“Oh fuck,” I said, realizing what had happened. “Your phone shorted the circuit.”
“Or maybe it was your loud ass music—“
“My house, my music. You’re welcome, by the way.” I stormed off, pissed that I’d let this girl into my home out of sheer kindness (and, ok, possibly some fear of litigation), and look what she’d done. Fucked up the power, turned off my music, scared my dog and—
“Shit.” I waved a hand over a nearby radiator. Nothing. “Heat’s dead.”
“Are you fucking serious?” she asked incredulously.
“Yup.”
She began pacing, hands in her armpits, as if already preparing for the storm to blow inside and cover us with snow. “It was so cold in my apartment without heat, I can’t go back, and there’s nowhere else open right now, and—“ I could see she was spiraling, and while I didn’t particularly care to deal with it, I also realized that there’d be no going outside for her; one glance outside told me the doors were likely barricaded with snow. Guess I’d just have to make the best out of a lame situation.
“I know how to stay warm,” I said with a wiggle of eyebrows in her direction.
“Ew, don’t even—“
“Dance contest.” I had caught her there; the surprise on her face showed it. “What didyou think I meant?” She glared at me, as if to say, ‘You know what I thought.’
Lucy panted between us, and I waited, letting the tension build.
“Come on,” I added, “we’ll make it interesting.” I walked to the living room, dug underneath a couch cushion, and pulled out my laptop. While I began powering it on and searching for Spotify, I said, “If I win, you have to kiss me. And like it. Or pretend to like it. Though who am I kidding? You’ll like it.”
I shot her a roguish grin, and waited for her response. She appeared to be considering the proposition, then at last replied, “You’re on.”