Snow Flakes (Burnt Ashes #0.5) (3 page)

The light… It burns. I totally get how Gollum felt with the string on him, writhing in agony. I swear to God, I am never going to touch a drink again. Ever. All right. Thinking that alcohol might help makes me kind of want to wrap my lips around a big ol’ bottle of bourbon and draw from it until the pain at the back of my head turns into a burn in my chest. The only problem with that is the fact that if I have a mouthful of any spirit first thing in the morning, I start heaving.

“Morning, man. How’re you feeling?” Chace asks.

I lift my head lazily, but it sends more pulsing pains to the back of it. “I feel awesome,” I say, wincing. “It’s everyone else!”

“That makes no sense, dude!”

“Can you blame me?” I ask. “I just woke up and haven’t had any coffee.” That was a subtle hint for Chace to get his ass in gear and put the pot on.

Slowly, I try and stand up, pulling the blanket off. I’m lying in bed alone. It’s kind of like Russian roulette. Sometimes I wake up alone; other times, I don’t. I blame alcohol for making me such a romantic. The next step is the same as every other morning. I walk proudly to the bathroom, my boxer briefs tenting, and try to pee in the right direction. Which, just so we’re clear, is hard to do with an erection. I mean, you point down and it starts bucking and, before you know it, it’s like there’s been a sprinkler in the bathroom.

I come out of the bathroom and see Chace in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal, watching some cartoons. “What happened last night?” I groan.

The noise from the telly, and the morning musky aroma is just too much for my senses and sensibilities right now… That’s a thing, right? Sensibilities? It’s kinda like old-fashiony. Is that even a word? Bah… I flop myself on the couch and look around for something to eat or drink.

“Well, you were still half cut from the night before, you started drinking the minute we finished our set, then you passed out.”

“That it?” I ask, my voice feeling thick and dry, like I have an itchy woollen cloth blocking my throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Chace says, looking away from the TV to actually address me, milk running down his chin. “You know that bartender you always hit on at the Drake?”

I frown, not entirely sure who he means. “Sorry, man. I am drawing a blank.” Flashes of auburn hair float through my head, the effort causing the thudding of my murderous headache to intensify. “Did she have red hair?” I ask through gritted teeth. Chace is back to watching TV and absently trying to eat his cereal. He nods. “Did Logan make off with her? Or Sam?” I squeeze out the question, barely above a whisper.

“Nope. Her boyfriend turned up and she bailed,” Chace says, turning the TV off. He puts the bowl in front of him on the shabby coffee table, tattoo magazines strewn all over, and starts to stretch.

“Hey, are you going over to Braden’s tomorrow for Christmas dinner?” he asks. I think about my answer and grimace in both pain and discomfort. The pain is from my killer hangover. The discomfort is from the thought of what I will actually be doing.

“I wish, man, but I have to go visit my folks…”

Chace nods. “Understandable. ‘Tis the season, and all that.”

“You?” I ask.

“I told Sam I would help him and his dad at his bar. They’re short on staff. So we’re probably going to get to Braden’s, but it’s gonna be late.”

“Oh...,” I say glumly. The thought of having to deal with my family makes my headache worse. I’m the baby of the family. Well, actually, I’m the
only
child and my mom babies me. That’s not a problem. It’s just that my step-dad is such a dick. He’s always like “So, Trey, when are you going to come to work at my carpet warehouse?” Fuck that. That guy is such a tool.

“What’s up, T? You look like you drifted off.”

“Drink related,” I say. I don’t think he buys it, but he’s up in the next instant, heading into his room to find some clean clothes.

The thing about my step-dad is that I once caught him at his work with a receptionist. I fucking flew at him, and he called the cops. When I told my mom, she said I was just making it up because I didn’t want her to be happy. The guy always looks so fucking proud of himself, too. I hate it. I hate being home. Do you know how weird it is to go home and feel so alienated? Home is supposed to be the place where you are most comfortable, where you can be yourself. When I’m there, I just feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Oh, and to top it off, his jokes are the worst. The only funny bone in that guy’s body is the one he took from a priest when he was kid. Fucking asshole.

“All right, man,” Chace says, walking out of his bedroom, wearing a crisp white shirt and black tie. Sam’s dad runs a pretty high-end restaurant and bar. Sam never really talks much about it, though. He just gets this fiery look in his eye. I figure if his home life is half as bad as mine, he’d probably rather not talk about it. “I’m fuckin’ off.” He grabs a leather jacket and beanie cap, then scoops his phone into his coat pocket as he slips his sleeves in. “You know the drill. Lock up, yadda yadda.” I nod. He studies me for a bit longer before closing the door.

Chace is one perceptive motherfucker. I mean, I am sure he has a genius IQ. He acts dumb in front of me and the guys, but there’s something I have only noticed since we got a bitching bachelor pad together. I am kind of scared to watch Jeopardy with the dude. He really freaks me out because he mumbles the answers!

As much as I would love to sit in this spot all day and nurse away my hangover, I am going to have to get washed and fuck off, too. Time to see my mom and the nasty toolbox who’s living with her.

“When are you going to grow up, Samuel? It’s never going to happen,” his angry voice thunders. I try my best not to wince.

“Dad, you haven’t heard us. We’re really good,” I say earnestly.

“Yeah?” he scoffs. “When has anything you have ever said or done sounded good?” His words hit me harder than I would like to admit. “Sooner or later, you are going to pull your fucking head out of the clouds, and you are going to see what a good thing it is here.”

“Sure, Dad…,” I groan. I finish polishing a sixteen ounce tumbler and put it back on the shelf.

“Excuse me?” he says, setting his pencil down on the invoice ledger.

“We got offered a spot last night. We get to perform there on a regular basis. If we draw in enough people, we’ll even start to get a cut of the—”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re just like those fucking other losers on Myspace.” He smiles sinisterly before leaning back over his ledger. He has a half-filled glass of bourbon next to him, his second of the morning, and it is only ten am. I struggle to bite my tongue, knowing what will happen if I say anything else.

“What?” he chides, throwing back the two fingers worth of caramel-coloured mixed grain, blowing out a huff from the effort. “Nothing to say?” My blood runs cold. He is only like this around Christmas…

“Come on, Dad. Give it a break.”

“Gooooooood morning!” Chace says, walking through the front door, taking his coat and beanie off. “Good morning, Collin. How are you today?”

“Collin?” my dad snaps. My gut feels like it has been flash frozen in liquid nitrogen. “Since when are we on a first name basis?”

“Since I am not trying to date your boy, I don’t need to address you as mister, right?” My dad grunts in response. “How’re you, Sam? Your head hurting from last night?” Chace asks.

“I feel great. Just great,” I say, looking at my dad. Honestly, I feel so goddamn relieved Chace came in when he did. My dad should be more hospitable with him here. I think it’s just the drink. It makes him leery.

“Whatever happened to that blonde you took to practice?”

“She, uh—”

“Blonde? I know it can’t be a girl, so what’re we talking about? A golden retriever?!” my dad jokes.

I half smile, but continue with the glasses before moving on to restocking the fridge. My dad wanders over, putting his empty glass on the bar. “Two more fingers, barkeep,” he orders. I move to the glass, then hesitate. Chace is still putting his things away.

“Dad, don’t you think you’ve had enough? It’s still early in the mor—”

He reaches over the bar, and grabs me by the front of the shirt, pulling me close. A button pops off as I register his face twisted with rage, his breath smelling so sour that I can feel my eyes starting to water, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he fumes. “You’re a fuckin’ dishrag. You were a cunt the day you slithered out from your mother, and you’re a cunt now…just like her!”

He reaches for his glass and, my blood boiling, I pull back, dragging him across the bar. I can’t hear anything over the rush of blood between my ears. Chace comes running out and leaps on my dad’s back, locking his arms around his head. My eyes go wide as I scamper out from underneath the two. I reach for Chace to loosen his grip, while my dad’s face is now turning shades of purple.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” Chace shouts. He doesn’t relinquish his hold, so I run up and boot him in the shoulder, watching as he rolls off. In pain, my dad immediately turns to him, gasping for breath, his eyes red with fury. He reaches for his slugger, an old college baseball bat, and uses it to help him stand before he moves to raise it above his head. Chace’s eyes widen in shock and confusion.

“Don’t, Dad! Please! He whips his head around to me, still breathing heavily, and takes a swing, smashing everything on the top two shelves, raining broken shards of glass on Chace, who starts to scoot backwards, kicking up the rubber mat placed behind the bar to prevent slipping. My dad moves to follow.

“I’m gonna have to teach you two some respect!” he cries. Chace backs into the mini fridge with a thud, rattling the bottles inside. He’s trapped with nowhere to go, and my dad knows it.

What the hell was she
thinking
wearing an outfit like that? There I was, completely lost in the music, the sound blaring, warm air rushing over me, lights refracting off my fender when, all of sudden,
she
was there. A light among the darkness, a beacon for hope in a bleak world. Mackayla Smith. She was staring right at me, looking almost bashful, daring me to look at her. I could see she was attracting the attention from both the men and women that surrounded her. She didn’t move to the music. Instead, she remained stationary, like a pillar among the tide. Braden’s “steady” friend was dressed similarly, but she seemed to be having no effect on the guy. Braden has never announced the two were an item. However, he’s also never said they weren’t.

It’s Christmas Eve. I have no family to speak of, and have been invited to Braden and Mac’s to have dinner. I don’t think you can get more suburban, but Mac insists on doing it, so I have to go. Maybe I should grab her a present? That’s normal, right? That’s what friends do, isn’t it? They buy each other gifts, as long as it isn’t edible underwear or something equally as scandalous. Then again, if I did, the look on Mac’s face would be priceless.

A figure next to me begins to stir. All I can make out is her bare back and shoulders, silvery blonde hair strewn over the pillows shielding them, keeping them, and me, dormant. I can’t say I remember her name, nor can I say I remember her face. I carefully lift the sheet covering us. She fidgets and lets out a long and, if I do say so myself, satisfied groan, and slowly rolls over to appraise me. I offer her a friendly smile, while she registers my existence. Her eyes are green, heavy makeup is smeared all around her face, her lipstick is smudged, and one eyelash extension is falling off.

“Hey,” she offers.

“Good morning
, chica
,”
I purr.

“I wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” she says, taking on a childish inflection that I find kind of endearing, but it also makes me question just who the hell I climbed into bed with.

“Well, sweetheart, it was a pretty simple decision on my part. You see, I can’t seem to find my wallet, phone, pants, or socks. In fact, it seems that the only thing I now possess is what I am wearing!” I say, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. She smiles and sends a little giggle into her pillow before guiltily raising her head, offering a coy sort of smile. The only thing I am now wearing is the same thin vest I had on last night. She sends one hand out slowly towards me, as she crawls across the bed.

“You’re going to have to earn them,” she says, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. My cock, excited about being offered more playtime, starts to quiver.

Come on, Logan. Think. Do I really want to fuck this girl again? Okay, stupid question, but should I? And why do I feel so on edge? Is it because she thought ahead and got rid of my means of escape?

My next thought is quickly erased with the supple feel of her breast as she mounts me. Her slender hand forces mine to cup her breast, while she leans forward on me, using her other hand to insert my erect cock inside her. Biting her lip, she pulls her hand back as she slowly slides down, her eyes fluttering. She reaches out and grabs hold of my vest and, in one swift move, rips it in half.

Dios mío!

That probably shouldn’t have turned me on as much as it has, seeing as it is my only top, but my god...

“I love you, Braden,” she moans as my hands slowly slide down her torso to rest on her hips.

She begins moving slowly against me, and I push up harder, thrusting deeper as she casts out a yelp of joy. I hold her steady, stopping her from moving against me. “My name is Logan.”

She looks down at me and shrugs. “Whatever. Just fuck me, okay?”

This girl is classy. Where was she when I was a frustrated teenager? The only problem I have, other than being called my best friend’s name, is that she also used the “L” word. I try to close my eyes and get back in the mood because, heaven knows, my dick is having a great time. He is in his element but, ironically, I feel like the third wheel at a wedding.

“So...,” I begin, the words whizzing and whirring through my head like a hive of angry bees. “You love Braden?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she continues rocking back and forth, her fingertips light and persistent, scratching against my chest. “Choke me,” she groans.

Her answer flummoxes me a little. So now she wants me to torture it out of her? That sick feeling that had begun in the bottom of my stomach when I realised she must have taken my clothes begins to churn again. A few minutes tick by while she continues to buck to and fro, her hair occasionally draping over the two of us, encapsulating us in that moment like a wreath of Spanish moss, removing us from the room, from the world, making it difficult to keep my head on straight, especially with the uneasy feeling of the possible condition of this woman’s sanity. She cups my hands and slides them up her bare body, resting them on the nape of her neck. “Choke. Me,” she cries.

Something really doesn’t feel right but, being the gentleman I am, I can hardly tell the woman no. So I start to exert a little bit of pressure. Her eyes widen, her riding begins to become more manic, her hands claw my bare skin. I wince in pain, as the continued rhythm she offers begins to draw me closer to climax. It occurs to me then that I am riding “bareback”, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. The sinking feeling that had been overshadowed by the fact that my head was in the clouds, wondering about my clothes, wondering about this lady’s mental well-being… I should have left the place in the early hours of the morning like I had planned. I should have gotten out while I had a chance, naked or not.

“Oh, my fucking god. I’m coming… I’m coming… I’m…”

I am starting to panic that I may have squeezed a little too hard because her voice is coming through raspy and strained. She is gasping for air…and loving every minute. Her hand catches on my nipple bar, and my body tenses. I had gotten my nipple pierced to prove I don’t hate my nipples being grabbed, when I do. I must’ve been purple-nurpled severely as a child, only I can’t recall it. The minute I do, I feel like an animal being startled by rumbling thunder.

My body is rigid. As she bucks and wails, a warm and wet sensation comes over me, but I’m not going to come. I am too freaked out to. As long as I didn’t think of Mac, especially like she was last night… The red velvet hugging her body, fitting to her like a glove. Her breasts, her long legs, her heavy eyes on mine. Her cheeks slightly flushed with colour. Her butt so pert, you could bounce a quarter off it.

Before I realise it, I look up at this stranger riding me, and Mac’s face starts to appear. Their bodies are really similar. Only the beauty marks and cup sizes are different, but who gives a fuck about that. I begin to thrust harder, and the cries from her leave her breathless. I reach up, pulling her hair and head closer to mine. Her eyes aren’t focusing on anything, her cheeks are flushed with colour, sweat is beginning to stick strands of hair onto her face, her makeup is almost melted off. Now it’s my turn to work through some insanity. I can feel my own climax not too far away, every shade that passes over her sends me more images of Mac. I pulse more and thrust harder still, then pull the girl off of me, lying her on the bed. “Suck. My. Cock,” I command, my voice heavy with a kind of bestial need.

She sits forward as I stand. She cups my balls with one hand, ready to receive me. I grip my shaft and insert myself in her mouth, her tongue soft and warm. Her teeth scrape against me as I unleash myself into her. My legs lock and I let out a blissful groan. Her eyes widen for a moment as she realises just how much I have given her, but she swallows and I start to pull back. She doesn’t relinquish her grip on my boys as she continues to suck and slurp. It’s a moment where you realise just how powerless you are. If she chooses, she could utterly destroy me at this moment. We lock eyes, as I ease my grip of her hair. She finally lets go, her lips curling into another catty grin. They still have a half-mad sheen to them and probably mirror my own.