Songs for Cricket by Laine, E. (best books to read in your 20s TXT) 📗

the attention of everyone in the room as I headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Lacey persisted.

Everyone seemed to wait for my answer, but it was Billy’s smirk that sealed my fate.

“Upstairs,” I muttered.

“Can I come?”

“Can you?” It was too late to take it back after I said it.

I hadn’t meant anything like the double meaning suggested. But she followed me upstairs, and I did nothing to stop her.

Once I got there, I realized how I really didn’t want her in my room. I opened the door and tried to rein in my anger. It was my fault really, not hers. I could, however, rectify it now.

I’d sat because it felt weird to stand and loom as she walked in. Her eyes immediately went to my guitar.

“Do you play?” she asked.

It was a legitimate question, but it still grated on my nerves. I shrugged, afraid what I might say would piss her off, and so far she’d done nothing wrong.

My momentary lapse in judgement allowed her time to spot my notebook and make a beeline for it. I gritted my teeth as she opened it and started reading my words.

“Wow, you could be talking about me,” she said.

Her big brown eyes pinned me. “My mom used to say my eyes were like honey drops. My dad would agree because he said I was so sweet.” Her smile faded. “Then he would tell her they reminded him of whiskey.”

For a second, I thought she shuttered from the haunted look that came over her. She set down the book and rubbed her arms. Whatever she had felt a moment earlier, she shook off before she crawled on the bed.

“You seem tense.”

I could have said the same but didn’t want to encourage her. She moved to settle herself behind me. Her hands found my shoulders and worked the knots that were there. She was surprisingly strong for such a tiny girl.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

Her voice had grown cooler, which was probably better for me. Maybe she would walk out, and I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her to go.

“What do you want to hear?”

I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance.

Either she didn’t care or hadn’t noticed. “Who’s the girl you’re writing songs about?”

Not you popped in my head. “No one.”

“Really because it seemed really intense.”

“Like I said, no one.”

If I thought the terseness of my response would get her to back off, I was wrong.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

I would regret a million times over the honesty of my answer. “No.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, encouraged by my reply.

Her hand slid down my chest and grabbed my dick before I could stop her.

As a guy, there were some things I had no control over. In an automatic response, I began to stiffen until my mind visualized the face the hand belonged to and things stopped. I was as hard as a garden hose before the water was turned on, and she felt it.

Immediately, the impromptu massage ended.

“What is your problem?” she asked after getting off the bed to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips.

I calmed my temper and reminded myself that she wasn’t my problem. I was my problem.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now.”

That turned out to be the exact wrong thing to say.

“What? You’re turning me down?”

She said that like she was the daughter of my coach or the president of the school. I ran a hand over my face.

“Lacey, you’re hot, but—”

“But—”

“But you should go.”

There was so much surprise on her face, I doubted she’d ever been turned down for anything in her life.

As she sputtered, I got to my feet and opened the door. I stared out into the empty hall not wanting to make eye contact with the chick. She was bat shit and wasn’t done.

She aimed a sharp nail at my nose. “It’s probably for the best. You might be a creeper writing songs about stalking girls.”

Why had I let her read my lyrics? I’d used that term because it was the easiest way to express the depth of how I’d watched the girl I’d loved. I hadn’t meant it in a psycho way.

“It was just a word, not an action.”

Why was I explaining myself to this girl?

She was saying something else, but I only caught the tail end.

“Don’t think you’ll get away with this,” she said.

“With what?”

Her face morphed from fury to tearful in seconds. Then she dashed down the stairs, leaving me wondering what the hell had just happened.

I shook my head, closed my room door, and fell on my bed. The ceiling had to hold the answers to the universe or maybe the back of my eyelids did. Almost nothing had gone right today.

I might have been able to fall asleep, but August barged in. I would seriously have to start locking my door.

“What the hell?” he asked from the doorway.

I slowly turned my head, not sure what had his panties in a knot.

“What?” I snapped.

“Lacey came barreling outside, crying and shit. She took the girls with her saying she had to go.”

I rolled my eyes. “She followed me up here, and I basically told her to get lost. She doesn’t take rejection well.”

He slowly shook his head like I was the one who’d lost his mind. And maybe I had. She had a body on her. But one taste of Finley and no one else would do.

August said nothing more, just shut my door. I locked my hands behind my head and wondered what my next move would be.

A muscle ticked in my jaw as my dad entered my thoughts and all the things he’d done that landed him behind bars. When that happened, my life had changed overnight. There had been so many things I’d done to survive that experience.

Talking to Finley should have been easy. She’d been a ray of light in the darkness I’d been plunged into. And when I’d been given the opportunity, my one play for