Reading Online Novel

Born Wrong(18)



Love at first sight. I don't believe in that shit. Weird, huh? Yeah, but the Little Drummer Boy has been fucked over too many times before. The fairytale only lasts so long as reality doesn't come stomping through to smash it. Unfortunately, I stopped believing in the unbelievable a long time ago. But lust at first sight? I can buy that. Her hormones and my hormones, maybe they make just the right cocktail?

“Dax, Sydney. Sydney, Dax,” Turner says, gesturing loosely at us both. “Sydney's a stripper with fake tits, and the only reason I'm putting up with her is because she's Trey's sister. Dax is a little bitch that probably masturbates to The Smashing Pumpkins or some shit like that.” Turner snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah, and I think he plays drums or whatever.”

“Fuck you, Turner,” we both say, our voices blending and breaking apart as we both pause and take note of each other. Sydney's the first one to pretend there's nothing in the air between us, smiling at me and moving forward with her hand outstretched.

“Sydney Charell,” she says, her voice that rough sexy that only porn stars get. God, I hope she's not a porn star. But she is a stripper. Interesting. And fuck. I smell trouble on her perfume as I force myself to my feet and look down at her hand. I still have a massive hard-on, but hey, if anything, my dad tried to beat the gentleman into me. I grab the ugly yellow-orange throw pillow off the couch and cover myself up with one hand. Sydney chuckles at first, but the sound dies on the edge of her lips as we lock hands, fingers curling around one another like they're possessed. I swallow hard, feeling the saliva slide down my throat like a rock. It crashes into the pit of my stomach and makes me feel sick with need. Jesus Christ. I might've stopped playing, but I haven't stopped sweating. Beads of moisture roll down my arm and get caught on the black fabric around my wrists. The sweatbands are adorned with skulls, not unusual for me, but today I feel self-conscious about them, like when Sydney sees them she's going to make a judgment call. I hope I fall on her better side. Shit, I'm about to drop to my knees to pray for it.

“Dax McCann,” I say, and my voice comes out in a whisper, not because I'm feeling weak, not today. But because there's so much pent up energy inside of me, I'm afraid if I speak too loudly it'll all burst out. My arm is shaking, but my hand, where it's wrapped around hers, is solid. My fingers feel like ice, frozen into place. I watch as goose bumps travel up Sydney's arm, pricking her tattoos like a tidal wave.

“Dax?” Naomi asks again. I should be turning to look at her. After all, right now, she's the love of my life, right? Right? I release Sydney with a start, taking a stumbling step back against the couch. I flex my fingers and hold my fist to my chest, feeling the thump thump thump of my heart racing inside the confines of my ribcage. Okay, Dax, reel it in, man. You're just hyped up from the show and Hayden and the drums. This is just … well, okay, so I have no idea what this is, but you can't let it get in the way. You're standing on the precipice of greatness. So, you might've just been shot down by Naomi, but it's not in your nature to give up. Somehow, the thought seems more shallow now than it did before. There's nothing like beating a dead horse, right?

“Yeah?” I ask her, like nothing's different. But oh my God, everything is. And all I did was meet a girl. I focus really hard on Sydney's face and pretend the story of my parents' first meeting is not playing in my head. It's the only story my grandmother ever bothered to tell me. Granted, I think she did it to grind salt into the wound, but hey. And yeah, my dad is not the only person in my family that hates me. Just take a number.

“Are you feeling alright?” Naomi asks me, nose scrunched up like she can't quite make heads or tails of my behavior. Hell, I can't make heads or tails of it either. When she reaches up to touch my forehead, I jump. Her hand feels like fire against my face, and it's too much. I push her arm away and take a step to the side, towards the mini fridge. “Maybe this isn't a good time? You're cold as a corpse, but sweating like a fucking pig. Lay the fuck down.”

“Nobody will blame you,” Ronnie says, drawing my attention past Sydney and onto his face. He looks good, much better than he did a few weeks ago. I think he's gained some weight, but then, I don't really know the guy well. Still, I know enough to get that something's wrong with Lola. Compared to Ronnie, she looks like shit. In fact, I think she's lost weight. At the moment, her eyes are hollow, like broken windows looking inside an empty house. I look between her and Ronnie, back at Turner and Naomi, and then I sneak my gaze over to Sydney again.

Shit.

She's still looking at me, examining me the way I examined her. Her gaze catches on my crotch for a second and a small smile quirks her lips. It takes me a second to realize that I've dropped the pillow. I fall back onto the couch with a groan and grab another one.