Mended

CHAPTER 8 Radioactive

After the Cleveland show the dynamics of the bus changed—I had a lot of work to get done. Ivy hadn’t committed to staying with the band after the tour, and I doubted she would, so I was putting some feelers out trying to see who might be available. And the guys’ social lives were running rampant. Not only did Nix invite Phoebe to join him for the rest of the tour, but Leif seemed to be on a mission to get laid in every city as much as possible. This often meant a stowaway on board from one stop to the next. It also meant I ended up staying out of the galley as much as possible. Nix and Phoebe aren’t exactly quiet and Leif doesn’t care who hears.

Spending more time in the lounges hasn’t been all that bad, because surprisingly, Ivy seems to be doing the same. She wasn’t kidding about wanting to be friends. At some times it’s exhilarating and at others it’s exasperating, but at least we’re spending time together . . . We talk about nothing that matters, we eat together, we play video games, and even watch TV, but now we never do any of these things alone. Garrett is always with us, and the minute he leaves so does she—my guess is the friends thing is just as hard for her as for me, because while most of the hostility between us seems to have eased, the tension hasn’t.

Unfortunately something else has changed as well—Ivy can no longer go out without being recognized. The first few weeks with her trademark locks cut shorter, plus having been out of the limelight for almost a year, we were able to move around each city easily. But after the Detroit show, her performance was so dynamic that it went viral. Ivy has gotten in the habit of singing a cover at each performance, and that night’s cover was “I Knew You Were Trouble.” Her rave-y, edgy performance unhinged the audience and they went crazy. The way she sang that particular song made it come alive. She turned it into her own and I fucking loved it. It was catchy in her key and she gave it a rhythm and flow that rocked the audience. It exploded all over the Internet, and overnight the Wilde Ones became Ivy’s band and Ivy was being sought out. The next three stops after that we all stayed on the bus, and tonight is no different.

I’d fallen asleep early with my headphones on, and another fucking dream woke me up. My dreams come more and more frequently lately. For some reason my dad is weighing heavy on my mind during this tour. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he wanted this life and I wonder why he did when he had a family or if it’s because I’ve started to think about what kind of life I could have while doing this. Getting out of bed, I throw a shirt on and head to the front lounge to grab a bottle of water, and as I do, I hear voices and laughter from the back lounge. Heading that way, I take a whiff of the air and the smell of cigar smoke has me more than curious as to what’s going on.

Pausing in the doorway of the back lounge, I take in the scene. Everyone is sitting together and playing cards. Garrett is leaning back in a metal folding chair holding a drink in his hand with a cigar resting over the edge of a bowl. Nix is reclining comfortably in one of the club chairs tapping one hand on the table while holding his cards in the other. Ivy, sitting in the other club chair, is wearing black sleep pants with some print all over them and a white tank top. Again she’s wearing no makeup and has her hair pulled back—she looks so much like she did when she was eighteen. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Even when she throws her cards on the table with a disgusted look on her face she’s still sexy as fuck. Leif glances around the circle with a huge-ass grin on his face and fans his cards out almost methodically before laying them down. “Full house, aces high,” he says and pulls the pile of guitar picks his way.

Garrett slams his drink down. “I’m out fifty bucks, thanks to your sorry ass. I think you’re cheating.”

Leif just laughs at him and continues to rake in the pot. Phoebe throws her cards in and gets up from her chair to sit on Nix’s lap. She’s an attractive girl—average height, maybe a little shorter than Ivy, with chin-length dark hair. Her skin tone is very close to Nix’s. I’d guess that she’s either Italian or Hispanic.

I stand silent in the doorway, continuing to watch them, but mostly watching Ivy. She pulls her legs up in the chair and wraps her arms around her knees. When I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn, she glances my way. A small smile forms on her lips, and her eyes sweep over me before they lock on mine. I grin at her and button up my shirt before joining the group. She drops her eyes and stretches her legs out over the empty chair next to her. I wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at me like that and why when I catch her doing it she always looks away.

Garrett looks up. “Hey, man, glad you decided to wake up. Welcome to the party.”

He looks like such a clown gripping that cigar between his teeth and talking around it. He motions to the chair Ivy has her legs on. “Perfect timing. We need another. Phoebe quit playing and I’m about to unless my luck turns.” He takes a puff on his cigar and coughs a little. I bite back the laughter. Phoebe’s not happy as the cigar smoke wafts her way. She waves it out of her face and makes an exaggerated choking noise before resting her head against Nix’s shoulder.

“John’s going to beat your ass for smoking in here,” I scold him, more mocking than serious, although John just might do that.

He sets his cigar back down in the bowl. “Then I’ll have to explain to him that a fine cigar is just like a woman. If you don’t light it up at the right time and suck on it with a certain ferverence, it’ll go out on you.” He waves his arms to the right, where the window blinds are pulled up. “And besides, I opened all the windows.”

Everyone laughs, even Ivy. I look around at the glasses on the table and I know they’ve all been hitting the wine pretty hard. Glancing sideways, I notice there are at least four empty bottles in the sink of the bar area and another open one on the small counter.

Nix looks at Garrett dumbfounded. “Ferverence? Is that even a word and where the hell did you pick it up? Wheel of Fortune? Jeopardy!? Either way, you’re watching too much fucking TV.”

I don’t say anything to that. I just throw two twenties on the table. “Deal me in.”

Nix reaches around Phoebe to take my money and shoves a bunch of picks my way and I notice the glass in front of him has an amber-colored liquid in it—definitely not wine.

“And I’ll have what you’re drinking,” I tell him.

I glance down at Ivy’s legs stretched across the chair. Her feet are bare and her nails are painted red. “May I?” I ask. My gaze fastens on hers. I wait for her response.

She pulls her legs off the chair and sinks as far as she can back into her own seat. “Welcome to the game.”

I sit down and lean forward, inching my way closer to her to take the drink Nix hands me. I take a sip before setting it down on the table and notice she’s still watching me. I divert my eyes only when Leif asks, “No wine, man? It’s the good stuff. I picked it up at a local vineyard yesterday.”

Raising my glass, I say, “I’m good.”

He feigns offense.

I try not to stare as Ivy raises her glass for a sip, but when my eyes catch her mouth, I can’t keep from watching. She licks her lips and says, “I really like it.” I know she’s answering Leif, but I feel like she’s talking to me, and I can’t help but smile—my mind wandering to thoughts of what I know she likes.

Slamming his hand in front of me, Garrett slips in, “I’ll take your money any day of the week.”

I look over toward him as he gulps the rest of the liquid in his glass. “I doubt you’ll be taking my money because if memory serves me correctly, I’m the one who taught your scrawny thirteen-year-old ass how to play this game.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t use money back then, just beer bottle caps, and I was usually the one who drank most of the beer.”

“You were so funny when you drank. You just couldn’t handle your alcohol,” Ivy blurts out. It’s the first time any of us has talked about being together when we were younger, and I notice that her gaze flitters from Garrett’s face to mine before she looks down at the table. When she reaches out to push some chips forward, her hand grazes mine. The skin on my arm prickles and the electricity between us sparks immediately. She quickly moves her hand away and crosses her arms over her chest, but I already noticed her nipples harden from our encounter. I want more than anything to sit in that chair with her on my lap. To slip my arm around her waist and pull her close to me like I always did when we played poker with River and his friends.

“Cold?” I ask, wishing I could drape my body over hers and warm her up.

Flushing, she rubs her arms. “Yes, I am. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a sweater.” At least I didn’t get the finger.

She stands up and I watch her step across the room and then disappear through the doorway. A few minutes later she’s back with a sweater wrapped around her and when she sits down, I can smell her sweet scent in the air.

Nix shuffles the cards around Phoebe like he’s a dealer in Vegas.

“You smell good,” I mumble in her direction.

Her cheeks turn pink again and I just smirk at her. I know she sprayed some kind of perfume on when she grabbed her sweater.

Nix continues to shuffle the cards and his eyes dart to Garrett. “You in or out?”

“In,” he says with a scowl, and adds, “But if I lose this one, I’m done, busted, broke, annihilated. Do I need to go on?”

“Whatever, dude, just stop whining and ante up. You’re holding up the game.”

Garrett throws his picks in the middle of the table, and Nix sets the deck down next to Ivy. She cuts it and finally he deals. She gets the first card, since she is to Nix’s immediate left. I get mine next. I stare at the two cards beside each other on the table and try to block memories of playing this game alone with her years ago in my grandparents’ pool house. We didn’t play for money, though—we played for clothes. I’m sure she remembers. Once the cards are dealt, she leans a little my way and I can smell that fresh, soapy scent even more. I get lost in it and those memories come flooding back.

“Xander, snap out of it. What are you doing?” Nix calls me out.

I blink, realizing I haven’t even looked at the cards in my hand. “I’ll raise,” I say, tossing four picks in the middle.

Everyone starts laughing except Ivy. She leans toward me and whispers in my ear. “I checked.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Her body stiffens and she sits back in her chair.

I turn my attention to the guys. “So I’m tired. Give me a fucking break. I meant to say I’d open. Either way, see it or fold, assholes.”

Needless to say, the first hand ends with me losing. As the game continues, Garrett’s luck seems to have changed. He’s raking it in. About two hours later, the room’s a little fuzzy and if Ivy moves any closer to me I think I’m going to lose it in my pants right here. Shit, I have to get my dick under control.

“Last hand of the night,” Nix calls and deals the cards.

Nix makes his way around the table, but Leif tosses his hand down. “I fold.”

Garrett lights the tip of his cigar again and inhales before showing us his cards. “Call it a straight, baby, all the way,” he boasts.

Ivy smiles and lays her cards flat but upside down. “I fold too.”

“I’m out of this fucking game,” Nix calls out, running his fingers down Phoebe’s bare arms.

I look at the cards in my hand. Rubbing my nails on my chest, then blowing on my cards, I grin. “Four of a kind. Pay up, buddy.” I slowly fan my cards out. Garrett’s face falls like the cigar he’s stubbing out.

“What the fuck, Ivy?” he blurts out.

Everyone looks her way and back at Garrett, who has his hands up in surrender, grinning ear to ear. Nix gestures Phoebe off his lap and Garrett’s up and running. Leif and Nix fly after him.

Ivy quickly pushes the scattered cards on the table into a pile. Her cheeks are bright red. She’s so busted. Here I’m thinking she wants to be close to me. That she doesn’t even know she’s driving me nuts when in actuality she’s signaling my cards to Garrett. I glare down toward the floor and spot a number of cards under the table. Looking back up at her, I say, “Ivy?”

She glances up at the sound of her name but quickly averts her gaze. Bending under the table, I pick up the cards and slide them to her with a smirk on my face. Her fierce eyes catch mine and they are cautious, focused, nervous even, as her stare tries to break mine. I notice that the color in her eyes is more liquid blue than gray today. Beautiful. It’s inviting me, calling my name, so I don’t look away. Instead I keep her pegged and stand up to hover over her. Her breathing picks up speed the closer I lean in, and I’m well aware of the attraction between us.

With no one around to pay any attention to us, I corner her and cage her with my arms. She’s waiting for me to look into her face, but I cut my eyes away. Our faces are close and our bodies are like magnets, drawn to each other. I finally fix my attention on her. A piece of hair has fallen in her eyes and I push it aside. Tucking it behind her ear, I whisper, “Ivy.”

She murmurs something I can’t understand, then closes her eyes. I swallow, my mouth dry. I want to ask her what she said. I want to tell her to open her eyes and look at me. I consider kissing her—I’m pretty sure she’d let me, but I don’t. Instead I get close enough that her breath passes over my skin like a caress. I let my pants rub against her stomach and a small sigh escapes her throat. When I’m as close as I can be without actually lying on top of her, I whisper in her ear, “Who would have thought?”

I’m not sure why I chose to call her out, but when she pushes me away and runs out of the room, I really wished I had kissed her.

The next afternoon, the bus is hauling ass to Jersey and I’m spending a rare moment alone in the galley. I’m in my cubby playing around with a song on my guitar when I feel her stare on me. When I glance up, she looks younger again. She has no makeup on, she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and her hair is pulled back. She’s gorgeous.

“I thought I heard you. What are you playing?” she asks.

“Actually I’m working on something for you.”

She laughs. “Oh yeah. Since when do you write songs?”

I chuckle. “I don’t, but I have this idea that I’ve been wanting to run by you.”

“Okay, I’m intrigued. What is it?”

I pat the spot next to me on my bed, and her eyes grow cautious. “I’m not going to attack you, Ivy. I just want to show you something.”

She crosses the space and sits next to me, then looks around. “I’ve never seen where you live,” she jokes.

Grinning at her, I say, “Well, it’s not home. That’s for sure.”

“Movies, music videos, a picture of your family—it’s enough to see you’re still the same guy.”

“Same guy I was in high school? I think I’d have to disagree with that.”

“Well, I think you are.”

I bow my head and look at the strings on the guitar. One thing I know for certain is that I’m not, but it’s nice that she thinks I am.

“Garrett told me you just started playing the guitar again on this tour. Why did you stop? You loved it, and you were so good at it.”

“Ivy, there is so much you don’t know.”

She turns to face me, propping a knee up as she twists sideways. “You mean about your father’s death.”

My throat tightens with emotion. “No, I mean about his suicide.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to.

She nods. “I know, but I wish I did.”

We stare at each other, communicating without talking. We’ve been walking this line between friends and not, between friends and lovers, between I don’t know what since this tour started. She knows she’s digging deep and I’m not sure I’m ready to uncover the things I’ve buried.

She rests her hand on my leg. “Xander, you can tell me anything. You can talk to me.”

I wait a beat before answering. My pulse is racing, but I’m not sure if it’s from our contact or the conversation. “Let’s talk about you and what I’ve been working on.”

She pulls her hand to her lap and smiles automatically. It’s a cross between forced and genuine—one I’ve never seen before. “Okay. Spill it,” she says, her tone neutral.

I’m not sure if she’s relieved or offended. I take a breath to steady my voice. “I want to make a video. Take a song like ‘Last Time’ and maybe add percussion, strings, and then I want you to chant over them.”

Her eyes go wide and a huge, genuine smile crosses her face. “You want me to be the girl being sung about in the song, don’t you?”

I nod.

“That’s brilliant,” she responds. Full of enthusiasm, she takes my guitar. “Here, let me show you. Something like this, right?”

She plays a few chords and I get caught up in her movements—the way her fingers dance over the strings, the ease with which she moves her body to the rhythm. This is the real Ivy—the one not putting on a show. The girl who loves music like I do. The reason I fell in love with her to begin with.

She points her finger at me. “You missed your cue.”

I laugh. “You want me to sing the song?”

“Yes. Just take the lead and I’ll interject,” she directs me and starts playing again, tapping her foot.

I have to stop myself from watching her, from thinking this is what we could have been doing together for years. I sing the first verse, but I’m not a singer, so I’d say I talked the first line.

We can’t keep doing this going back and forth thing that we do.

You get mad at me and then slam the door.

I apologize and you open it back up.

But, baby, we keep doing it, and this time it’s the last time.

Ivy bobs her head and closes her eyes, letting the words just flow out.

I know we’re so dysfunctional that it can’t be any good.

Sometimes love just isn’t enough.

But for us it should be, because two wrongs can only make a right.

So, baby, let’s keep this and make every time the first time.

She stops and opens her eyes. My thoughts are racing. The words she can create off the cuff blow me away. And her talent—the way she blends sadness, tenderness, and passion, making them feel like one emotion with just a change in her tone, is why she is the singer that she is. I’m so lost in my awe of her I don’t even notice that she’s set the guitar down until her hands are on my face and her lips are on mine. With a sharp intake of breath I feel their softness, their familiarity. She tastes like peppermint and smells like heaven. My head spins with raw need—a need to devour her, consume her, own her, and make her mine, this time forever. I pull her onto my lap, my hands cupping her ass, placing her right where I need her. I want to touch all of her at once. My fingers slide under her shirt and dig into her flesh, then around to feel her perfect nipples. She wraps her legs around me and my cock throbs so much it hurts. All I can think about is stripping off her clothes, being inside her, and fucking her for days.

“Um, Ivy, sorry to interrupt, but Damon’s on the phone and he says it’s urgent,” Leif says in a rather uncomfortable tone.

She jumps off my lap immediately. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Leif leaves the galley and I grasp her wrist and tug her back to me, but she resists.

“Ignore the call,” I tell her, standing up and stepping closer to her.

She backs toward the door.

I put a hand on the wall next to her head. “Ivy, don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, Xander. I shouldn’t have done that. I just can’t be that close to you.”

I look down at her. “Why not? I’ve gone along with the friends thing, but clearly we both want more.”

Her voice cracks as she whispers, “Because, Xander, my body might want you but my heart doesn’t.”

The pain in her voice collapses everything I am, everything I have to give. She turns and walks out without a single backward glance . . . leaving my good mood shattered and a knife twisting in my gut.

It’s a rainy, miserable day when we arrive in Jersey, and the weather does nothing to improve my mood. The heat and humidity are unbearable and the rain just fucking sucks. We’re late and rush into the stadium. We do a quick sound check and head backstage.

“Are you as sweaty as I am?” Ivy asks Leif.

“My balls are sitting in a puddle of water. Does that answer your question?” He grins at her.

Leif directs his gaze my way and asks, “What’s with the air in the building?”

“How the fuck would I know? Do I look like the maintenance man?” I snap. His response to Ivy got under my skin, but really I’m pissed that he interrupted us this afternoon for her to take a call from that prick.

“Sorry. I was really just making a comment, not asking you directly.”

I nod and steer the band toward a padded blue table in the NFL training room at New Jersey’s MetLife Stadium. I throw the playlist on the table. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I tell them all as a general statement. Ivy and I haven’t spoken to each other since this afternoon. I’m feeling really fed up with the whole situation, so when Amy texted me and told me Breathless was spending the night in Jersey and could I meet her for a drink before the show—I said yes.

The streetlights flicker on as we exit the bar and cross the road. The sun has set, but the sky is still overcast and the clouds are situated in a way that prevents us from seeing the moon.

“Do you want to have dinner or do you have to get back?” Amy asks.

I glance at my watch and calculate the minutes until the show starts. I’m trying to decide if I should leave now or just skip it. Even if I leave now I’ll be late, so I opt for skipping it and calling to check in instead.

“Dinner sounds great.”

“My hotel has a great restaurant. What do you say?”

“Anywhere is fine with me. I just need a few minutes to check on things.”

We walk to Amy’s hotel and she goes ahead to get a table and I stop in the lobby and make a few calls. When I hang up I feel comfortable that the show is going to run smoothly without me and go to seek out Amy.

We’re seated across from each other in a booth in the dimly lit restaurant. I order my third scotch on the rocks of the night and decide to drink this one a little slower than the first two.

She chats about her job and we compare the cities we’ve both been in. Then the topic of conversation suddenly changes.

“Damon Wolf is buying up as many small production companies and record labels as he can,” Amy tells me.

The mere mention of that asshole’s name makes me want to grind my teeth together. She seems to have some kind of preoccupation with him and I’m trying to keep my cool. “I really don’t give a shit about Damon Wolf,” I snap.

She gives me an easy smile, ignoring my hostility, and changes the topic. “So how’s the new lead singer doing?”

I shrug. “She’s doing pretty good. Her and the guys got most of the songs down.” I leave it at that and gulp the rest of my drink.

She eyes me. “Everything with you going okay?”

I nod toward the waiter. “Yes, it’s great. I’m just hungry. I don’t think I ate anything all day.”

The waiter approaches and we order our food and I order another drink. For the first time, I don’t want to be out with Amy. Our relationship has always been casual and we’ve always gotten along really well, but tonight she seems to be pushing all my buttons.

She passes the rolls, and conversation with dinner seems to go better. We talk about music and bands, and the topics stay neutral. Once I pay the bill, I lean my head back in the booth and close my eyes. “I should get going.” My words come out slurred.

“Are you drunk?” Amy asks, the word rolling off her tongue in a nonaccusatory way.

“Yes,” I answer proudly and open my eyes. “I think I am.”

She reaches across the table to place her hand over mine. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and sleep it off?”

I have to grin, because a night out with Amy always ends up the same way. “Sure, why not? But the bus is pulling out first thing in the morning for New York City and I have to be back.”

“Xander, I’m sure you’ll be up, and if not, the bus is moving less than twenty miles away. You could always take a cab.”

I laugh. “Yeah, when you put it like that it does sound kind of ridiculous. I just wonder if the bus would wait for me.”

She giggles and stands up from the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

The elevator ride seems to last forever and the walk to her room seems even longer. When we finally arrive, she unlocks the door and ushers me in.

“Want a drink?” she asks.

“I think I’m good,” I reply.

I sit in one of the chairs, hoping that will stop the room from spinning.

“I’m going to brush my teeth. I’ll be right back,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom.

I close my eyes and start to fade away, but her voice jolts me up.

“You seem off tonight. Are you okay?” she asks for the second time this evening.

I straighten up and look over at her. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping great lately.” I try to focus on her. She’s got a toothbrush in her mouth and she’s leaning against the bathroom door wearing nothing but some sexy underwear. She looks hot, and my body responds before my mind can think. She turns back into the bathroom and after a few minutes she turns the light off and crosses the room. She kneels in front of me and presses her palms on my thighs. She slides her hands upward to my zipper and tugs it down.

“Let me help you get undressed,” she says.

There’s nothing I want more at this moment than to forget Ivy, but I can’t do that to Amy. If I do this with her it would just make me more of an asshole than I’ve already been tonight.

“Amy, no,” I whisper, trying to sober up and stop her before she frees my half-hard cock.

She looks at me wide-eyed. “Why?”

“I just can’t right now. I’ve had too much to drink.”

“You look fine to me,” she says, staring at my erection.

“Not because of that.”

She stands up with a sad smile. “Oh. Right. I get it.”

“I think I should get back to the bus and see how the show went.”

“Xander, you can talk to me, you know. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Amy, really I’m just tired,” I lie.

“Okay. But at least let me drive you back. Jane rented a car and had me run errands earlier, so I still have the keys.”

I nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

She pulls out a shirt and a pair of shorts from her suitcase and slips them on, then pockets the car keys and we leave.

With a crash and a bang, I manage to pull the door to the bus open and climb the steps. I stand there in the entrance to the front lounge and brace myself against the doorframe. Amy slides under my arm. I think she thinks I need help walking, but really I’m just more tired than drunk.

“I’m home,” I announce. As the words come out, I can hear my speech. It’s slightly slurred. My eyes are glassy, I’m sure.

Garrett raises an eyebrow. “You’re drunk, man. What happened to you?”

I shrug and stand there silently as I look into Ivy’s eyes. She’s sitting at the table watching me. Her eyes fill with hurt as she studies the situation.

“Hi, Garrett,” Amy says.

“How are you? How’d you get stuck with him?”

Amy laughs. “I asked him to meet me for a drink.”

Narrowing her eyes on Amy, Ivy stands up.

“Hi, Ivy,” Amy says to her. “How’s the tour going?”

Ivy glares at her with a look I’ve never seen before. “It’s great,” she says benignly. “I was just going to bed,” she adds and hurries out of the room.

Garrett comes over and hoists me up, relieving Amy of my weight, which I seem to have bestowed upon her.

“What’s with her?” I ask Garrett.

“You. You’re an asshole.”

My lip curls. “Clue me the fuck in. Why am I an asshole?”

“We were worried about you. You’ve never missed a show. We’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and squint at the screen. “Never heard it. It’s still on VIBRATE from rehearsal.” And laughing, I add, “I never felt it, either.”

He rolls his eyes at me.

“I didn’t know I needed to check in.”

“You don’t, man. Forget it. Come on, let me help you to your bed,” he says, moving toward the door. The air still smells like Ivy and I breathe it in.

I turn around. “Sorry about tonight,” I tell Amy.

“Don’t worry about it. You were actually a lot of fun and pretty entertaining.”

“Well, thank you for everything.” Meanwhile I’m wondering how the hell she thinks I was the least bit fun.

She places her hand over her smiling mouth like she’s putting on a show. “My pleasure,” she says, then adds, “I think I saw on your schedule that we’re both in Bristow, Virginia, next month. Call me and you can make it up to me then.”

“I will.” I’m starting to feel like the asshole Garrett just called me.

“’Bye, Garrett,” she says.

“Thanks for the delivery,” Garrett responds.

She climbs down the steps and disappears, waving to me as she goes.

“You’re a real knight in shining armor,” Garrett says mockingly, shaking his head.

I break loose from his grip. “I got this, man. I need a shower before I have to lie down and listen to the porn show going on.”

He laughs. “I’m guessing you were too drunk to get laid, then.”

“You could say that,” is all I say before hitting a cold shower for the second time today.