Memphis
Waking up to see Phoenix and Storm spooning wasn’t on my Bingo card for today, let alone this century, but here we fucking are.
Suppressing a laugh, I slide my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and snap a quick pic.
For proof and collateral.
Storm’s been champing at the bit to get back at me for our little bet—a bet he still hasn’t fulfilled—and while I’m not typically one to gamble unless I’m certain I’ll win, having this in my arsenal couldn’t hurt.
I steal a quick glance at the couch, preparing for Sky to either ream me out for gathering blackmail against my friends or demand I send her a copy so she can get in on it…because with her you never know.
Sometimes she’s a good girl…
Sometimes she’s a dirty girl.
This morning, however, she’s gone.
It’s just as well. The less we’re around one another, the better.
Focusing on the lovebirds, I clear my throat. Loudly.
Phoenix—who has his arm draped around Storm—is the first to wake. “What time is it?”
This just keeps getting better and better.
“Not sure.” My lips twitch. “Why don’t you ask your new girl?”
He opens one eye. “Huh?”
The confusion on his face swiftly changes to shock when he realizes the body curled up against him belongs to his best friend.
“What the fuck, man?”
Yawning, Storm comes to. “What the fuck what?”
Phoenix leaps up, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. “Bro, you…we…”
“Were spooning,” I chime in when Phoenix stops talking, seemingly unable to finish his sentence.
Storm shrugs, taking it all in stride. “And?”
Phoenix huffs. “Dude—”
“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?” a familiar, feminine voice screams at the top of her lungs.
Shit.
Storm plugs his ear with his finger. “What the fuck was that?”
“That was Sky.”
And she’s pissed.
I barrel past Grams who’s busy in the kitchen and out of Chandler’s suite. Phoenix and Storm trail behind me.
“I’m gonna chop your fucking dick off!” Skylar shrieks.
It doesn’t sound like she needs backup, but we’re already invested, so the three of us make our way next door to Josh’s room.
I’m about to knock, but the door flies open and a half naked and frazzled brunette slinks past us.
The three of us exchange a cautious glance.
Josh is a grade-A schmuck, but somehow, he’s always managed to avoid getting caught red-handed by his girlfriend.
Until now.
“Oh, shit,” Phoenix mutters as we walk in.
Just in time to see Sky tossing Josh’s clothes over the balcony. “You fucking bastard.”
The fucking bastard frantically reaches for any clothing he can get his hands on so he can cover his junk. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Nah. It’s exactly what it looks like.
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” She snatches the shirt he’s shielding himself with and out the window it goes. “And so help you God if you ask me if that’s a trick question.”
“Baby—”
The door opens and Chandler waltzes inside. “What the hell is going on?”
“Welcome to the shitshow,” I tell him as he joins our little spectating congregation.
“Calm down,” Josh pleads. “You’re acting crazy.”
I inwardly cringe. Bad move.
Madder than a wet hen, Skylar picks up his suitcase and chucks it over the balcony.
A moment later there’s an audible splash.
“I get why you’re mad,” Josh says, appearing sheepish. “But let me explain.”
Hands on her hips, Skylar arches an eyebrow, indicating for him to get on with it.
“I was high as fuck last night.” Glancing at the pile of rumpled sheets on the mattress, he blows out a breath. “I thought she was you.”
There’s a collective groan followed by a “Dude,” from Phoenix.
Sheer disappointment veils Skylar’s anger…and then it comes back with a vengeance.
“Oh, you were high?” She circles to the other side of the bed and picks his jeans up off the floor. “Big fucking shocker.”
Rummaging around his pockets, she pulls out a little bag containing two pills.
“Whoa, baby,” Josh says warily. “What are you doing?”
Feigning innocence, she backs away slowly. “Making sure you won’t have another memory lapse. I mean, who knows. One night you could mistake Phoenix for me and fuck him, too.”
Given the spooning episode I witnessed this morning, I wouldn’t rule it out entirely.
Josh chases her into the bathroom, but she slams the door in his face and locks it.
A moment later, the toilet flushes.
“Goddammit, Skylar,” he screams when she walks out. “I was saving those for sound check.”
Leering, she slinks past him. “Well, you don’t want to be late.”
Grabbing his Rolex off the nightstand, she chucks it across the room. It bounces off Chandler’s head before flying over the balcony.
Chandler rubs his temple and grunts. “Damn it, Josh.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” he whines, pointing a finger at Sky. “She’s fucking psychotic.”
The four of us wince in unison.
Calling a woman crazy is the equivalent of summoning an evil spirit.
But calling a woman psychotic?
That’s provoking the evil spirit to do something that makes her emotional and irrational outburst seem like a nice, relaxing vacation on a tropical island.
Motionless, Skylar stares at him…and then a maniacal smile spreads across her face. “Psychotic? You wanna see psychotic?”
“What do you mean?” Josh says, appearing far too calm for someone in his position.
He soon finds out when Skylar picks up his most prized possession. Aside from drugs.
A bass guitar signed by his personal idol, Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The fucker brings it with him everywhere so he can show it off any chance he gets.
Raising it above her head, she screeches, “This is fucking psychotic.”
Thinking quick, I grab it mere seconds before it collides with the television. “We don’t destroy instruments.”
Josh deserves whatever she wants to shell out and then some, but I draw the line at damaging anything music related.
Seething, she bares her teeth and growls. “Let go. Now.”
I release my hold, deciding to let her have this one because if I don’t then that psychotic evil spirit becomes my problem.
We all recoil as the disturbing sounds of wood splintering and glass breaking assault our ears.
Josh takes a step toward her. “Baby—”
“You piece of shit. Do you have any idea what I’ve given up for you?”
Her dreams. A potential career. Her sanity.
More wood splinters, the remnants of the instrument now resembling kindling. “It’s bad enough you cheat, but you don’t even have enough respect for me to hide it.”
“I didn’t—”
Discarding the block of wood, she whips around, pointing a finger in his face.
“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.” Pain—the kind that feels like a punch to my gut—twists her pretty features.
“Every night before you fall asleep you tell me you need me and that you’ll die without me.
And every morning I wake up thinking, ‘maybe he’ll keep his promises today.
’” Despair laces her tone. “But you never do.”
The hopelessness obscuring the light in those hazel eyes makes it clear she’s just come to the daunting realization that he never will.
He reaches for her, but she pushes him away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she hightails it out the door.
It dawns on me that what I just witnessed wasn’t Sky going postal because she caught him cheating.
It was her having a mental breakdown because of everything she deals with on a constant basis.
All the shit he puts her through.
I thought she asked me to be friends with benefits because she was looking for sex, but it’s more than that.
She’s looking for a connection.
For someone to take care of her needs for once.
She’s looking for an escape.