I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know a single person here—unless you count Coder. Since I know all of three things about the guy, I don’t think he counts. The house didn’t look small from the outside, but now that I’m inside, I’m not sure what to believe. The living room and the kitchen seem to be the most popular hang out spots. People are sitting around on mismatched furniture or on the floor or on kitchen counters, and just about everyone has a can of beer in their hand—unless they’re holding a marijuana pipe, in which case, they sort of need both of their hands to handle that.
I’m overwhelmed. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know what a marijuana pipe looked like; it’s the smell that clued me in. And there are lots of smells here, mostly of the leafy green substance and stale beer—but also the musk of man and the residue of cigarette smoke. Suffice it to say, it’s not the cleanest place I’ve ever been, but I try not to think too much about it; rather, I focus my efforts on not panicking at the fact that I’ve decided to stay in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people who are getting high or drunk—a decision I made all because Motorcycle Boots makes my insides go squishy.
Crap. What was I thinking?
“Hey, Coder, who’s your puppy?”
My head jerks in the direction from which the voice came, and I spot a buxom brunette leaning with her hip propped up against the kitchen sink. She’s wearing a tank top that hugs her generous curves tightly, the hem stopping a few inches above the top of her jeans. The hoodie she’s got on over it is unzipped and a little ratty, as if it’s her favorite garment and she wears it constantly.
I don’t realize she’s talking about me until she tips her chin my way. I don’t understand her meaning at first, but when I look up at Coder to see him looking over his shoulder at me, my eyes grow wide and my cheeks heat in a blush. It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t left his side since he stepped into the house. He didn’t say anything as I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, where he’s currently stopped in front of the refrigerator, and I just assumed that meant I should stay close. It never occurred to me that I shouldn’t latch onto him. That is, not until this very moment.
I start to take a step back, but then stop when he turns to the brunette and says, “Don’t be a bitch, Piper. This is Mack.”
“Kenzie,” I blurt out, hesitantly looking back at the women I now know as Piper.
“Hey—who are you?” asks a new voice.
I open my mouth to speak, but my words get caught in my throat at the sight of the giant who walks up to Piper, draping his arm around her shoulders as he looks at me curiously. He’s big—like some sort of scary wrestler guy—and both of his arms are completely covered in tattoos. I try really hard not to stereotype him, but I can’t help it. He’s intimidating.
As he waits for me to answer him, he lifts the beer in his hand to his lips and takes a long pull. Never once do his eyes leave me.
“Mack—this is Rigs, one of my roommates. Rigs, this is Mack.”
“Kenzie,” I murmur, anxiously squeezing the strap of my purse.
“Cool. Nice to meet you, Mackenzie,” he says, tipping his chin at me.
“No—it’s just—” He doesn’t pay me any mind, his attention shifting to Piper. Before I know it, Coder slams the refrigerator closed, two cans of beer held in one hand.
“You can put your shit in my room. Follow me,” he says, leading the way without delay.
Silently, I do as he says, following him down the dark hallway. We pass by a bathroom on the right, and then he pushes open a door on the left, flipping on the light before signaling with his free hand for me to enter. I take a quick look around, noting that while there are clothes scattered around the floor, his bed is unmade, and his desk is covered in sheets of paper, it’s a lot cleaner in here, and it actually smells kind of good.
“You going to ditch your bag, or did you want to read me a story?”
I turn and find him smiling at me teasingly, which makes another blush fill my cheeks.
“Um, no.” Carefully, I set my purse down on his desk before folding my jacket over the back of his chair.
When my hands are free, he pops open one of the cans and hands it to me as he asks, “Still kind of curious about that book.”
“It’s—nothing. It’s nothing,” I say, shaking my head as I look down at the cold drink that I now hold. It takes me a second to realize he’s handed me a beer, and I shake my head again as I tell him, “I can’t—I can’t drink this.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I’m quick to add, “Thank you. I mean, it’s really nice of you—but I can’t.”
“You can’t? Or you won’t? If you don’t like beer, just say so. We’ve got other shit.”
“I’ve actually never had beer. I don’t know if I like it,” I answer honestly.
Folding his arms across his chest, he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, tipping his chin at me as he says, “Why don’t you try it and let me know.”
“Um…” I smile awkwardly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear as I explain, “I’m not twenty-one. I don’t drink.”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes dancing with amusement before he asks, “You don’t drink because you’re not twenty-one? Or you don’t as a personal preference?”
My mouth opens and closes, but I find myself at a loss for words, suddenly aware that I don’t know the answer.
“Do you always follow the rules, Mack?” he asks before opening and taking a sip from his own can.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Why?”
I cough out an embarrassed laugh, not really sure how to answer that either. “I—I don’t know. I just do.”
“Take a sip, Mack. Rules were meant to be broken.”
I look down at the can, then back up at him before I ask, “What if I get drunk?”
He chuckles, the sound washing over me pleasantly as he pushes himself away from the door and takes a step closer to me. “It’s a party, Mack—that’s the idea.”
“But…”
“In approximately two minutes, that beer will be warm and taste like shit. If you’re going to give it a go, now’s the time.” He takes another step toward me, and I can now feel the heat of his body, which makes my skin break out in goose pimples. Then he smiles at me, and I feel all melty and warm. “Live a little. You might like it.”
Never in my life have I ever wanted to drink a beer as much as I do right now. But there’s still a small part of me that remembers I’m in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of unfamiliar people, with no idea when Brooke will be back—if at all. With that in mind, I feebly repeat, “What if I get drunk?”
“I promised to keep an eye on you, did I not? One minute, Mack, and your first taste of beer will be ruined forever.”
For some reason, this makes me giggle. When I do, his smile turns into a grin, and I decide that life is too short—too fragile—and tonight, I could use a little liquid courage. So, without giving it any more thought, I bring the can do my lips and take a big swig. As soon as the carbonated beverage cascades over my tongue, I scrunch my face up at him, and he bursts out laughing.
When he’s regained control of himself, he mutters, “I would ask how you like it, but I think I know the answer.”
Smiling, I admit, “It tastes like…bread water. It’s weird.”
“It’s an acquired taste. You want to stick with that, or do you want me to grab you something else?”
Not wishing to be wasteful, I politely decide to stick with the beer. With that settled, he nods back toward the door before heading that way as he says, “Come on, Mack. We’re missing the party.”
I can’t stop laughing. Mark, another one of Coder’s roommates, is quite possibly the funniest person I’ve ever met in my entire life. And that’s not the beer talking. At least, I don’t think it is, given that I’m not the only one in the room practically busting a gut. As he cracks another joke, I cover my mouth with my hand in a failed attempt to quell my laughter.
Mark is really handsome, in that classy sort of way. He’s got milk chocolate colored skin that looks smooth yet solid, and like Coder, he’s got ink on one of his biceps. His head is shaved bald, though he has a light beard grown out on his face, and his smile is brilliant. That’s what makes me think him classy—his bright grin not arrogant or snide, but friendly and suave. Unlike his other roommates, he doesn’t have much height to boast of. I’d put him as tall as Brooke with her heels on. Nevertheless, the way he carries himself assures me that he can own a room with his presence just fine.
I’m sitting on the counter top next to the stove in their kitchen. Mark is standing on the other side of the room, leaning up against the sink, and there are two other girls who occupy the counter space on either side of him. We may have been introduced, but I can’t remember their names. Somehow, I’ve managed to drink three beers all by myself, and names are becoming difficult to remember. Not that it matters. They probably don’t remember my name, either. And if they do, they’ll likely remember the wrong name, as people seem to think I’m Mackenzie.
I’m startled out of my laughter when I feel Coder’s long, warm fingers wrap around my wrist, holding me gently. I focus my attention on him as he tugs my hand away from my face, bringing it down to my lap before he leans closer to me and demands, “Don’t do that.”
My smile fades as I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Don’t do what?”
“Hide that smile,” he says, letting go of my wrist.
About a beer ago, my face started growing warm. Now, as my cheeks go from warm to hot, I know I’m blushing. I don’t say anything in response. Instead, I roll my lips into my mouth and nod before looking anywhere but into those deep, dark, brown eyes. I liked the way he looked before I started drinking. Now? He’s like off-the-charts-spectacular. I find that if I look at him for too long, I almost get lost in a catatonic stare.
As the laughter starts to taper off in the room, Jimmy walks in, headed straight for the fridge. Jimmy is Coder’s third roommate. He’s a senior at CSU, like Mark, and he reminds me of Owen—except with blonde hair, lighter skin, and he’s apparently into baseball, not soccer. So, I guess what I mean is, he reminds me of Owen in the sense that he’s athletic. I learned that all four roommates have been friends since high school. Jimmy and Rigs (whose name isn’t actually Rigs; they just call him that because he works on an oil rig in Wyoming) are a year younger than Coder, while Mark is the same age. They’re all, apparently, friends with Matt—from the fraternity party—who showed up a little while ago.
I’ve also managed to learn that these guys have people over about once a month, when Rigs is in town. I guess working on the oil rig, he’s gone for a couple weeks and then home for a couple weeks before he has to go back again. Even though his homecomings are frequent, they deem his return worthy of a party every time. I decide that I like this about them.
“Fridge is open,” Jimmy hollers as he reaches inside for another can of beer. “Going once—going twice…”
Coder nudges my knee, earning my attention as he asks, “You good, Mack? Need another?”
I shake the can in my hand and note that it’s almost empty. Seeing no reason why I shouldn’t polish it off, I bring it to my lips and tip my head back, downing the rest. As soon as I set the can aside, my bladder recommends I not drink another drop until I’ve responded to nature’s call.
“Um—I have to pee,” I admit.
He smirks, which causes its usual effect, and then reminds me, “Bathroom’s just down the hall.”
“I remember,” I tell him before sliding off of the counter and down onto my feet. The second I’m on the ground, the room starts to tilt. I suck in a breath, reaching my arms out to help balance myself just as an arm snakes around my waist.
“Whoa, you okay there?” asks Coder, his voice soft and low in my ear.
I seal my eyes closed tight, trying to gain control of myself but struggling greatly as his hand squeezes my side. When I feel my body start to lean into his, as if there’s a gravitational pull that I cannot deny, I decide that I need to get to the bathroom—now. My inhibitions are all but gone. If I don’t get some of this alcohol out of my body, I’m not so sure if I can trust me not to embarrass myself around him somehow.
“I’m good,” I lie, turning out of his hold. “I’ll be back.”
I hurry to the bathroom to do my business. When I’m done, I wash my hands with cold water and then press my cool fingers against my warm cheeks. As I gaze at my reflection, I notice there’s a brightness to my eyes I’ve never seen before—and I like it. Smiling at myself, I admit that I’m having a lot of fun. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. Even though I’m surrounded by a bunch of people that I’ve only just met, I don’t feel like hiding in the corner. My liquid courage is working wonders, and Brooke is totally missing it.
It’s then that I realize I haven’t checked my phone since I abandoned my purse. Wondering if Brooke has tried to text me, I head to Coder’s room instead of returning to the kitchen. I open my bag in search of my phone, but then freeze when I spot Timothy’s book inside. My heart sinks as I slowly pull it out, admiring the cover before I hug it to my chest, tucking my chin as I let my eyes fall closed.
The high that I felt just a second ago seems to have disappeared all of a sudden, replaced by a pain that I can’t quiet grapple with. My emotions feel out of my control. I draw in a deep breath, trying to remember where I am and why I’m here instead of questioning why I’m still carrying around this damn book. Even sober, I’m not quite sure that I know the answer to that.
I don’t realize that I’ve got company until I feel his hands on my hips. I gasp, my head shooting up when he spins me around slowly. Our eyes lock for a moment before his drift down to the book against my chest and then back up into my eyes. He studies me a minute longer, still not saying a word, and then he starts pushing me back further into the room. He doesn’t stop until I feel the back of my knees hit his mattress. My unsteady legs don’t keep me up, and I find myself sitting on the edge before I know it. Before I can open my mouth to say a word, he sits down next to me. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s looking at me. I can feel his gaze, and my skin grows hot from head to toe.
Finally, bumping his shoulder against mine, he says, “You know you can’t sneak off in the middle of a party to snuggle a book and then not tell me what the fuck, right?”
I peek over at him, curious about his curiosity, and then he bumps his shoulder against mine again. “Let’s hear it, Mack.”
Pulling the book away from my chest, I stare down at it in my hands. My heart aches thinking about how much I wish I would have gotten the chance to read the story to Timothy just once—even if just once. I suck in a deep breath and Coder nudges me again, only this time, he doesn’t pull away. I don’t know why I lean into him or why I rest my head on his shoulder or why I start talking, but I do all of those things.
“It was a Christmas present for my friend Timothy. I’m friends with lots of kids. They’re the sweetest. And Timothy was one of my favorites. When he got excited, his eyes would get so big, and his face would light up, and his little mouth would fall open…” I giggle, in remembrance, and it feels good, so I keep going. “He had a thing for trucks. He used to say that when he was older, he was going to drive the biggest truck. I loved that about him. To him, being a truck driver was just as glamourous as being a movie star or a lawyer or an astronaut or something.”
I sigh again, and Coder reaches over and gently takes the book from out of my grasp. I let him, watching as he flips through it. Then he asks, “What happened? Why didn’t you give him the book?”
“He died before I could.”
“Fuck,” he whispers, one of his hands reaching over to wrap around my thigh. My whole body tingles at his touch, and I can barely breathe as I lean into him further. “That’s fucked up, Mack. Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and it feels so nice, I don’t want to move. Then I hear it—a soft moan that makes me stop and listen closer. Then I hear it again—louder this time—and I jerk upright, wondering if Coder heard it too. When he chuckles after an even louder and unmistakable, “Oh, fuck—Rigs!” I gasp, my jaw falling open and my cheeks burning hotter than ever before as I gape at Coder.
“I share a wall with Rigs, if you couldn’t guess,” he tells me, still chuckling. “It’s his first night back. They’ll be a while.”
I watch as he stands and heads for his desk, carefully sliding the picture book back inside of my purse. When he’s made it to the door, he turns back to me, lifts an eyebrow, and asks, “You staying? I mean, no judgment here,” he says with a smirk, lifting his hands in a sign of surrender. “If voyeurism is your thing, that’s cool.”
His words instantly pull me from my shocked stupor, and I’m at his side before I can blink. With a laugh, he places a hand on the small of my back and starts to guide me down the hallway. It feels nice. Really nice. So nice, I soon forget all about Rigs and Piper, Timothy and death, and even Brooke. When we reach the kitchen, Coder grabs me another beer, lifts me up onto the counter space I previously occupied, and then leans against the spot next to me, instantly lost in whatever antidote Mark is in the middle of telling. I sip my drink and do the same. Happily.
Brooke never came back. Around one, I got a text from her, informing me that she was still hard at it. I let her know that it was fine and that Coder was sober and still willing to get me home. Even though I had stopped drinking a while before, it took me almost ten minutes to type out my message, my fingers a lot less cooperative in my drunken state than I imagined they would be.
“Thank you for the ride,” I murmur anxiously, looking beside me at Coder.
It’s nearly two in the morning now, and we’re in his old, Ford Bronco—it’s red, with a big white stripe in the middle—and it’s loud as it grumbles down the street. He calls it his cage, for reasons I don’t understand. Though, being closed inside of it with him makes me feel trapped. Not in a bad way. I mean, not exactly.
For the first time all night, we’re alone—truly alone—and as the buzz from my alcohol begins to fade, I can’t help but worry about what comes next. Everything about tonight was wonderful and fun, and I’m afraid it’ll never happen again. When I was in that house, I wasn’t invisible. In fact, it felt like the opposite. His roommates and friends talked to me, and Coder stuck to his promise. He kept an eye on me. In fact, he kept more than an eye on me.
In short, tonight was better than I could have ever imagined it to be—and now it’s over. As I ride with him to my apartment complex, he barely speaks, and I don’t know what that means. It makes me anxious and worried, like maybe I’ll never have this again; like maybe this is a fairytale, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and it’ll all have been a dream and nothing more.
“Mack, you’ve thanked me, like, five times already,” he tells me before pointing to his left and asking, “This you?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. As he turns into the lot, I guide him around the buildings until we’ve reached mine. I pause before getting out of the cab, looking over at him to speak, but he climbs out before I can. Caught off guard by his actions, it takes me a second before I realize what he’s doing, and then I hurry out into the cold with him. “Coder, you don’t—”
“Which one?” he asks, cutting me off as he zips up the front of his dark, gray Carhartt.
“Uh—two-eleven.”
He nods toward the steps before he instructs, “After you.”
I don’t argue, leading him up the stairs before I hang another left and approach my front door. Digging in my bag for Brooke’s set of keys, I turn to him and say, “Thanks, again, for getting me home. And for letting me stay at your party.”
“Drink some water before you hit the sack, yeah? And down a couple ibuprofens. Maybe your first hangover won’t be so bad.”
I smile up at him, totally appreciative of his advice. I completely forgot about this hangover business. Just as I’m about to thank him, he chuckles, shakes his head, and points behind me as he says, “Unlock the door, babe.”
“Right,” I murmur, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He’s obviously ready to go back home, and I’m keeping him. Without further delay, I turn toward the door to unlock it. My hands shaking from the cold, it takes me two tries before I get it open. Then, wishing to just say one last thank you as I bid him goodnight, I turn back to look at him—only, he’s not where I left him.
I don’t realize that he’s going to kiss me until he’s already doing it. When my lips part in a gasp, his mouth opens and then closes around mine. In an instant, my knees start to knock against each other. He feels good—really good—unbelievably good—and hot and smooth and hot! I don’t think about kissing him back, I just do it. It’s not like one of those things that’s an option. I can’t not kiss him—it would go against all that is right and good in the world—and I’m sure that this is right and good. So good.
When he opens his mouth again, his tongue slips between my lips, and my arms circle around his neck as I pull myself closer. He groans as he dips his tongue again, going deeper this time. He groans, and the sound makes my body tingle in places it’s never tingled before. Then, as if all of this wasn’t good enough, he locks one of his arms around my waist, pulling me against him and forcing me up onto my tiptoes. With his other hand, he buries his fingers in my hair and grabs hold of the back of my neck. I whimper, and he gives me a squeeze, the tingling I felt before turning up a notch in intensity.
I lose track of everything as he explores my mouth and I explore his. I don’t know what time it is. I don’t know whether we’re inside or outside. I don’t know which way is up or which way is down—but I know that he tastes like the best night I’ve ever had in my entire life.
When he pulls away from me, I barely notice the puffs of condensation that fill the small space between us as we pant in an attempt to catch our breath. All I see are his eyes—his dark, beautiful, soulful eyes.
“Damn,” he breathes, his gaze still locked with mine.
I have no words, not a single one, so I say nothing in reply. Then he smirks, making my stomach clench before he brushes his lips against mine once more.
“Lock the door behind you.”
I nod, still at a loss for words, and his smirk turns into a gorgeous smile before he kisses me for the last time. I know it’s the last time because he lets me go and takes a step back before tipping his chin, signaling for me to go inside.
On unsteady legs, I step away from him and enter my apartment. When I turn to close the door, I do so slowly, my eyes staring into his until the crack of the door disappears and it latches closed. I slide the deadbolt home, dropping my bag before I press my back against the cool barrier that now stands between me and those remarkable lips.
“Night, Mack,” he calls out before I hear his boots carry him down the stairs.
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut tight as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. In the darkness of my apartment, against the black void of my closed lids, I see the look in his eyes when he held me in his arms, and I immediately sink to the floor until my butt hits the cold tile.
This is where I stay for the next fifteen minutes because my legs—my legs just cannot.