Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) (3 page)

“Jesus, Mick.”

“I was kind of disappointed you even answered my message to say you
were still here.” His blue eyes smiled. “Until I realized I’d get to see you,
of course.”

I put my arm on the armrest and wondered if I shouldn’t have
come.  Maybe it would’ve been better for me to remain a mystery.

“So what have you been doing with yourself?” he asked, moving
some rolled up gig posters so he could lean back on the couch.

“Waiting for your call, Mick. Waiting to get the band back
together.”

“Lies,” he said. “You never really gave a shit about our music.
You just liked being center stage. What have you really been doing?”

“I’m a counselor, actually. I mostly work with couples.”

His face scrunched up like he’d eaten a worm. “In an office?”

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking what do I know
about being in a relationship?”

“No, not at all. Hell, you’ve had more relationships than anybody
I know.”

“So what’s with the face?”

“I’m just laughing at how torturous that must be for you to
sugarcoat things and choose your words carefully. It must be exhausting for
you.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not as tactless as I once was.”

“You like it?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes. If I can help somebody.”

He was quiet and just looked at me for a second like I was a
rare bird that had flown abruptly into view.

And he kept looking at me like that from time to time when we
were performing, too. Like he was surprised that I remembered the words to so
many of his songs.

But I wasn’t surprised. I helped him write a lot of those songs.
Not the words exactly, but the feelings. Sometimes we’d be lying in the bed on
the floor of his studio apartment, and he’d reach over and scribble some lyrics
down. Then he’d roll back towards me and tickle my neck with his stubble and
his warm whiskey breath.

There were days when we didn’t even get out of bed.

And I guess all those feelings must have come back to him, too.
Because after the show, we poured enough whiskey down our throats to kill
Courtney Love and went back to his hotel room.

Mick peeled off my leather pants, and I remembered what it was
like to be with him as quickly as he grew in my hands.

Then we outdid ourselves.

And it was effortless.

Danielle passed me the rest of the pint of vodka and I drained
it, trying not to gag as the fumes burnt my eyes.

“You alright?”

“I am now,” I said, tucking the empty bottle in my purse.

I didn’t want anything incriminating in my car if the cops
showed up and we had to run for it. Fortunately, Danielle’s house was only
about two miles away. Which is nothing when you’re shitfaced.

Of course, there was no way we could outrun the boys, but we could
always count on a few bimbos wearing stupid shoes. They were easy pickings for
the out of shape police that patrolled our suburban streets.

As we approached Trey Ford’s house, we only saw one kid puking
in a neighbor’s bush, but it was still early. Danielle and I only planned to
stay until the second keg ran out. That way we could leave before things got
too messy.

Because Trey’s party throwing days were numbered. They had to
be. It had been a good run, but these things never lasted. Someone would get
stupid or cocky and ruin it for everyone else just as soon as we started to
take the spot for granted.

Like we used to party at Ashley G’s, but then someone filled her
exotic fish tank with beer and killed everything in it.

Then we spent countless weekends drinking at Frank Kenny’s
house. Until someone switched the sleeves on every single record in his Dad’s
prized collection, breaking a few in the process. To this day no one knows who
did it.

And most recently it was Ben Nevin whose luck ran out when his
Dad realized their whole yard stank of stale beer. Eventually, he discovered
the source: a landfill’s worth of cigarette butts and empties stashed under his
porch. Rumor has it they actually made good money turning the cans in at the
recycling center.

Of course, everyone’s already made bets about how Trey’s demise
will go down. I think it’ll be some sort of massacre involving his Mom’s fancy
orchids. Danielle’s got her money on the dog getting so drunk that he has the
shits for days (though little Sparky’s held his own so far). And Annie thinks it
will all come down to whatever’s in the mystery closet, and she has point.

I mean, whatever’s in there must be good because Trey always
locks it before parties.

I think it’s just a closet full of munchies cause his Dad works
for a snack company. However, there is a rumor that it’s where his parents hide
the dead bodies of all the people they’ve killed. As if that’s the only
reasonable explanation for why they go out so late at night together all the
time. Because they’re serial killers.

Then again, Trey probably started that rumor to keep people the
fuck out of the closet. 

When Danielle and I finally walked in the front door, the music
got about ten times louder. We headed for the keg first, making our way through
the house to the back porch. By the time we got there, I realized I was probably
two shots drunker than I intended to be on arrival.

Of course, of all the people on Earth who could be pumping the
keg, it had to be Ian. I hadn’t exchanged words with him since the day I kicked
his nutsack up into his belly.

Danielle stepped up to the keg and folded her arms.

Ian looked up. “Hey.” He grabbed a red solo cup from the glass
patio table, which was already littered with empties and ravaged pizza boxes, and
handed it to her. “I’ll pump for you.”

“That’s fine, thanks. I’ll do it myself.”

I appreciated her solidarity.

“No, I insist,” he said, poising the tap in the air.

Danielle looked back at me as if she were asking for permission.

I shrugged.

She held her cup out and he filled it up. For all his faults,
the idiot knew how to tap a keg.

I stepped up next. “Ian.”

“Kate,” he said, passing me a cup. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You look full of shit. As usual.”

He swallowed. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”

“Wish I could say the feeling was mutual.” I tried to ignore the
way his Bieber-rific hair fell into his eyes and focus on how much he’d
embarrassed me.

“I need to talk to you.”

“You should’ve thought of that before-” I couldn’t say it.

“Look, it’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

“I’ll say.” I felt the sideways glances of everyone on the porch
as they tried to act like they weren’t listening to our conversation.

“Things just got out of hand.” His eyes looked genuinely
apologetic. “I’m so sorry.”

I took a sip of my beer and didn’t say anything. Why was he
doing this? Why couldn’t he just let it go and forget there was ever anything
between us like I was trying so hard to do?

I pursed my lips. There was only one way to avoid further
embarrassment and that was to pretend I wasn’t hurt.

“I appreciate your apology and everything,” I said, “but I can’t
accept it, okay? So don’t worry about it. We don’t need to talk about anything.
We’re cool
.”

“Can I get a refill, man?” Trey, oblivious to my Oscar-worthy
performance, stepped between us and shoved his cup at Ian.

Ian ignored him and kept his sad eyes on me.

Without warning, Danielle hooked my arm and marched me down the
porch steps into the yard.

“Where are we going?” I asked, dying to look back and see if Ian
was watching me walk away.

“To the tree house.”

“Look, I know you miss your fucked up childhood but-“

“Shut up,” she said, pausing when we reached the ladder. She
held out her hand. “You first.”

I handed her my cup and crawled up the short ladder into the small
raised hut. “It’s surprisingly spacious inside.”

“Here.” She handed me our cups and then lifted her purse up so I
could grab it.

“Jesus, what’s in here?” I asked when I felt the weight of it.

“A six pack,” she said as she climbed up.

“Where’d you get a six pack?”

She backed up against one side of the hut and lit a cigarette.
“The fridge. When you were talking to Ian.”

I opened her purse. “Coors, huh? We’re high rollers tonight.
Nice one. What are we celebrating?”

She passed me her lit cigarette. “Oh, I don’t know.” She put
another in her mouth and lit it. “Maybe the fact that you and Ian are
cool
.”

I sighed.

“What’s your problem, Kate?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not let him off so easy!”

“I already kicked him in the balls.”

“Which he seems to have forgiven you for already. Are you sure
you kicked him hard enough?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said. “And I don’t think he’s forgiven me. I
just think he knows he deserved it.”

“Whatever.”

“I appreciate your loyalty and concern, Danielle, but I didn’t
want to make a scene. I just want everyone to forget about it, ya know? I’m
trying to
not
be the hot topic for next week.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“My step-sister’s here. She just texted me.”

“Becca?”

Danielle nodded. “God knows why. Is no one from
her
school having a party tonight?”

“You know why.”

Danielle sighed. “I don’t even want to be associated with her.”

“Well, maybe someone else will take care of her this time.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“Don’t let it ruin your night. As soon as she’s blacked out, just
call your step-dad to come get her or something.”

“And fuck over everyone else here who’s just trying to have a
good time?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Promise me she won’t get raped or choke on her own vomit or
both if I don’t check on her regularly.”

I tried to apologize with my eyes. Danielle knew I couldn’t
promise any of those things. Becca was a liability.

She let her head fall back against the wooden wall behind her.

“Let’s finish our beers, and we’ll check on her when we need
more,” I said, hiccupping.

Danielle smiled. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

Danielle shrugged. “That’s better than Annie would’ve done.”

I laughed. “True.”

Annie had no patience for Becca at all. Fortunately for all of
us, she was off getting pounded by some college guy she was seeing.

Danielle and I continued drinking as quickly as we could,
growing quieter as the collection of empty bottles grew in the corner of the
treehouse.

Soon, the edges of the windows at the back of Trey’s house
started to look a bit fuzzy and far away. Like distant stars.

And suddenly, I realized that very few people probably gave a
shit whether I was there or not. Just like no one cared whether I was at any of
the other hundreds of random parties that kids were throwing all over the country.

“What do you think is going to happen to everybody?” I asked.

“You mean, like, after we graduate?”

“Yeah.” I looked at Danielle. Her cigarette had gone out, but she
hadn’t bothered to light it again.

“I know what Annie would say.”

“That we’re all going to grow up, grow fat, and grow unhappy.”

“Bingo,” she said, staring towards the house.

I reached forward and grabbed her cigarette. Then I pulled a
lighter out of my pocket and got it going again. “What do you think?”

“Hmmm. I think Trey will cure cancer, Becca will become
president, and Ian will start a boy band.”

“C’mon, I’m being serious,” I said.

Danielle laughed. “You really wanna know what I think?”

“Yeah.”

She squinted for a moment before she spoke. “I think most of us
will graduate from college, have kids, and spend the rest of our lives worrying
about money.”

“Jeez.” I shook my head. “Sorry I asked.”

“Well that’s the goal, isn’t it? To do exactly what our parents
did, but better.”

“I guess.”

She reached forward for her cigarette, and I gave it back.

“Not to be cheesy, but I suppose the most any of us can really
hope for is that we find love,” she said.