A Song for Julia

Barrett. So I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came to my brain—never a smart idea and definitely not in this case, because the words that came out were, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find some other girl to score with. Right, Crank?”
    Mark and Pathin both winced, and Crank’s eyes narrowed in anger.
    “Gotta go, guys. Nice to see you,” I said. I grabbed Barrett’s arm. “Let’s go?”
    “Certainly,” he said. He nodded to Crank and the guys and turned to walk away.
    Crank reached out and touched my arm. “Julia? Can I have just a minute?”
    I froze. Barrett looked very annoyed. Frustrated and annoyed. But you know what? He didn’t own me, and I didn’t ask him to go spend all that money on dinner. He could just cool his heels for a couple minutes.
    “Sure. Barrett? I’ll be just a second.”
    So, I followed Crank away from the other three, about twenty feet down the bar, where we squeezed in between two columns near the wall.
    “Why are you angry with me?” he asked.
    “I’m not angry with you,” I said, clenching my teeth. “Why would I be angry?”
    “I don’t know. But you’re sure acting like it,” he replied.
    “You were giving me some pretty nasty looks back there, too.”
    He looked up, his eyes darting to Barrett, then back to me, down to my lips, then back to my eyes. He held them, his face tense, then his eyes dropped back down to my lips.
    For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t have any reason to be … anything.”
    I took a deep breath. “What are we doing?”
    “You look wicked hot in that dress. Good enough to eat.”
    I gasped and looked up at his eyes. Dreamy eyes. Eyes that could drive me out of control in a second. Quieter now, my voice unsure, I said, “What do you want from me, Crank?”
    He gritted his teeth, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I want to know what you look like with that dress off. I want to take you home with me and tear it off and make love to you until you scream.”
    He smirked a little. Like he was making fun of me. Then said, “I want to make music together.”
    I was hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Did he really just say that? My lips parted, but I didn’t—couldn’t—say anything.
    His eyes traced along my lips, and I bit my lower lip, because I was on the verge of doing something crazy.
    “What are you afraid of?” he asked.
    “Losing control,” I replied.
    “Sometimes losing control can be wicked awesome,” he said.
    “And sometimes it’s a disaster. Sometimes it can take your whole life and rip it to pieces. I should go. My date …”
    “Screw him.”
    “That wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.”
    He gave me a wicked grin. “I’m glad.”
    “I don’t want to be one of your conquests. I don’t want to be another fucking girl getting screwed—someone your bandmates say was a horrible scene the next morning.”
    “I like it when you say ‘fucking.’”
    I closed my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
    “That’s why you love me.”
    “I do not love you. I don’t even like you.”
    “You will,” he said, his voice low and luscious. I could feel the vibration of that voice from my ears all the way down to my feet.
    “Maybe,” I whispered. “But not tonight.” So I backed away a foot or two, then turned, and stumbled back through the crowd until I found Barrett. I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Sorry about that. We should go.”

CHAPTER NINE

    I was trouble (Crank)
    It was close to two in the afternoon before I got clear of work, drove home and showered, then headed out for Dad’s. I was in my new car, an ’85 Toyota that ran surprisingly well.
    Another of Julia’s hidden talents. When I got the final quote for repairing the car, I almost had a heart attack. Five thousand dollars to repair a car I’d paid a thousand for? No chance of that happening. She didn’t want to get the insurance company involved, or her parents, I suspect. She met me on Wednesday afternoon after her classes were out, and we went car shopping. Which made me wonder just what kind of world she came from, that she could drop a thousand dollars on a car without her parents noticing.
    The first one I liked, she’d vetoed, pointing out coolant on the oil dipstick. “Means the head gasket is cracked,” she said, matter-of-factly. The second car met a similar fate: rusted and bent frame. It had been in an accident at some point