Monica Murphy - Four Years Later

Weak statement. The guy was more like a total asshole. “Maybe you shouldn’t let your friend set you up with guys you don’t know.”

“No kidding,” she mutters. “Though it’s really the only way I meet guys.”

“What about the ones you tutor?” Hell, listen to me. I sound like a wimp trying to figure out how she meets guys. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be attracted to her. I need to find some hot chick with an amazing ass and fuck her brains out. Fuck Chelsea right out of my head so I won’t think about her anymore.

I don’t know if that would work, though. The thought of finding some random chick and getting laid doesn’t appeal whatsoever.

“The ones I tutor … I consider it—them—work.” She looks up at me and our gazes meet. I don’t look away. Neither does she. “Usually,” she adds, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

Okay. I need to pretend she never said that. Because my body is reacting all over the place as if she just whispered, Fuck me, Owen.

“What do you mean, ‘usually’?” There I go, not pretending at all.

Shrugging, she tears her gaze away from mine, looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t know.”

I let it go, hoping that she’s talking about me. Why, I’m not sure. I shove my hands in my pockets and slow my pace, contemplating her. I can see her skin through the lace of her shirt, though she’s wearing a skimpy tank top that covers most of her. The jeans—I’m not even going to bother going on about her legs and ass yet again because, damn.

There’s nothing else I can say about that.

Her long, dark hair tumbles down her back, straight as can be. It looks soft. I want to touch it. Wrap those silky strands around my fingers and give it a tug while I lock my lips with hers. Tilt her head back farther so I can lick my way down her throat and feel her pulse thrumming beneath my mouth …

“Do we go straight?”

Her sweet voice knocks me from my lusty thoughts and I blink, realizing that I’ve stopped at a cross street. “Turn left,” I say gruffly. “My place is three houses down on the left side.”

She doesn’t say a word, merely does what I tell her to, and I let her take the lead, admiring her from behind. I need to face facts: I’m hot for the tutor. She’s not my type. I hardly know her. But my body sure as hell wants to get to know her. And this is stupid because I’m asking for nothing but trouble, thinking like this.

As we draw closer to my house, dread sinks over me. Every window is lit up, and I can hear music and loud voices. Fucking Wade is having a party.

Just great.

“Um.” Chelsea stops and turns to look at me. “Is that your place?” She points at my house, where I can see Des and some chick I don’t know sitting on the couch on the front porch, passing a joint back and forth.

Shit.

“Yeah,” I say, my jaw tight. “Looks like my roommate is having a get-together.”

“Some get-together,” Chelsea mumbles, bouncing from one foot to the other. She looks nervous.

“Come on.” I flick my head toward my house. “I’ll just grab my keys and we’ll get out of here.”

My car is parked in front of the house on the street. We don’t have a garage, and the house is old and small, but I fixed it up inside pretty well when I first moved in and automatically had Wade move in with me. We’ve been friends forever. I couldn’t ditch him. I don’t even make him pay rent.

Drew takes care of it all—he bought the place. Paid cash for it and everything. Someday, I’d like to have that sort of power, that kind of comfort.

Smoking weed with Mom, drinking too much beer, and partying most of the week is not going to get me there anytime soon.

“Um, I’ll wait outside,” Chelsea says, shuffling her feet. She looks uncomfortable and I hate that.

“Are you sure?” I’m not going to push her into any sort of situation she doesn’t want to be in. Bad enough what I saw earlier with that asshole grabbing her. I won’t put myself in the same league.

She nods, lifting her head so she meets my gaze. “It’ll probably be—”

“Yo, Maguire! Who’s the hottie?” Des calls from his perch on the couch.

A sigh escapes me and I try my best to send her an apologetic look before I say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Motherfucker, don’t be all mysterious on me. Bring your new girl up here and introduce her to us properly,” Des yells, a goofy-ass grin on his face.

“Hell.” I run a hand through my hair, then let my arm drop. “Do you mind? Des is harmless, though I don’t know the girl.”

“Kinda like he doesn’t know me, right?” She flashes me a tentative smile and shrugs. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“How do you want to be introduced?” I toss back at her.

She grimaces. “I don’t know. Your friend?”

I stare at her for a long moment. “They’re going to think I’m fucking you.”

Chelsea gapes, her mouth dropping open. “Are you serious?”

“They think I fuck every girl I bring around the house.” I give them good reason to think that, too.

She actually flinches. “Do you have to keep saying that?”

“Saying what? ‘Fuck’?”

“Yes.” Her expression is pained. “It’s so …”

“Fucking vulgar? Yeah.” I laugh when she glares. I can’t help it. “Sorry. Come on, let’s get this over with. And be prepared. Plug your ears or something, because Des curses like a motherfucker.”

Chelsea

Funny how I was at a bar with my best friend yet still felt incredibly uncomfortable. Powerless. Out of control.

Here I stand with a guy I barely know at a house I’ve never been to, with a crowd of rowdy people, total and complete strangers who are partying inside and are either drunk or high or both. And I’m not scared at all.

It’s because I’m with Owen. He makes me feel safe.

I follow him as he approaches the front porch, my gaze going to his friend Des. Owen’s right. The guy looks perfectly harmless, with a stupid smile on his face and a can of beer clutched in his hand like it’s his precious lifeline. The girl with him is plastered to his side as best as she can be, all voluptuous curves and bottle-blond hair, with blood-red lips and blinding white teeth. She gives me a withering stare, dismissing me on sight.

Great. She hates me. I’m not a fan either.

“Des, what the hell are all of these people doing here?” Owen asks as he stops right in front of the couch. I come up behind him, then step to the side so I don’t look like I’m hiding. I refuse to let the girl with the scary red lips intimidate me.

“I don’t know, but I’m drinking a fucking beer and smoking a J,” Des says as if he has zero cares in the world—which is probably pretty close to the truth. I recognize him. He was with Owen the night I saw them at the diner. “You should join me, bro. You look a little tense. Wade invited me over earlier and we decided to call a few friends. Figured you wouldn’t fucking mind. I mean, look—you brought a guest and everything.” Des waves his beer can at me.

“Yeah. Great.” Owen runs a hand through his hair, something I notice he does when he’s irritated. It’s all messy and sexy and I want to grab hold of it, yank his head down to mine, and kiss him.

Yikes. What in the world is wrong with me, thinking like this?

“So who’s your guest to our fancy party? She’s pretty.” Des smiles brilliantly at me. He’s cute. Dark hair cropped close to his head, warm brown eyes that are rimmed with red from the joint-smoking.

Probably that cloud of smoke that still hovers above him is why he doesn’t recognize me.

“Uh, this is Chelsea.” That’s all Owen says. Waves a hand at me like I don’t matter, which hurts a little, but I push past it. I guess he’s trying to not make this a big deal and I can’t blame him. I’m just his tutor. I’m not important to him.

“Hi.” I smile at Des, then cast a more wary smile in the blonde’s direction.

“This is Marcy.” Des shoots the blonde a lusty gaze, which she returns with gusto. “We just met. But we’re already old fucking friends, right, Marcy?” She doesn’t respond.

“Awesome,” Owen mutters with a jerky shake of his head. “We just stopped by to get my keys. I need to take Chelsea home.”

“Don’t go home, not yet! The party just started. Have a beer, smoke a bowl, fucking relax. Or maybe get relaxed by fucking around for a little bit. Whatever.” Des laughs when Owen shoots him a disgusted look. “Man, since when did you turn into such a downer?”

Owen doesn’t reply. I feel like things are being said without words and I’m not catching on. Not that I would. I don’t know anything about Owen beyond his school file and what little information I’ve gleaned since meeting him.

We leave the porch and head into the house, which is filled with smoke, lots of people, and loud music. The kitchen is especially packed as they all drink beer either from cans or the infamous red cups. There’s a keg on the dining room table, and I wonder just how spontaneous this party was.

Considering I have zero experience with keggers, I have no idea how easy it is to obtain kegs of beer.

Everyone in the room seems to look at me like they wonder where I came from, not that I can blame them. They don’t know me. I’m sure they all know Owen. They’re in his house, after all. And I’m just some silly girl pretending that she knows what it’s like to be young and easy and carefree.

The girls glare. The guys stare. I feel like I’m on display, that Owen is lord and master of the house and if they could, they’d all bow to him and thank him for finally coming home.

Heaving out a big sigh, I push past my dramatic thoughts and keep close to Owen, not wanting to lose him since the deeper we get into the house, the more crowded it becomes. When he grabs hold of my hand and yanks me close, I literally gasp, surprised that he’s actually touching me. His fingers curl around mine and I try to ignore the reaction that pulses through me from his touch, but I can’t. I swear my knees just went weak.

He pulls me closer and I feel as though I’m going to die. I can smell him, autumn and sweat and the slightly stale scent of working in a restaurant for hours on end. “My keys are in my room,” he yells into my ear. The music in the house is deafening. “Just keep close—we’ll grab them and then we’re out of here.”

I nod and give him a smile, which he returns. The sight of it makes my heart go pitter-patter and I try to ignore it. This crush I have on my freaking student is so not appropriate.

Owen entwines our fingers and leads me through the crowd and down the short, dark hall, stopping at the door at the very end. He pushes it open and glances around, probably checking to see if anyone’s in there, and then he’s walking inside, leaving me no choice but to follow him since he’s still holding my hand.

Disentangling myself from his grip, I look around, trying to take it all in while Owen goes in search of his keys. His walls are blank. The furniture is nondescript though the bed is massive, covered in brick-red sheets and nothing else. I take a step back from it, suddenly nervous. How many girls has he brought to his bedroom before me?

Ugh. No way do I want to think about that number.

I’m all alone with Owen in his bedroom. If I were bolder, I’d try to make a move. It’s the perfect opportunity to at least try and kiss him. Though I have no idea if he’d be responsive. I don’t think he’s that into me. He’s just being nice. Probably felt sorry for his poor tutor when he saw her getting harassed out in front of his workplace.

“Shit,” he grumbles as he kneels down and starts digging through a pile of clothes that sit on an overstuffed chair. “I always lose my keys.”

“Want some help?” I offer, because I’m a nice girl and I always offer help to someone in need.

If I could roll my eyes at myself right now, I so would.

“I’m good. They’re probably in a pocket in my jeans. That’s where I usually find them.”

I go to his dresser and check it out. There’s a mirror, a jar full of quarters, and a shallow dish full of miscellaneous change. There’s also a lighter, a discarded, faded dollar bill, and a picture in a frame. I pick it up and study it. It’s a photo of a really pretty girl with blond hair and the same green eyes as Owen. She’s wearing a wedding dress and smiling for the camera, her arm slung around Owen’s shoulders. He’s also looking at the camera, a big grin on his face that makes my breath catch. The guy who I can only assume is her groom is looking at the bride like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.