Worship (On My Knees Duet 1)

His eyes shut. Then they open up and look into mine. “Okay.”

“I’m your friend.” I kiss him deep and hard and pull his head against my chest. His hands smooth over my jaw…run into my hair. Then he pulls back and his eyes are shining at mine.

“Drive safe, Sky.”

“I will.”

And then the door is shut between us. Then the curtain falls. The woods go dark. I go inside, but that night, I can’t sleep.EightNovember 18, 2017Fourteen Months LaterVance

“V!”

I look over my shoulder—or try to, anyway. It’s so fucking crowded in here, just shifting my weight makes me bump some girl on my left, who shouts “sorry” a few times and waves her hands till she imparts that she sloshed beer on me.

The Chubby Bunnies are loud as shit, so I can’t even hear my heartbeat—much less her. I look at down at my beat-up green jeans, point to the tear in the knee, and shrug. I guess it feels a little wet, but fuck it—I’m sweaty already.

“All good,” I shout, with a thumbs up.

I’ve been slamming back Coors at Billi’s Divebar for maybe two hours. A little while ago, I covertly bought a round for the whole crowd here, because my buddies Xi and Mason are on stage. It’s the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and they’re running $1-a-pop on draft from 11-1, so the crowd is hopping.

The girl beside me laughs. I wiggle my brows. She throws her arms around my neck, and I hear it again: “V!”

I wobble around with Random Girl still glued to my chest and spot Avie, one of my good friends who’s tight with Xi and Mason, too.

She’s got her hair in teal dreads. Her lips curve underneath a sheen of sparkly purple lip stuff. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts something. I can’t hear it. Then she beckons me with her hand.

“Is that your girlfriend?” I blink at the woman pressed against me. Blue eyes. Freckles. My arm’s wrapped around her slim back like we know each other.

“Just a friend,” I half shout.

She smiles, and I smile back—because she’s drunk, and you should try to smile at drunk girls who can’t stand up without holding onto you.

“You wanna come with?” I have to say it right near her ear so she hears me. She nods, and I take her hand. We start toward Avie.

One step…two steps through the thick crowd. That’s when I feel it: my phone vibrating in my pocket. Trouble is, I’m wearing these old jeans. In six days, ten of my paintings go up in an exhibition at the Matthew Marks Gallery. I’m so fucking busy, I don’t even shower half the time. I’m out of decent jeans, and the pocket that’s got my phone is ripped right where it always rips—from the damn phone.

I stop.

The phone is stuck, and I can’t pull it out.

The girl is holding onto my arm, peering up at me with her wide blue eyes. I give her a wink and keep on fumbling with my fucking phone. My hands are sweating as I rip the pocket open, answering the thing before I even read the name on the screen.

I’m so fucking breathless from this weird rush of adrenaline, my legs nearly give out when I see the screen.

Skywalker

Holy fucking fuck shit. I wave at Avie, thrusting my phone at the ceiling so she can see it. I press the fucker to my cheek as I tell the girl, “Go hang with my friend,” and point her toward Avie. “I’ll be back.”

There’s such a thick sea of heads and shoulders, for a second I can’t fucking breathe. I start shoving through them and say “hello,” so he knows I’m here. Someone curses in my wake. Someone else shoves my arm. Fuck—I trip on someone’s foot, and some guy with a lip ring catches my elbow.

“Thanks, man.”

Then I’m at the door. I push through it—cold metal—and I’m on the wicked-windy street, curling my hand around the iPhone’s mouthpiece.

Don’t talk, I tell myself.

I realize I’m panting, and the wind is like a whip. Dammit, it’s a pretty narrow street, but there’s no shelter from the goddamn wind. I swallow hard and start to walk—east for a few strides before I double back and head toward my place.

Hey, Skywalker.

Jesus Christ, I want to talk, to hear his voice. I pull the phone away from my face to check; he’s still there. I try to hear his side of the line, but it’s completely quiet.

“Call me. If you really need me. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’ll just hang out on the line with you.”

It’s been more than a year…but I’m pulsing like a bolt of lightning. Luke needs me.

My mind spins, wanting details. Where is he? Despite the cold, my fingers on the phone are sweaty as I move it off my ear again and start toward Instagram. I stop because I’m scared I’ll hang up on him while I’m checking out who’s tagged him lately and where. He’s overseas a lot; I know that.