Pull (Seaside 2)

I swear her mom almost fainted.

When she introduced herself, she almost seemed too eager to get her daughter into my clutches, which really should have been my first clue that something was off. I mean, unless they lived under a rock, they knew exactly what I was about. Spoiled rock star who nearly killed himself in an accident, troubled past, man-whore of the century, blah, blah, blah.

I’d pasted on my best smile, careful not to give her mom a stroke, and asked about Alyssa.

All I found out was what I already knew. She worked every freaking day, just like me, which just reinforced the conclusion I had come to earlier.

She was lonely.

I asked her mom about friends.

Again, yes, I’m very much aware how creepy I was being, but I had Bob, that was it. I was desperate for some sort of companionship, even if said companion wanted to stab me in the eye.

After no convincing whatsoever, I discovered that Alyssa had Saturdays off and didn’t often go out with friends.

I could be her friend.

Lame. Maybe that’s how I should start the conversation.

“Hey, Alyssa, I’ve been watching you for the past four days. You have a pretty face even though your clothes suck. Wanna hang out?

Oh, and by the way, I’m so bored and strung out about not being able to get high, that if you say no, I just may kill myself.”

Promising.

Clearly, I’d been out of the game for far too long. I couldn’t even remember how to talk to a normal person.

I kicked the ground and looked across the street again.

Tomorrow was Saturday. Tomorrow I was going to pursue the first girl I’d pursued since Nat.

And look how well that turned out.

The familiar pang of rejection hit me square in the chest.

Why was I even putting myself out there when I literally had nothing to offer, but baggage?

Hell if I knew, but damn if I didn’t still want to try.

Chapter Nine

Alyssa

I woke up to someone pounding on my door. With a grunt I threw off the covers, stumbled out of my bed, and walked drunkenly toward my bedroom door, opening it with irritation.

“Hi, friend.” Demetri smiled.

I closed the door in his face.

“Is that any way to treat your friends?” He laughed from the other side.

Closing my eyes didn’t make the problem go away. I was still in my Seaside High Track t-shirt and old running shorts. I looked like a little kid. I glanced in the mirror and cringed. My brown hair was pointed in every which direction, making me look possessed, and I had giant bags under my eyes.

“Go away!” I yelled.

Silence and then, “No.”

“Demetri.”

“Alyssa.”

Dang, I should have never told him my name. “How do you know where I live?”

“I followed you.”

“Seriously?”

His laugh made me want to strangle him. “I’m kidding. It’s my day off, so I went down to the store to grab my three pieces of taffy and…”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, can I finish telling you why I’m here to your face? It’s weird talking to a door, even weirder when the door has a Justin Bieber poster staring at me.”

Crap. I forgot about that stupid poster. Brady had put it there as a joke when I confided in him that I loved Justin Bieber.

After everything happened, I hadn’t the heart to take it down.

Slowly, I pulled open the door. Should have known Demetri would push past me and make himself right at home. “No really, come on in. I wasn’t sleeping or anything on my day off.”

“Good.” He took off his leather jacket, revealing a tight tank top that showed off tattoos down his right arm and across his collarbone. I tried to pry my eyes away, but I was tired and clearly needing more oxygen or something in my room.

“They’re just tattoos, Lyssa.”

“Wow.” I chuckled pulling my hands through my tangled hair. “Already got a nickname, huh?”

“I like it.” He crossed his arms, making his muscles bulge.

I bit my lip and looked away. “So, the reason for my wake- up call.”

“Oh, babe.” He chuckled. “You haven’t even seen the beginning of my wake-up calls.”

“I’m not going to even ask.” I threw on a sweatshirt and sat on the bed cross-legged. “So, the reason for you being here?”

“You’re a cheerleader?” Demetri pointed at the school sweatshirt. The same one that had Brady’s old football number splashed across the front. Just another piece of him I couldn’t give away. Like everything else in my room that had his scent or touch on it.

“Um, I was a cheerleader. Yup.” Talking to Demetri was like herding cats. One minute he was on-topic, and within seconds he was changing subjects as if it was completely normal to talk about taffy and tattoos in the same sentence.

His eyes scanned the sweatshirt. I could tell he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together. But I wasn’t up for fixing. I liked the puzzle pieces scattered, so I tried my best to give him a flirty smile and touched his arm.

“You were saying?” I urged.

His eyes darted immediately to where my hand touched him and then back up to me. “Taffy. I had three pieces.”

“What flavors?”

He grinned and pulled out the three wrappers for me to sniff. With a laugh I took them into my hands and smelled each one. If I didn’t know he was in rehab, I would think he was either drunk or high the majority of the time.