Romantically Entangled

Chapter 12

Bey

I'm about halfway through Bryson's song when I see Kelly, shit-faced, stumble in from the kitchen, her whole body draped around some brunette in a skintight dress and stilettos.

No doubt she'll be peeling that dress off her soon.

She raises her hand in a sarcastic salute.

"Soldier gal!" she shouts, like we're best fucking friends. "How about something other than this stupid sixties shit?"

Asshole.

I ignore Kelly and keep singing, not daring to look over at Bryson. Then I see Nicki slip into the living room from the kitchen.

She comes to a stop alongside the brunette and stares at me with her mouth slightly ajar.

I don't know if she's heard the whole song. She must have just gotten home.

But she has such a yearning expression on her face, and she's listening so intently, that I'm sure she understands where I'm trying to go with it.

At least, I want to think she does.

Before I know it, the song is over. And it's already 11:30.

"That's it, everybody," Corey yells, holding up his hands as a bunch of people protest. "We gotta keep the cops happy."

The guys immediately start breaking down the equipment.

I whirl around, suddenly remembering Bryson. But he's gone.

"Hey, did you see where Bryson went?" I ask the band guys.

They shake their heads, and I groan. They're such clueless goobers, they probably never even noticed he was here.

I look around the living room, then walk through the crowd in the kitchen and stick my head out the back door to scan the deck.

No sign of Bryson.

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I go back to the living room and help with the breakdown, feeling my stomach twisting.

I'm not sure what the sudden departure means. I would have thought Bryson would hang around to give us some feedback.

I'll admit, I'm a little scared now of the repercussions.

It was a dumbass move, daring to mess with Bryson's music. What if he doesn't take it well?

Truth is, I have a habit of making dumbass moves.

Kelly belches loudly, then grins drunkenly at the brunette she is still clinging to.

Someone—probably Megan—cranks up some Adele, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to keep us out of trouble.

The party will probably go on for a while, at least out back. But I'm done.

"Who the fuck put this shit on?" Kelly yells, slurring her words as she punches buttons on her phone, trying to change what's coming out of the speakers placed all over the house.

No money for decent AC, but we somehow have a stellar sound system.

Of course, Kelly probably paid for that herself.

"This shit will not stand!" Kelly roars. "This is my house, and I am not throwing a party where fucking Adele is playing."

Something I don't even recognize starts playing instead. Kelly's got shit taste in music. Almost as bad as Megan's.

I head up the stairs to my room, pulling out the key as I remember Munchie has been in there all evening. I need to get him outside to do his business.

Nicki is leaning against my door.

She's wearing a T-shirt and jeans that fit her well enough to almost give me a hard-on just looking at her.

She pushes her fingers through her hair, and for a moment, I forget all about Bryson and my possibly messed-up future in the music program.

All I can think about is how good she looks; how good she always looks.

"Bey, can you help me with something?"

"Sure," I respond as I feel my dick respond, too.

I try to look like I'm paying attention to her while twisting slightly away to hide my probably noticable erection.

"What's up?" I ask, almost choking on the words.

"There's somebody in my room." She cocks her thumb toward her bedroom door. "I think they're having sex in there."

"I forgot to lock the door when I left this morning, and then when I went up there tonight, it was locked. But I know I left the key in the door."

She blows out a long, frustrated sigh. "And then I heard them."

She looks pissed, and I can't blame her. She's had two sets of strangers fucking on her bed in a week.

Welcome to college life, little girl.

"I tried banging on the door," she says. "I told them to get out. But they're ignoring me. Can you give it a try?"

"Jesus, I'm sorry."

I push open my bedroom door, and Munchie rears up excitedly, first in my face and then in Nicki's.

I place my guitar in its usual spot on the frayed red chair I bought off a guy who used to live across the street.

"Don't worry. I'll get them out of there," I assure Nicki.

I turn to head upstairs, but then I throw a worried glance at the wriggling dog.

"Hey, is it okay if I take Munchie outside first? He's been in here for a while, and when he gets excited, he sometimes pees on the floor."

"Sure, of course."

I gesture to the dog. "Come on, boy, let's go."

He follows me into the living room.

I could just send Munchie outside on his own. But there are too many ways for him to get in trouble while the party's still going on.

Not long ago, some dickbrains got him to drink a whole bowl full of beer.

I push a pathway for the dog through all the people still clogging the kitchen, then stand on the deck as he finds a spot in the yard.

When he's done, I take him back to my room.

Nicki is sitting on the edge of my bed. She's pulling her silky hair out of its ponytail.

And of course, my dick responds. Again. I'm getting a mental picture of her, naked and on top of me, as I clutch that beautiful hair with both hands.

Jesus Christ.

"Come on," I barely manage to say, gesturing toward the door, not even able to look her in the eyes. "Let's get those assholes out of your room."

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