Slow Burn Part 25

"Hey, you," he answers after the fifth ring. "What's up?"

"Hi, Nick. I have some questions for you. Can I come over?" I blurt out.

He pauses. "Uh...yeah, sure. I'm kind of-really drunk, though."

"That's okay," I say quickly. "I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

What am I doing? I didn't mean to invite myself over. But I don't want to stay here, and I don't want to go home. My heart is beating much too fast, and I feel wildly unstable. If I'm going to go into hysterics, I'd rather do it somewhere relatively private, and with someone who won't judge me, and is maybe too drunk to remember it the next day.

Now I have to figure out how to get to Nick's from here.

Chapter 23.

I'm stuck until Bobo Frederico-Tanya's friend-comes striding out the door I'm standing next to, his long black duster billowing out behind him.

I've only ever said hi to him once or twice in pa.s.sing, but I dart after him, shamelessly begging for a ride. Lucky for me, he's a pretty nice guy, despite the slightly bulging, black-rimmed eyes and the fierce scowl. I expect him to lead me to a battered black pedo-van with goat head decals and painted over windows, but he stops at a dark blue Mercedes. Emo or not, he still goes to Leclare.

On the drive to Nick's, I compliment Bobo on his costume, only to be told with perfect sincerity that he's not wearing a costume. Oops. I guess he's not insulted since he asks me out as he cruises to a stop in front of Nick's large Tudor style house.

The crazy thing is-I say yes. I give him my number and tell him to give me a call. He programs it into his phone, looking as dazed as I feel. Then he actually leans in for a kiss-which I automatically block with my hand. I'm p.i.s.sed at Johnny-but not that p.i.s.sed.

"Holy s.h.i.+t, you look great," Nick greets me at the door with a hug. He's grinning as he looks me up and down.

"Oh..." I forgot what I was wearing. "Um, how's the knee doing?"

"Great...after ten shots. I can't even tell if I'm standing." He moves aside to let me in. "What about you? How are you feeling after your close call yesterday?"

"Like a sixty year old smoker with a fifty year habit," I say with a laugh as I slide past him.

"I know how you feel. A couple years ago when I was into paintball, some d.i.c.k threw five smoke bombs out onto the field-right where I was standing. Man, I felt like jerky afterwards."

"Right? It can't be good for the complexion."

He awkwardly shuts the door, and gestures for me to follow him, limping a little. The inside of his house is gorgeous, but so cold, and the fancy brocade furniture looks like it belongs in a museum. Nick, in his ripped s.h.i.+rt and jeans, and tousled hair looks as out of place as I do.

He flops down on an uncomfortable-looking armchair that appears to have come out of a Jane Austen novel. "What's up?" he asks, propping his bad leg up on a fat round ottoman.

I perch on the loveseat next to him, and take a deep breath. "Okay, I, uh, heard some things tonight, and I...I need to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, s.h.i.+t," Nick mutters, letting his head fall back. "That doesn't sound good. Look, if this is about Johnny-I'm sorry, but he's one of my best friends. It's not for me to say-"

"Oh, no, I know," I say quickly, shaking my head. "I'm not asking you to rat him out, or anything. I just want you to confirm a few things for me, okay?"

"I'm way too drunk for this," he mumbles to the ceiling. Then he sits back up. "Okay...shoot."

Even though he tries not to, I catch his slightly bloodshot hazel eyes with my mine. "Johnny and Laundry-Dani. Were they ever a couple?"

"Uh, no," Nick replies cautiously. "Toward the end of junior year they, uh, hooked up a few times. But they were never serious."

So much for them being "just friends," as Johnny led me to believe! I want to snarl in fury, but I keep my features smooth for Nick's sake. If he knows how p.i.s.sed I am, he'd stop the information train to protect his friend. I have to be cool.

"Someone said they dated," I say, trying to sound relieved that they were only screw buddies.

"Nah." He s.h.i.+fts in the chair, carefully rearranging his leg. "They're friends. Johnny's never had a serious relations.h.i.+p until you. Of course, he messed that up. Hey, any chance you could give him a break? Dude's miserable without you."

"Could've fooled me," I say bitterly. "He looked happy as s.h.i.+t when he was glued against Dani tonight. But I guess that happens a lot when I'm not around, right?"

Nick's sleepy eyes suddenly widen. "Oh...uh-oh. Look, it's not what you think, Juliet. They really are just friends now. Johnny just started hanging out with her again. He felt bad 'cause...uh, maybe you should talk to him about this. I can call him-"

"No, thanks," I say with a growl. Then, leaning forward, I flash a smile that is probably terrifying. "I'd rather talk to you, Nick. You'll tell me the truth, right?"

For a second, Nick stares wistfully at the fancy green bottle of beer on an antique side table next to him. Then he sighs, and gives me a direct look. "Of course, I will. You're my friend, too, Juliet. But I swear, there's nothing to tell. They don't make plans to meet in secret. If they're both going to be somewhere, then they'll hang-as friends. But he won't talk to Dani around you because he knows it would upset you."

"And now I sound like a jealous b.i.t.c.h," I grumble, slumping against the hard back of the loveseat.

"Hey, I'm on your side." Nick holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Johnny would do anything to get you back-I know that for a fact."

"Well, tonight I was going to..." I trail off with a sigh. "Never mind. I need a drink. In fact, make that several. I'm pretty sure I need to be drunk right now."

He chuckles sympathetically. "Cheapest therapy around," he says, grabbing his beer and saluting me with it. He takes a deep swig of it while I watch him intently.

"No, I mean it," I say, sitting back up. I try to put on my most convincing face, despite my spider eyelashes and dead girl makeup. "I trust you, Nick. Will you help me get drunk?"

"You're serious." The grin seems to slide off his face.

"I am. And-" I hold up a hand to cut off his protests. "I'll do it without you-but wouldn't it be safer if I did it here where you could supervise me?"

"But...you don't like the taste of alcohol."

That reckless feeling settles over me, making my blood rush excitedly. "I'm sure you could whip up something that will taste decent," I say determinedly.

"Juliet, you shouldn't-"

"Please, Nick."

Seeing my stubborn expression, he takes a long drink from his beer before letting his head fall back. "Oh, s.h.i.+t."

"You sure about this?"

Nick leans forward, his forearms resting on the bar in front of him. I've washed off my makeup and painfully removed my fake eyelashes-now I sit on a tall stool across from him, with the half dozen bottles of Pinnacle that Nick fetched from downstairs in front of me.

There's a wild fluttering in my stomach, and my heart is pounding, but outwardly I'm calm. I don't know what's going on with me right now. I no longer feel in control of my actions-and it's kind of a relief. I just want to let go for one night.

"Let's do this," I say, rolling my shoulders like I'm preparing for a fight. I flash a confident smile at Nick, which he returns hesitantly.

"Okay," he says, and taps one of the bottles. "My dad got these for his girlfriend. She hates the taste of alcohol, but she says Pinnacle's flavored vodkas go down smooth, and they're really tasty."

I pick one out and study it, noting the strawberries on the label. "Have you tried them?" I ask skeptically.

"h.e.l.l, no." Nick laughs, giving a swift shake of his head. "Come on, now. These are girly drinks-you know I only drink the hardcore manly s.h.i.+t."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Manly," I say, rolling my eyes. "So what do recommend?"

He has me try several different flavors-and they're not bad! There's a mild burn, and kind of a sticky medicinal sweetness-but not enough to put me off. I love the whipped one, mixed with root beer-it's soo good, I could drink them all day!

I can't stop raving to Nick about how good they are, and it's only when I start snort/giggling that I realize...

"I'm drunk!" I exclaim, thunderstruck by the epiphany.

"Congratulations." Nick grins, and straightens me-as I'm tipping ever so slowly to my right. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any cuter..."

I feel flushed all over, and maybe like I have an inner ear infection-but not in a painful way. Also, it's like someone turned my volume way up. It's physically impossible for me to lower my voice. And why should I? I'm having fun!

We're hanging out in Nick's loft. The entire second floor landing is his s.p.a.ce, and it's awesome. The sectional sofa is furry and brown, and sitting on it is exactly like being cuddled by a giant teddy bear. In front of the sofa is a kicka.s.s giant television-we're talking movie theater proportions here, people. The loft is large enough to accommodate a pool table, several computers set up on sleek chrome-plated desk, and just about every other toy other boys who aren't stinking rich can only dream about. Nick has his own bar, for G.o.d's sake. What kind of dumba.s.s parent is Mr. Adler, I wonder. I hope I don't say that out loud.

We're sprawled on the furry sofa, watching angst-y eighties movies on Netflix. Nick seems really into it, but that could be because he's drunk, and on painkillers. It seems a bad combination to me, but he seems mostly fine. Drunk Nick is almost the same as Normal Nick, but more quietly intense.

I, however, am wonderfully exuberant. "What about prom, Blaine?!" I shout at the television screen. "G.o.d, Andie! Andeeeeeeee!"

"Oh, it's like that? What a d.i.c.k," Nick mumbles, genuinely p.i.s.sed. "Why does she even like him, anyway? He looks like something my dog would use to wipe its a.s.s on."

"Hey, that thing with the thing! In the beginning with the computer? That was so coop!" I sigh. Then I turn to Nick. "You have a dog?"

"Coop?" He laughs quietly. "I had a dog. He died."

"Aww, that's so cute!" I coo. And I start giggling, even though I know I shouldn't, because what is funny about a dead dog? I love dogs!

Fortunately, Nick starts laughing, too. He falls sideways into the cus.h.i.+ons, cracking up. Oh, my G.o.d, his laugh is so cute, and s.e.xy. Not high-pitched at all, like my dad when he gets excited when the Broncos score.

I'm having such a good time. I feel giddy, and overly warm, and kind of puke-y-but, like, in a good way. And I feel really s.e.xy. I'm very aware of my short skirt brus.h.i.+ng against my thighs every time I move, and I have the urge to spin in a circle so it flies around me so Nick can see what s.e.xy underwear I have on right now. I actually wore them for Johnny, but he's too busy hanging out with his "friend" and her panties.

I'm flirting with Nick. He's nice and hot, and his long lean body is like Johnny's, hard and muscled from football. I've always thought of him as just a friend, but Amanda, the party girl, has other ideas. Who's Amanda? But it's so wrong, but isn't that why I wanted to get drunk? So I could do stupid things and blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol?

Oh, G.o.d, I have to pee!

I laugh at everything Nick says, and lean against his warm side, pressing my arm against his. I keep smacking him, too-really hard, and I'm not sure why, except I might be a violent drunk.

"Hit me again, and I'm gonna spank you," Nick warns me with an evil little glint in his eye.

"You wouldn't," I say, letting my hand hover in the air between us. My head is spinning pleasantly.

"Try it," he dares. Right now, he's the picture of relaxation, leaning back against the furry cus.h.i.+ons.

I hover over him and move my hand just a little, intending to fake him out, but then he grabs my arm, incredibly quick. I'm pulled off balance and crash into him on the couch.

"You d.i.c.k!" I giggle, fl.u.s.tered and confused to find myself straddling Nick's lap.

I struggle to get off of him, but he grips my hip with one hand-and start to tickle me with the other. I hate being tickled! But for some reason, my screams come out as hysterical laughter. I'm desperate to get away because my bladder has just about reached the critical overflow point-but Nick is too strong.

"Nick, let me go!" I gasp between snorts of mirth, locking my arms against my sides in a futile attempt to ward him off.

"Huh, what was that? You're sorry?"

"I am! I'm sorry! I'd rather you spank me."

His fingers drill me mercilessly in the ribs. "Beg me to spank you."

I'm still squirming against him, giggling. "Please spank me!"

My hips abruptly come down over his-and suddenly I'm on fire. Nick catches my wide-eyed shock, and I feel his hands slide under my skirt to caress my a.s.s. His touch tickles, but feels good, too. Different. Hm...

He slowly pulls me toward him, until our lips meet in a tentative kiss that taste like alcohol and caramel. The kiss deepens and I wait for the feeling of wrongness to hit me-this is Nick, my friend. Johnny's best friend. We shouldn't be doing this.

I wait, but all I feel is a pleasant kind of numbness, and the wild need to pee. Crazily, it makes me kiss Nick all the more pa.s.sionately. I run my fingers through his soft golden brown hair and let my mind spin in brightly colored circles.

How can time seem to speed up and slow down at the same time? I guess it makes sense when you're wasted. We kiss and kiss, and my eyes keep drifting shut most of the time. I feel Nick tugging on my dress, pulling it up. I want him to, because my insides are perspiring, and he's a good kisser. Not s...o...b..ry like Tyson Rosewksi. That guy was a mess.

The first whispers of warning start to invade my consciousness when I'm half naked and Nick is undoing the b.u.t.ton of his jeans. But it's easy to ignore when he's making me feel so good. He moves me so I'm lying under him, and the soft couch under my bare back feels too soft, and too...real. I sigh luxuriously as he kisses his way down my neck.

My thoughts blur and become tangled and confused. One moment it's Johnny with his mouth and hands on me-then my eyes blink open, and it's Nick. I don't like how disoriented it makes me feel, so I keep my eyes tightly closed.

They stay that way through the discomfort, and the shocking, stinging pain. I want to curl up into myself until I disappear from existence. My body. Something profound is happening to it-and with the pain comes a nauseating clarity. And a frantic awareness of my bladder, which expands large enough to consume my entire ident.i.ty.

I am my bladder.

"Juliet," Johnny whispers into my ear as he moves against me.

"Johnny." I sigh.

"It's Nick."

"Huh?"

Seconds pa.s.s, hurtling me toward tomorrow, and a reality I'm certain I don't want to face. I loosen my grip on awareness, and let the rus.h.i.+ng fog ride me into oblivion.