Chapter Six #2
Problem is, with the comfort of my apartment around me and Blake’s presence carving into my consciousness, I’m not sure I want to be anywhere else.
“Wow,” Blake's voice reaches me as I finish the last notes. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I open my eyes and meet his. Something about the way he’s eyeing me, with a mix of surprise and appreciation, makes me shift uncomfortably, the guitar suddenly too heavy for my lap.
I rest my forearms on the box. “Yeah, well. I picked it up after my surgery. I needed something to fill the time.” I shrug. “It was either this or heavy drugs.”
Blake smiles. “You made the right choice.”
The amazement is still present on his face, and I cannot hold his stare any longer. I rise to my feet and turn to place the guitar on the rack. I sigh heavily, hoping the next time I look at him, Blake will return to being his usual, slightly neurotic self.
“So,” I say as I turn back around. “Now, are you ready for that lunch?”
*
Blake
A chilly breeze caresses my skin through my clothes, and I shift my body weight to the left as Sawyer takes a turn.
I could get used to this—wrapping my arms around him as he speeds through the city streets, maneuvering between cars.
Or maybe I already have.
In his usual fashion, he didn’t tell me where we were going. Only this time, I found myself not caring in the slightest.
Scooting closer to him on the seat, I take in the landscape of the unfamiliar neighborhood. How is it that I’ve lived in this town my whole life and only now begin discovering its secrets?
Sawyer takes another turn and we’re now driving through a narrow alley between blocks until the roar of the bike dials down and he pulls to a stop by the curb in front of a tall, brick building.
“What is this place?” I ask as I dismount and fumble to take off the helmet.
The second Sawyer’s messy hair comes into view, I can’t help but smile. As intense and square-jawed as he usually looks, the disarray on his head makes him seem particularly unthreatening.
“You’ll see,” he says as he takes the helmet from me and throws both of them in the trunk.
I furrow my brows and look both ways down the sketchy-looking alley. “You’re telling me you can’t leave them unattended back home, but you’re willing to do it here?”
A stray cat meows somewhere in the distance as if proving my point.
Sawyer chuckles. “I’m more at home here than I am back there.”
And before I can ask him what he means, he grabs my wrist and leads me toward the scraped, wooden door with no sign around it.
The strong odor of leather and cigarettes hits me as soon as he opens it, and after we walk inside, it takes me a while to get used to the semi-darkness.
“What the—” I mumble as he leads me in farther.
We’re in a… bar. At least, I think it’s a bar.
A few lone fables stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by what I assume used to be chairs. And directly in front of me, by the opposite wall, is a small stage with a few people fumbling with musical instruments but not playing.
I can barely make them out through the thick smoke lingering in the air.
“Seriously, what is this place?”
Sawyer wiggles his eyebrows and leads me to one of the tables. On my way, I glimpse a small bar to my left, with a door behind it.
“What? It’s nice.”
“It’s a dive.”
“Maybe,” he says as he takes a seat. “But it’s my dive.”
“Hey, Sawyer!” I turn to the bearded man calling out from the stage, waving the drumsticks he’s holding.
“Sup,” Sawyer waves back to the stage where he’s now greeted by the rest of the… band he’s apparently on a first-name basis with.
“Come jam with us,” says another guy.
Sawyer shoots him a grin. “Next time.”
My eyes grow wide as I take a seat next to Sawyer. “Excuse me? Didn’t you just say you weren’t a virtuoso?”
He tilts his head to the side and shrugs. “And you think the crowds around here are sophisticated?”
“Touché.” I look to the tiny stage where the musicians take their positions, and a somewhat steady beat fills the space before I look back at Sawyer.
His black leather matches the overall decorum. Or lack thereof.
How can he fit right in both a biker joint and the lavish exterior of Skin on Skin at the same time?
“What?” he asks after I’ve been staring for too long.
“Nothing. I gotta say, I kind of dig the rockstar persona of yours. I don’t think I would have gone for the jock you once were.”
“You mean you wouldn’t have gone for a jock guy back when you thought you were straight?”
My cheeks flame. “Damn. It seems like a lifetime ago.”
Sawyer bursts out laughing just as an out-of-tune guitar strums. “You have a weird perception of time.”
I look into the smoke-filled space, wondering how it is possible it’s only been a few weeks, when Sawyer’s palm appears in front of my face, waving. “So, what would you like?”
I turn my attention back to his face. Dark stubble peppers his square jaw. He hasn’t shaved this morning. “You.”
“To eat.”
I grin. “Still, you.”
Sawyer rolls his eyes and props his chin on his palm. “I have time.”
I turn to the wannabe bar and eye it skeptically. “I guess I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Smart choice,” he says with a wink, and I watch in awe as he walks up to the bar and instead of waiting, he rounds it and disappears behind the door.
I lean back in the chair I don’t really trust and listen to the band’s attempt at some rock song I don’t recognize.
A minute later, my ears start to bleed, and I try to block out the noise when a realization hits me—I’m out in public, with Sawyer, on a…
Well, hardly a date. But I’m here with him all the same, and if I’m about to get into it for real and accept whatever he’s willing to offer, there’s one person that needs to hear it from me before he can hear it from anyone else.
I pull my phone from my pocket, go through my contacts, and press dial, my pulse speeding up as I wait for the line to connect.
“Hello?” Xander’s cheerful voice comes from the other end.
“Hey. How’ve you been?” I ask, not really knowing how to start.
“What do you mean? You saw me yesterday.”
Right.
I open my mouth to speak, but Xander’s faster. “And speaking of yesterday, where did you disappear to last night? I’ve been calling you.”
“Yeah, about that….” I clear my throat. I know Xander will be cool with my newfound sexuality, but words don’t come easily, regardless. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I kind of started da”—no, not dating—“seeing someone.”
“Oh, really? That’s great.” Xander’s voice perks up. “Do I know her?”
My heart’s about to beat out of my chest.
“Wait, where are you?” Xander asks, interrupting my train of thought again as a particularly awful guitar solo starts playing.
I chuckle. “Long story. Anyway, you do know… him.”
There’s a beat of silence, save for the music, and then,” Oh? Oh! That’s…great. When did that happen?”
I run my palm over my face. “Frankly, it’s new. I’m still trying to figure things out.”
“Sweet. So, who is it?”
“It’s…” Suddenly, Sawyer’s name becomes too difficult to pronounce. “You saw him last night, actually.”
“Last night… Wait. It’s not Liam, is it?”
My brows furrow. “What?”
“What?”
“Who’s Li—”
“So, who are you fucking then?”
“Shhhhh!” I hiss to the phone and sink in my seat as if someone could hear what’s going directly into my ear. “I’m not… It’s Sawyer.”
Xander gasps. “Sawyer? Sawyer Matthews?”
I chuckle even though I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. “Do you know any other Sawyers?”
“I—Wow. Wow. I had no idea. I mean, congrats, I guess.”
The tension leaves my body along with my exhale. “So, who’s Liam?”
“Actually, I gotta go! Talk to you tomorrow?”
And before I can answer this non-question, the line disconnects.
Well, that didn’t go exactly as I planned, but at least he seems to be okay with… whatever it is I’m having with Sawyer.
“There you go.” I jump up in my seat when Sawyer appears out of nowhere and places two giant plates of ribs on the table that’s barely big enough to fit them both. “Hope you en—”
“Who’s Liam?”
Sawyer blinks at me a few times before he sits.
“From the club?” I add.
“Liam? Liam, the bouncer?”
And now it’s my turn to blink. “The big guy?”
He snorts and hands me a napkin. “You’d have to be more specific. All our bouncers are big. But yeah, only one Liam working at the club. Why?”
I open my mouth but close it, not really sure how to explain my sudden interest. “No reason.” I turn my attention to the plate before me. The ribs smell good enough, but my eyes dart to the sketchy-looking bar, regardless.
Sawyer elbows me. “Relax. It’s chef’s specialty.”
My eyes widen. “There’s a chef?”
He chuckles. “Dig in first. Complain later. Bon Appetit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you said this place wasn’t sophisticated.”
Turns out, even a dive like this with a chef that may or may not exist can be excellent, and I find myself humming as I sink my teeth in the juicy meet.
Up until now, I hadn’t even realized how starving I was.
We eat in silence, letting out appreciative noises time and time again. Even the music the band relentlessly produces stops being bothersome, and ten minutes later, I find myself leaning back in my chair, my eyes closed, belly filled to capacity. “Man,” I mumble with a content sigh.
“What did I tell you?”
“Okay,” I say as I lazily open my eyes, catching Sawyer licking his fingertips. “This place is not bad after all. I’ll give you that. Maybe we can come back tomorrow?”
Sawyer wipes his mouth with a napkin and shakes his head. “Can’t.”
“The day after?”
He shakes his head again. “Can’t. You won’t be seeing much of me for a week. I’ll be working non-stop. I’ll have to skip classes, too.”
I straighten up and scrunch my forehead. “Why?”
Shrugging, Sawyer somehow manages to fit his forearms on the now-cluttered tabletop. “You’ve been distracting me at work lately. I have to catch up on the hours.”
“Can’t you just skip it? I’m sure there’s someone who can cover for you and—”
Sawyer’s palm lands on the table with a loud thump, silverware clicking off the plates, making me jerk back. “No, I can’t fucking skip it, Jesus. You’re such a child sometimes.”
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“Me? I don’t have a problem. I have a job. Not sure if you realize, but not all of us have a trust fund and an inheritance waiting for us. Not everyone’s dad owns half the city. Some people actually have to work for a living.”
My blood boils in my veins as I leap forward and fist his t-shirt. “Hey! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is there a problem?” someone who’s materialized by our table asks.
“No,” we bark in unison, not breaking eye contact for a second.
They walk away.
My nostrils flare as I let go of Sawyer’s clothes, pushing on his chest. “Don’t act like you know everything. You know jack shit.”
Sawyer scoffs, raising my body temperature even more. “Yeah. Whatever you say, Daddy’s boy.”
And now it’s my turn to bang my palm against the table. “I don’t have a fucking trust fund, okay?”
Sawyer just stares at me, expression taunt and unfaltering, so I continue. “I don’t have a trust fund,” I repeat before taking a long breath, trying to calm my voice. “And I don’t have an inheritance waiting, either. I gave it up.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “You did what?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Jesus. It’s been such a lovely day, and now I have to have this conversation.
“I have an older brother. Marcus. When I was finishing high school, he came out to my parents during family dinner. My father went into a fury before my brother even finished talking and disowned him on the spot. He kicked him out of the house that night, too.” I take a shaky breath, the memory of that night still vivid in my brain.
“I packed up my things and walked out with Marcus. That was the last time I saw my parents.” Sawyer opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“That’s why I need the scholarship. I need the grades to keep it.
Call me uptight all you want, but I’m starting from scratch, just like you.
So no.” I wipe my face with my palm, my emotions settling now that I’ve spilled my guts.
“No Daddy’s boy on this side of the table. ”
Silence falls between us. Sawyer stares at me the whole time, unblinking, and even though my rage evaporates with each breath I take, I’m still able to hold his stare.
Finally, he says. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He rubs his hands over his face and hooks them behind his neck. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Now I feel like an asshole.”
An involuntary chuckle shoots out of me. “Feel like? You are an asshole.”
He tilts his head to the side and gives me puppy eyes. “But you like me, anyway?”
I lean back, fold my arms over my chest, and look at the ceiling. “Actually, I haven’t decided yet.”
Sawyer sends a smile my way. I smile back. Somehow, against the odds, we’re okay again. “It’s gonna be a long week.”
He winks. “It’ll fly by.”
A particularly loud feedback comes from the speakers by the stage, and we both snap our heads toward the disturbance.
The band is jamming away, utterly oblivious to how imperfect they are. Either that or they just don’t care. And I can’t shake the feeling that, in some way, Sawyer belongs here. Unapologetically imperfect.
And he’s right, too. That’s the way I like him.
I look back at Sawyer and motion my head toward the stage. “Go. Play me something.”
He catches his lower lip between his teeth. “You don’t want to hear that.”
“I think I do. Besides, you’re better than all of them from the little I’ve heard.”
He regards me for a moment before he rolls his eyes, rising to his feet. “Fine. It’s your funeral, though.”
I sit back and relax as Sawyer walks up to the stage, produces an ancient-looking guitar from somewhere behind the drum set, and without asking permission, jumps up on the stage and starts strumming.
I can’t even hear him amidst the noise, sounds mingling together into one out-of-tune mess of a song, giving me a private rock show.
I grin the whole time they play.