Chapter Two – Angel
“Cleo showed me the video,” my mom was busy saying. “Are you sure you’re alright, honey?” Eyes as blue as mine stared at me from the screen on the phone. She was at home, sitting at the kitchen table. It was Saturday morning; that meant she probably had a full shift at the diner soon, but she’d wanted to talk to me about this first.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I told her, hoping she’d drop it. “It was just part of the show.” That’s the excuse I was using with my mom, anyway. Just part of the show. The kiss itself meant nothing. Just our stage personas, blah, blah, blah.
I didn’t think she was buying it, though.
“I hope none of those boys are pressuring you into doing anything—”
My face flushed. Thank God I was alone in my bedroom, otherwise the guys would’ve heard that and seen my reaction to it. “They’re not, Mom, I swear.”
“All right. I just want you to be safe. I—Cleo wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone to Cleo, who still wore her pajamas even though it was ten o’clock. Weekends during the school year were a time to sleep in and be lazy when you were young.
I had to close my eyes when Cleo’s hand curled around the phone, and the image on the screen became blurry. Around her hand, I could see the house pass as she hustled away from our mother and ran down the hall. It was only when she was alone in her room that the image on the phone became stable and I didn’t get nauseous looking at it.
“How was it?” Cleo asked in a whisper.
I decided to play dumb. “How was what?”
“The kiss, you idiot,” my eleven-year-old sister quipped. “I bet it was amazing. Was it amazing? It had to be. Priest is so hot—”
I hated hearing those words come out of her mouth. Mostly because she was my sister and she was eleven, but also because I thought the same. “Please don’t ever say that again,” I told her.
“Right.” Cleo nodded solemnly. Her dirty blond hair was a wild mess on top of her head. She needed to run a brush through it ASAP. “Because you don’t want to hear anyone else call your boyfriend hot.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Are you sure? Because that kiss… I mean, I’m no expert on kisses, but that kiss looked like more than just a peck. It looked like a boyfriend-girlfriend kiss.”
“It was not a boyfriend-girlfriend kiss.”
“Why not? The internet thinks it was. They think you’re dating Priest.”
My eyes widened. “The internet thinks what? Where did you see all this? What websites are you on?” I’d looked all night and this morning, and I was only able to find the videos Black Sacrament was tagged under.
And, yes, there were videos of Priest kissing me, but when I found them, there weren’t many comments at all.
“That’s not important,” Cleo quickly said. “What is important is you getting three—”
“Cleo, I have to go. Tell mom I love her, and I love you too, you little jerk.” I ended the call before she could say a word. Mostly I didn’t want to hear about how I had to get three boyfriends to get our mom used to the idea so Cleo could stroll through the front door with her own multiple boyfriends in tow once she got older.
No one could say my life was boring, that’s for sure.
I hopped in the shower after that, trying to rinse myself clean of everything confusing that had happened lately. I’d kissed both Bishop and Priest yesterday, pretty much let it slip that Deacon wanted out of the band, and done my first show for Black Sacrament. What a day. I felt like I was still winding down from all of it.
And so very confused.
Bishop remembered me. He’d known who I was this whole time. And somehow we’d wound up kissing, which only served to make things more complicated.
Was it wrong if I had a crush on more than one guy at the same time? I knew what my little sister would say, but clearly her head had been tainted by those reverse harem books she’d found online somewhere. Real life wasn’t like that.
I mean, sure, poly people existed, but I’d never thought of myself as one of them.
Ugh, see? Complicated.
I was in and out of the shower, and I threw on some leggings and a baggy shirt. I didn’t bother drying my hair; I combed through its white lengths and left it at that.
I… supposed I should go talk to Deacon and apologize for throwing him under the bus. I might not have outright said it, but what he’d told me, he’d said not to speak a word of it to anybody, and I’d used him as a way to get the attention off of myself.
It wasn’t cool. If I was him, I’d be pretty ticked off at me, too.
I pushed out of my room and turned to go towards Deacon’s. I was pretty sure I could hear Bishop and Priest talking in the kitchen, but I was too far away to hear what they were saying. A part of me wondered if they were talking about what happened last night. Whatever it was, they didn’t sound like they were fighting, so I could only assume them talking was a good thing.
Once I reached Deacon’s shut door, I knocked and said, “It’s me.” I listened for a response, but I heard not a single thing. I thought about turning around and leaving, but if I didn’t apologize now, I might not have the nerve later. Best just get it over with.
And that was why, even though Deacon didn’t say anything, I went inside anyway. What I saw when I pushed inside was an empty room, and as I gently closed the door behind me, I heard water running in the attached bathroom. The door to that room was shut as well.
Guess I wasn’t the only one who was trying to rinse off everything that had happened.
I wandered to his bed, gingerly sitting on its edge as I waited. Eventually I leaned back, reclining on his black sheets. Unmade, but that’s just how Deacon was. I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the sound of the water to better gauge when he was coming out.
Minutes passed, and finally the sound of the water stopped. I sat up and angled myself toward the door so I’d see him come out, and, after another few moments, he did.
Deacon strolled out, running a hand through his damp black hair, its long lengths drawn back without the use of a ponytail. Some tendrils were wavier than others, framing the squareness of his jaw and the hard lines on his face. He took two steps out of the bathroom, spotted me, and froze.
Why did he freeze? Oh, no reason.
Except he was naked.
Yeah, like one hundred percent buck naked, his chest on full display, along with a set of vaguely-outlined abs on his stomach and his dick swinging between his legs. Completely naked.
Once I realized what I was staring at—his dick, which seemed awfully big considering it wasn’t even hard… not that I had anything to compare it to, of course—oh, God. Listen to me, rambling.
Anyway, once I realized I was looking at every inch of him, I averted my eyes, lifting them to his face as my skin caught on fire. Literal fire. I was burning up, no joke. “Um” was all I could say. Every other thought in my head had vanished when I saw him stroll out in his birthday suit.
Deacon was caught off-guard for a while too, because it took him entirely too long to scowl at me and demand, “What the fuck are you doing here?” As angry as he looked, he didn’t run to cover up with some clothes or use his hands to hide his length.
He was just standing there, baring it all.
I couldn’t move. It was like I was pinned where I was, frozen in place on his bed, my legs hanging off the side. “I came to say I’m sorry about last night—I didn’t… don’t normal people get dressed before they leave the bathroom?”
“Don’t normal people look away when they’re seeing someone naked that they shouldn’t?” Deacon’s typical scowl was back, although it was hard to feel like that scowl was doing anything at all now that his dick was out. The only scowl I could currently pay attention to was apparently the one from the one-eyed snake dangling between his legs.
“Maybe you should put on some clothes,” I shot back. For whatever reason, I couldn’t look away. My skin was on literal fire, but I couldn’t drag my eyes off Deacon in any capacity—the man might be naked, but he still commanded my attention.
Or maybe I’d started to wonder what that thing dangling there looked like hard. If that’s what it looked like before it got hard, I mean…
Crap. No. Definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that.
“Maybe you should stop looking,” Deacon replied. “No, you know what? Just get out. I don’t want to hear whatever stupid apology you’re trying to give. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. I can’t believe no one else can see that.”
I wanted to strangle him. Deacon could be so impossible sometimes. I wished he’d give this, us, a chance, but it was clear his head was stuck so far up his own ass he didn’t want to put in much effort, so I shook my head, threw my hands up, and started for the door. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He stopped me by moving between me and the door, blocking my exit with his still very naked body. “ I’m impossible? That’s rich, coming from you.”
I puffed up, angling my head back to meet his green eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” At least he was close enough that I couldn’t see his dick. At least now I could focus on his face and the sneer on it.
Deacon was so hot and cold. Mostly cold, but sometimes… sometimes, when that bad attitude wasn’t in the room, I saw the real Deacon. And he seemed like a good guy. I wished he’d be around more often.
“It means I’m not the impossible one, you are. I mean, you come here and fuck everything up—you have Priest and Bishop fighting over you.”
“They’re not fighting over me.” And they weren’t… were they?
“They are, even if they don’t admit it.”
I frowned at him. “So if they’re fighting over me, what are you doing? Spending all your time hating me, then? Still upset that I took your brother’s place? I never asked for this—”
Deacon interrupted, “No, maybe not, but you also didn’t say no. You could’ve. You could’ve told Ramona to fuck off when she came to you. You should’ve. It would’ve made things easier for all of us.”
“Easier for who? For me, for Priest and Bishop, or for you?”
I must’ve struck a nerve, because the glare that Deacon gave me after that was one that could kill. He took a tiny step forward, inching toward me in a way that made me both want to stand strong and match his step backward. In the end, I didn’t move a muscle. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me, not when I knew I was right.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled out, his bare chest rumbling with the words, so low I could feel that rumble in my core. But I didn’t back down.
“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” As I vehemently whispered the words, I suddenly remembered that Deacon was standing less than a foot in front of me, completely naked, his hair damp and messy from his shower. Breathing hard, he looked undone, almost.
Sexy. He looked sexy.
All Deacon did to that was let out a long, aggravated breath. “I don’t like that you’re playing with my boys.” They were his best friends. Even though he might want to leave the band, they had history, so much more history than I had with Bishop. It was kind of sweet he wanted to protect them.
But, at the same time, he didn’t have to protect them from me.
“I’m not playing with them,” I whispered, wanting him to believe me above all else. “I’m not. Maybe I’m… different from the girls you’re used to, but I’m not like that.” And I wasn’t. I wasn’t the type of girl that played around or enjoyed breaking hearts.
“So, what, then? You don’t like either of them?” Deacon didn’t give me the chance to answer, because he went on, “Then go tell them that before they ruin their friendship over you. Tell them you’re not interested in whatever they have to offer and that it’s all one big misunderstanding.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I couldn’t go to the guys and tell them that, because… because it wouldn’t be true. I couldn’t tell Priest and Bishop I wasn’t interested because I was. I was more interested in them than I’d ever been in anyone before.
Deacon appeared smug at my silence, like it was an ah-ha, gotcha moment, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave it at that, so I asked, “Is that why you hate me? Because you think I’m playing with Priest and Bishop?”
His jaw ground, and his emerald stare dropped to my chin. “I never said I hated you.” At least, I was pretty sure he was looking at my chin—unless his eyes landed a fraction above my chin and were actually staring at my mouth.
In fact, the look Deacon wore right then was like the look he’d worn the night he’d spent with me in the living room on the couch. The look he’d given me once he’d woken up while I was on his chest, neither one of us moving a muscle.
I’d almost kissed him that morning, just to see what the big deal was.
“It feels like it sometimes,” I whispered. Now that I wasn’t sure what he was staring at—my chin or my mouth, I grew self-conscious, and I found myself running my tongue over my lower lip to wet it.
The way Deacon inhaled sharply when I did made me think he was indeed staring at my lips and not my chin.
“I wanted to,” he admitted, sluggish in lifting his eyes up to mine. “I really wanted to, believe me. Hating you would make everything so much easier, but it’s like you’re impossible to hate, and I… I hate that.”
He was using the word hate a lot, but it didn’t sound bad, what he was saying. It almost sounded like he was admitting to liking me, and that was what he hated. I could live with that.
“I hate that Priest and Bishop are out there fighting over you,” he whispered. He lifted his hands to my wrists, drawing his hands up my arms in a slow, drawn-out gesture that made goosebumps rise on my skin—skin that was now hot for a whole different reason. “I hate that, when they’re trying to make each other jealous, they’re also making me jealous.”
“Jealous of…” I could hardly get the words out. “Of what?”
“Jealous because I don’t know what your lips feel like,” he murmured. The hands slowly drawing up my arms snaked around my neck, and I gasped when I felt them curling around it. Not hard, but tight enough to feel when I swallowed, tight enough to tell me that Deacon meant every single word. Possessive, firm… dominant.
Was it wrong to be a little turned on by this?
Deacon’s face neared mine as his tall frame bent. He wasn’t as tall as Priest, but he had an inch or two on Bishop, and many more on me. His nose grazed mine, and the nearness of our faces allowed me to feel his hot breath on my skin. I was frozen, unable to move. How in the world did we end up in this position? I’d only come in here to apologize to him.
“Jealous because I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.” Deacon’s voice took on a low, mesmerizing tone, and my eyelids fluttered shut as a response, my body’s way of reacting to the combination of his voice and the way he currently held onto my neck.
I couldn’t think of anything smart to say. No witty retorts or replies ready on my tongue.
But, as it turned out, it was a good thing I didn’t have anything to say, because I wouldn’t have had the chance to speak, anyway.
Deacon’s mouth lowered to mine, his lips pressing against mine as they ignited a fire deep within my soul. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was kissing me, and though I’d already melted the moment he’d wrapped his hands around my neck, I found myself melting into him yet again.
Deacon’s kiss was firm and demanding, almost harsh in the way his mouth commanded mine. A little rough, but given everything I knew about him, it’s what I’d come to expect from him.
Okay, so maybe it was a good thing my first kiss wasn’t with him. I wouldn’t have known what to do. Now, now I knew exactly how to kiss him back, to return the eagerness and the desperate hunger back to him.
Oh, God. I was in so much trouble here, with these three. So, so much trouble.
I moaned into the kiss, and Deacon responded by walking me backwards and pushing me against the nearest wall. His body pressed against mine, pinning me in place—as if I’d try to escape. As if there was an escape from this particular throat-grabbing kiss.
Some of his damp hair fell, grazing my cheeks as his mouth became intimately acquainted with mine. Deacon took charge in a way I never expected, and I also could never have guessed how hot I’d find it.
These guys were driving me crazy. One hundred and ten percent crazy. I wasn’t supposed to like any of them like this, and I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to kiss them all. I wasn’t trying to live up to the expectation my sister had set on me by telling me to date all three of them. That wasn’t what I wanted.
Was it?
As Deacon kissed me harder, his hands never left my neck. The way they curled around my throat, so snug and possessive, made wires in me cross. I couldn’t think straight. I never wanted this to stop.
I wanted more, I realized.
I wanted so much more than kissing.