You Are My Love Song

Tucker

Four years later -

A night out on the town with my co-workers led me to drinks I shouldn't have consumed. That was my reasoning for my current dilemma with some random chick grinding against my dick in this hole-in-the-wall bar that I've never even heard of. Old vinyl records decorate the walls, and the bar, stretched across the back wall, currently has one of the bartenders dancing on it, pouring some liquor into the mouths of greedy customers. The only thing going for this shithole is the band.

Turning up my beer, I finally glance at the girl before me. Long brown hair, blue eyes, short. Go figure. Without consciously attempting to, the girl in front of me is what I consider my type. Every single man has a type. Some prefer blondes; I prefer brunettes. Some prefer brown eyes or green eyes. I prefer ice-blue eyes, so exotic you question if they are real. Some men prefer a female close to them in height - not me. I prefer the girl I can pick up and slam against the wall effortlessly.

With that thought alone, only one face comes to mind. Allie's. My dick twitches, and the bar girl in front of me seems to notice as she presses against it. Downing the rest of my beer, I place it on a passing waitress's tray and pull the stranger closer.

When she leans her head back, a smile touches her lips before she wraps her hand around my neck. Jasmine and honey don't fill my senses, only cheap perfume and cigarettes. It's been two years since I've laid eyes on my best friend, and still, I can't get her out of my head.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I will the thoughts of her away. I pray to the man upstairs that I will go to church on Sunday if He would allow me to get Allie out of my head. Jack, a co-worker of mine, hands me another beer as his girlfriend pulls him onto the dance floor. Chugging the cold liquid, I drink until I can no longer think of her.

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Somewhere in the darkness, I hear the faint sound of a phone ringing. I am afraid to move or even open my eyes. I don't know where I am, and I have no clue how I got here. Opening an eye, I groan as the sun blinds me. Turning to my side, I blink, saying a silent "thank you" when I realize I'm in my bedroom. I don't know how, but I made it home last night. Or this morning. Picking up my watch from the nightstand, I groan, realizing it's only seven in the morning.

I hear it again, the faint sound of my phone coming from somewhere in my room. Looking over toward the closet, I see the pants I wore last night. Standing, I stretch with a yawn, realizing I'm still somewhat drunk. Chuckling to myself, I grab my pants, pulling out my cell from inside the pocket just as it rings again.

The picture of her face smiles back at me—the picture I set as her contact picture from her birthday two years ago. The face I did everything I could do to forget last night in the smoke-filled bar with some chick I didn't even know or even have the decency to ask for her name. Rubbing my temples, I do what I always do when it comes to Allie: I answer. "Hey, you."

"Oh shit." Her laughter fills my ear. "You have that 'I got drunk as shit last night' deep voice. Your mouth didn't get raped, did it? You didn't allow foreign objects to damage that throat of yours, did you, Tuck? 'Cause you sound like your vocal cords got gang-banged."

I wasn't in the mood for her snarky remarks. "Shut the hell up. Why are you calling me at seven in the morning anyway?"

"Someone must be on his man, period."

"Allie....."

"Fine. I was calling to make sure you were awake and packed." Suddenly, my eyes widen before I run to the kitchen. "Wait, Tuck... Please tell me you didn't forget. You know how important this is for me."