Page 64 of The Second Deal

Myhead shakes andIwhisper, “It’snot a good idea.”

“Wouldyou do it ifZakwanted you back in the band?”

Idon’t look up from the floor. “There’sstill theotherproblem.”

Dadpauses, leaning all his weight onto one foot. “Sincewhen have you let boys get in the way of your dreams?”

Igape at him, trying to form some smartass remark, but nothing comes.

“Forgetyour dating life for a minute.Areyou really gonna continue to sacrifice a solid music career over some mediocre lay?”

Myjaw drops. “Dad!”

“What?I’mtellin’ you likeItell any dude with girl problems.Nomatter how good the sex is, it’s not worth your dreams and career.Thatusually lasts a lot longer than one night.”Hedrops my hand and glances towards the door. “Don’tyou dare tell your mother whatIsaid or she’ll have us both in the confessional first thing tomorrow morning.”

Iscoff, crossing my arms and watching him leave. “Yeah,I’llkeep your pep talk under wraps, old man.”

It’squiet, butIhearDad’ssnort before he turns the corner.

Ichortle, too, untilIglance down and spot fresh blood soaking the gauze.

* * *

Nomatter how many timesIchange the gauze, the blood seems to stay.Andno matter how many timesIhaveMomandDadboth double check the wound on my arm, they insist it looks fine.Kindof deep, but still fine.

Theonly thing that gets my mind off the woundIdefinitely should’ve gone to theERfor, regardless if others say it’s fine, is getting ready for my date withAdrian.

EventhoughIslip on a summer dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves long enough to cover the gauze,Ifind myself glancing down at my arm and wondering if it’s going to fall off whenIleast expect it.Say, whenI’min the middle of theRiverWalkwithAdrian.

Withmy car dead and living too deep in the country to safely walk the distance even down the long driveway in a dress that hits mid-thigh,ItextAdrianto pick me up.ThankGodMomdraggedDadtoHomeDepot—it’ll make it so much easier to fib about my whereabouts later.

WhenIstep out onto the porch,Adrianrounds the bed of theTacoma, his face lighting up with a thousand-watt beamI’veonly seen on him once before: when we signed our first record label contract.

Adrianwhistles. “Damn, baby,” he says, giving me a once over.Makethat three times over. “Wouldn’tmind bringin’ you home tonight.”

Islap his shoulder playfully. “You’dbring me home every night if you could.”

Hecatches my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my fingers with a lopsided smirk.

Hisdark hair is combed and he’s wearing a crisp, dark green button-down with the top three buttons undone, black shorts that hit mid-knee, and freshVans.Hisnose ring glints in the sun that doesn’t want to set any time soon.

Mygaze lingers on his torso, where his shirt clings in all the right places and show off the tattoos on his neck and chest in a way that’ll surely turn heads.

“Damnright,Iwould.”Heturns my hand over to kiss my palm, staring straight at me. “Maybeone day you’ll let me.”

Idon’t like how that scrambles my thoughts and forces breath to vacate my lungs.

Ihave to shake myself out of it and pull my hand away. “Where’reyou takin’ me?”

Heopens the passenger door of theTacoma. “You’llsee.”

Ishouldn’t be feeling thousands of tiny little blips of excitement in my stomach, andIshouldn’t be sidelong glancing over atAdriandriving us into the city, wishingIcould have a peek beneath his clothes.

Ialready know what’s under them.We’resupposed to be out on a properdate, for fuck’s sake, not… fucking, for once.

“I’mhoping that smile is because of me, but that might be giving myself too much credit.”

Isnort. “Yourego is big enough for two.”

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