Until June (Until Her 2)

“You wanna take her on a ride?”

Looking over at June’s, I start to shake my head.

“No one’s gonna fuck with her while I’m standing on my front lawn,” Brew promises low enough for just me to hear. I look at him and dip my head then look at Shock.

“Toss me the keys.” Catching them when they fly through the air, I swing my leg over the bike, start her up, and back out of the drive. I don’t go far, but pull out onto the main road and open her up, hitting forty-five. I grin—the fucking sound alone is enough to draw attention, but the bike is a work of art. The power and body is exactly what I was looking for. Pulling back onto the block, I glance at June’s front door and see her and JJ standing in the doorway. Lifting my chin at them, JJ smiles, but June…June doesn’t. No, her eyes go dark, and not in a bad way. They go dark in a way that makes me want to see them change like that up close. Pulling into Brew’s driveway, I shut off the bike and look at Shock as I swing my leg over.

“How much are you asking?”

“Nine. A quick sale, cash only.” He grins.

Pulling in a breath, I look at the bike then back to him. “You got a deal.” He chuckles then pats my back.

“I’ll get your info from Harlen. We can set up a meet tomorrow, or I’ll swing by the shop in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” I agree and chance a look at June’s front door. This time, it’s closed and I rub my chest over my heart, wondering when the fucking pain there will go away.

Chapter 3

June

Moving around my room after adjusting the sheets, I toss the duvet from the floor onto the bed. I sleep rough; I always have. I know there are people who can fall asleep in one position then stay that way the whole night, but that’s not me. I move constantly, so much so that I’ve fallen off the bed in the middle of the night more times than I can count.

Grabbing the ends of the duvet, I struggle to lift it like they do in laundry detergent commercials then give up, letting it fall into place messily. When I bought it a year ago, I didn’t go cheap. It’s probably three-inches thick, full of feathers. Between my duvet and the feather-top mattress pad on my bed, I fall asleep in heaven every night. Tossing the pillows on next, I then fling the throw blanket, which serves no other purpose than to be cute, onto the corner then stand back, admiring my handy work.

I love the bedroom set my mom picked out. I told her what I wanted when I knew I was going to buy my house, and she took over from there. The distressed wood of the bedframe, dresser, and side tables make the room feel warm, while the dusty purple duvet cover that looks like velvet, and grey toss pillows and sheets, make it elegant. Creating a mental list to pick up curtains and to find lamps, I head for the bathroom to finish getting ready, since my dad will be here to take me to lunch soon. Turning on the bathroom light, I sigh when I see my reflection. I don’t like wearing a lot of makeup, but the dark circles under my eyes leave me no choice. Digging through my makeup drawer, I find my tube of concealer and go to work.

Seeing Evan again is taking a toll on me. I can’t sleep, and my mind is in a constant state of turmoil. I wake up in the middle of the night from dreams of us. The memories of him, of us, are too much. Some memories have the ability to heal, the ability to light up the dark, because the beauty of the memory is so bright, you’re still able to bask in it.

But the memories of us are killing me slowly. They remind me that for one moment, I had everything, while reminding me it’s gone. It’s the realization that we’re done that’s torturing me. The realization that I can see him but can’t touch him, that he exists but he’s not mine, is agonizing. Hell, yesterday, when me and JJ watched him ride down the block on his motorcycle, I swear I wanted to push the door open, run into his arms, and beg him to take me. He looked…he looked—well, I guess there are no words for the way he looked. All I know is between the tequila and seeing him ride, when I went to bed last night, I took my BOB with me and spent an ungodly amount of time getting off.

Pulling my face away from the mirror, I check my work. The bags are not as noticeable anymore, and hopefully, with some bronzer and blush, my dad will be none the wiser. Stepping into my closet that’s attached to the bathroom, I push boxes aside until I find the one I marked Dresses, rip the tape off, and dig through until I find what I’m looking for. Taking off my shirt, I drop it to the floor, not bothering with a bra because I have no boobs, and slip the dress on over my head. The slim straps and thin cotton material is perfect for the humid Tennessee heat. Grabbing a pair of simple leather sandals, I push my feet into them then head for the door when I hear a car pull up outside.