Romantically Entangled

Chapter 24

Nicki

The Halloween party is in full swing, and TT is clearly loving it.

"Damn, Nicnac!" she shouts over the music. "I so did not have you living in a rockin' party house on my college bingo card!"

She aims a drunken kiss at the side of my face, and the scratchy brim of her witch's hat scrapes my temple.

"You're waayy cooler than I thought," she jokes.

I throw her an indulgent smile. TT is always giving me shit about being so straight laced. Sometimes it pisses me off. But right now, I'm too happy to care.

I shift my gaze back to the band, back to Bey. They've launched into the Rolling Stones number she was rehearsing last night.

I'd curled up on her bed, clutching her scratchy Army blanket against the chill the house's crappy heating system couldn't overcome. I watched her play the song over and over.

She kept trying different chord combinations, explaining that she wanted it to sound a little sadder, a "little more ragged".

"A little more like a Frasier Bryson song," I quipped, teasing her.

She laughed at that. Then she went back to reworking the tune.

Lying there, I let her gravelly voice flow over me.

Just watching her fingers stroke the guitar strings sent a surge of heat between my legs as I thought about what those skillful fingers would do to me later.

For the last month, Bey and I have spent almost all our free time together. I know her room now about as well as I know my own.

I know she keeps a stash of Reece's pieces in the top of her closet so Munchie can't get to them.

I know she has exactly two threadbare bath towels. At least one of them is invariably on the bathroom floor, on the verge of mildewing. I've been meaning to buy her a couple of new ones.

I also know she avoids looking at the framed photo on her battered desk. It's of a pretty, dark-haired woman in a white dress and denim jacket. She's holding a young Bey's hand. She looks about seven years old in the photo.

"Is that your mom?" I asked the first time I spent the night in his room.

Her eyes clouded over, and for an awful moment, I thought I'd somehow missed a crucial detail.

"Oh God," I gasped, "did she. . .was she on the plane, too?"

"No, no. She's fine," Bey assured me, shifting her eyes away from the picture, her mouth in a tight line. "She lives in Texas."

She'd quickly changed the subject after that. I've wanted ever since to ask what's wrong between her and her mother. But I don't want to see that haunted expression return to her face.

And I'm not sure she would tell me anyway. Bey seems to have so many secrets.

There's a sadness about her, something deep down that connects with the same feeling inside me.

I'm always wondering if she feels it, too. I'm always a little worried that she does not.

The band segues into a different song, and the crowd in the living room shouts its approval.

Bey gives me a wide grin, her eyes shining. I can feel her energy, her passion for the music, her love of performing.

TT is swaying to the sound, her puffy costume sleeve tickling my arm.

I'd told her about the Halloween party at the house; I've told her about all the parties.

But I did not expect her to show up this afternoon, bursting into my bedroom and throwing her arms around me.