A/N-So this is my new story! I'm actually really excited to get cracking on this one, not going to lie. Haha :) Anyways...I sincerely hope you enjoy this and please please please (please?) let me know how you like it via comment and votes! You're all awesome ;)
Leaning against the wooden post in front of our house so that I don't tumble over and make a complete ass of myself in front of Jeanie and the guys, I look out at the darkened road and at the gorgeous guy occupying the passenger seat. He has his head tilted back against the headrest, his plump lips stretched across his face as he laughs at something that Fred probably said. God, he's so fucking gorgeous.
Even when I'm drunk as hell, like I was about an hour ago, I can't gather up the lady balls to just slink up to him and admit how much I like him to his face, that I've actually liked him since I've met him and that every time he brings one of his sluts over I want to smack her across the face. Hard. I can dance with him at parties, though, that's no problem. I have no problem letting him grab my hand and then turn my back against him so that we can grind together. That happens pretty much every weekend, no matter how sober we are.
We're dancing buddies.
But that's not enough for me. I want more out of the guy. I want him to lean down and kiss me while we're dancing like he does with the other girls, like I occasionally do with guys when I'm drunk enough. I want him to get angry when he sees me dancing with other guys like I do when I'm with other girls.
That's not going to happen though, I realize, leaning my head against the post as it suddenly gets super heavy. Just thirty minutes ago I was having the time of my life, playfully fist pumping to LMFAO with Fred. But now, I'm in that sad and pathetic winding down phase of the alcohol and all I want to do is go inside and fall inside of my bed. Not on top of it...inside of it.
"Bye bitch!" Jeanie calls out from the rolled down window of the backseat, and I smile when I see her smile at me, give me that smile she only reserves for when she's heavily intoxicated. Her brown hair falls over her shoulders in sweaty mats-Fred's car doesn't have air conditioning-and even from here I can see her blue eyes glowing from inside the rings of heavy black Kohl liner and sparkly eye shadow. But just as soon as she's told me bye, she leans back inside of the car and falls back against the seat, pointing her finger in front of her before yelling something undecipherable at Fred.
The car then speeds off down the road, leaving me all alone on the dark porch. Knowing that I'm in the state of mind to try and sneak back up to my bedroom, I sit my ass down on the wooden floors and then once again lean my head against the wooden post. Not knowing what else to do to occupy my time with, I grab a chunk of my light brown hair and bring it underneath my nose, giving it a whiff.
It smells like frat house. It smells like cheap, shitty beer and cigarettes.
Fuck.
I'm going to puke if I don't get into a bath and wash all of this gross off. I'm just going to have to make sure to be super super quiet so that my mom doesn't come out of her bedroom and read me the riot act yet again. So with this new determination swirling around in my head, I sloppily stand back up, and then smile to myself when I have to lean against the post again so that my head stops spinning from the movement.
That's my favorite part of alcohol, the brain spinning thing. Well, besides the fact that I'm actually fun to be around and people like me when I'm drunk. But that's a given.
It takes a few seconds for my head to stop swirling, but once it's done, I reach into my bra and pull my house key out. After that I reach into my shoe and pull my phone out from where it's been resting on the top of my foot. I turn the flashlight app on and then point it at the keyhole in the doorknob, but before I can even attempt to put the key in the knob, the door comes flying open.
Before I can even blink, my back's against the floor of the porch and there is this huge pounding pain in the back of my skull, making stars fill my vision. What the hell? All I was doing was opening the door! Why'd it have to come back and pound me in the face? I didn't do anything to it.
Ugh.
"For Christ's sake," I hear a murmured voice curse underneath their breath, and then I see a dainty, manicured hand extend in front of my blurred vision. I reach towards it, but my hand doesn't meet anything but the damp air filling the night. It takes me two tries to grab the hand, but once I do, I wish that I hadn't because it jerks me upwards and makes my head even cloudier.
I stumble backwards in aftereffect, and then grasp my head in my hands to try and calm the spinning. Maybe it was fun a few minutes ago, but now it hurts. It hurts a lot, and now I just want to fall inside of my bed even more. "Oww," I whine pathetically, but I barely have time to get the words out before the hand grasps at my arm and then practically drags me inside of the house.
The dark foyer of the huge two-story illuminates with light seconds later, and I can't help but let another cry of pain escape my lips in response. "Why did you turn the lights on?" I demand angrily, "It hurts!"
"Good," my mom's voice says angrily, that voice that I hear so fucking frequently. She's always mad at me. Every single night. Every single time that I go hang out with Jeanie and the guys, she'll give me that awful look where her pretty face pinches in anger and disappointment.
My mom hates me. She always has. I'm not country enough for her, I don't keep up with the family image as well as my little sister Darla does. I don't listen to enough Taylor Swift or Lady Antebellum or Kenny Chesney. I don't wear cowgirl boots paired with little frilly skirts enough. I don't do anything right in her eyes.
She continues on in the horrid voice of hers, "I can't believe you did this, on tonight of all nights. Did you know what tonight was? Huh, Hallie? Did you?"
"Can you speak just a little quieter, please?" I say, but my voice comes out as more of a groan. She should know not to yell things at a drunk person. She's been drunk before, I've seen it. She knows how painful it can be when the fun part of the alcohol has drifted away.
But she hates me so she probably doesn't even care that she's hurting me.
She laughs incredulously, "I can't believe you're asking something of me when you didn't do the one thing I asked you for today!"
"God," I mumble, my fingers practically digging into my skull as I try to stop the pain that her shrieking voice causes.
She says, "I just needed you to come to dinner tonight, that's all! I even reminded you yesterday before you left for Jeanie's, but of course you don't remember. You don't remember anything that deals with your family."
I would roll my eyes, but I feel like they'd get stuck back there because my head honestly feels like a tornado's ripping through it right now. She honestly thinks that I'm the one who has the issue? She's the one who keeps me away from them all because she hates me so much! Why would I be around someone who cannot even stand to look at my face? It's her fault.
I ask her, "Can I please just go to bed now? This hurts real bad."
"Sure," she says snippily, "Because I know you're not going to remember anything talked about tonight, because you're drunk. You're fucking drunk."
"I'm not fucking anyone right now, mom!" I yell at her, hating that she's accusing me of being a slut right now. I can't believe her. I'm a virgin, a nineteen-year-old virgin who has actually turned down quite a few offers from cute guys for one-night stands. I'm smarter than she thinks I am. I may not be on the honor roll at the community college I'm at now, but I'm smart. I have morals. She just doesn't believe me when I say I do.
She shakes her head and, all frustrated, she says, "That's not what I meant. Obviously you're not having sex right now, Hallie."
"Well that's what you said," I say haughtily before turning around slowly and then cautiously making my way up the stairs and into my bedroom. I honestly don't think that my head can take any more of her screeching and meanness. I just can't handle it right now.
I don't even have time to take a bath and wash the gunk out of my hair before I'm falling on top of my bed and going right to sleep.
XXXXXX
I do shower the next morning, though, and the second that I step out of the hot steam I feel so much better than I did when I first woke up. Though I've somehow or another been blessed to never get hangovers the next morning, I still felt like utter shit when my eyes finally flutter open about half-an-hour ago. I could feel the heavy mascara making my eyelashes all clumpy and sticky after they'd been mixed with sleep, and I could feel the foundation on my face gathering in my pores and starting to form pimples.
And I smelled like shit. Like the grossest shit there is.
But now my face is all clean and fresh feeling and my body smells like strawberries because of my body wish. Thank God. I could not have managed another second of living with smelling and feeling like that. I was terrible. I'm somewhat considering washing my sheets today so that I don't have to worry about smelling that when I go back to sleep tonight.
After pulling my hair into a side braid so that it'll dry somewhat manageable and dressing in some sweatpants and a camisole, I head on down the stairs so that I can put some food into my growling stomach. I can't even remember the last time I ate, seeing as how I spent the majority of yesterday recovering from Friday night and then getting ready for that night.
And I don't even care that I'm probably going to see my mom for the first time since her huge blowup last night and she's going to lecture at me even more. All I want to do is just make myself a huge plate of eggs, bacon, and toast and then down a huge glass of Sunny Delight. That's seriously all I want right now. And I'll put up with my psychopathic mother to get it.
I take the back way to get to the kitchen so that I don't have to walk through the den-I'm hoping my mom's in there right now, watching reruns of Dance Moms or something-but I realize that my efforts are definitely wasted when I push the door open to the kitchen and see my mom's tiny little body leaning against the island in the middle as she talks to some random guy. I can't see his face before his back is to me, but as I look over said back, I realize that whoever this guy is has one amazing body. Well, beneath his clothes, but still. It's hot.
It's probably some friend of dads though, seeing as how all of his friends are country singers who have to keep in great shape so that they don't lose their job to a hotter, younger guy. I know my dad had to have one of the upstairs bedrooms converted into a weight room so that he could work out when he wasn't on the road touring like he always is.
My mom's eyes immediately dart to me and narrow in annoyance, but her expression quickly changes when she's caught herself looking like the rude woman she is in front of a guest. Her face now pretty much softened, she pushes herself off of the island and then makes her way to me, grabbing my arm and then tugging me towards the random person.
She says, "And this is Hallie."
It's then that I look away from her hand that's grabbing at my arm and towards the face of the guy standing in front of me. It's no longer his muscled back that I'm looking at though, no, it's his face. His really really pretty face. His young face. There's no way in absolute hell that this guy is one of my dad's singer friends. My dad's like forty. Why would he be hanging around a hot twenty-something? A very hot twenty-something with pretty blue eyes and the most perfect jaw I've ever seen in my life?
"Hi Hallie," he says, his almost plump lips stretching into a smile as he extends his arm towards me, "I'm Ethan. Nice to meet you."
"Um," I say, thoroughly confused as to why this guy is here and introducing himself to me like I'm going to know him for a while? I mean, it's like I'm complaining or anything. The guy really is fun to look at. Really really fun actually. But still, why the hell am I meeting this guy? I've met a few of my dad's friends, but my mom has never made quite such an effort to make me look like a decent person in front of them. "Hey," I respond, trying my hardest to keep the confusion off of my face and just look as friendly as possible in return.
My hand meets his and as the two shake, I can't help but think about how rough and warm his fingers are, and how much I love it. It's over just a second later though, and before I can even think twice about it my mom says, "Ethan's going to be living with us for the summer."
"What?" I ask, whirling around fast so that I can look in her in the eye and make sure she's not joking. Is she serious right now? She's letting some random guy, some guy I've never met before, come and move into our house? She has to be joking or something, there's no way in hell she'd ever pull something like this.
Her eyes quickly flash with anger before it smoothes back into a fake friendliness, as she says, "Yeah, this was all discussed over dinner last night. The dinner you missed. Ethan's going to be your dad's opening act on their next tour, and they're going to be rehearsing some stuff together over the summer."
"Oh," I murmur dumbly, not missing the way my mom not-so-subtly pointed out my absence at the dinner last night or the way that Ethan's still kind of just standing there, smiling lightly at the whole episode unraveling in front of him. But it's not like she can blame me for missing that dinner last night. When I finally remembered her actually telling me about it the day before yesterday, I remember that she did not once mention how attractive the dinner guest would be. If I'd know...hell, I'd have been there. No doubt.
"Yes, oh," she says to me like I have the intelligence of a brick, "And he's moving in today. I'm actually glad you woke up; you can stay here and watch Darla while Ethan and I ride to his apartment and put his things in the truck."
"'Kay," I say softly, my head still reeling at the fact that some random hot guy is going to be living under my roof. Starting today. If it were anyone but me, I'd say that this was the start to some cheesy little romance novel where fate is good and makes love easy by having two people destined for each other move into the same house.
But this is me.
I don't get happy endings like that, especially ones where the lead male looks like a picture out of a fucking magazine or something.
I just don't.