Free Faster We Burn by Chelsea M. Cameron Page A

up at her.
    “Not always.”
    She rolled her eyes and stepped over him, going back to the couch.
    “Are you okay?” I said. No one else seemed concerned about Allan, who was still writhing on the floor.
    “Yeah, I’m good.” He pushed himself up, using the counter to get fully vertical again. “She just shuts me down every time. I’m not a dick. Well, at least not most of the time.”
    “I’m reserving judgment,” I said, crossing my arms.
    He laughed, pointing at me. “I like you. I hope you stick around. Do you sing or play or anything?”
    “Ah, no. I’m just here as a groupie, I guess.” Stryker came back in, and it wasn’t my imagination that his eyes searched the room until he found me.
    “You have any sisters? Friends?” He winked and that made me laugh.
    “They’re taken. But nice try,” I said, walking past him and patting him on the shoulder. “There is a lid for every pot.”
    I sat down next to Stryker again.
    “How was the engine problem?” I said, resisting putting sarcastic emphasis on “engine problem.”
    His eyes widened in mock surprise. “There didn’t seem to be a problem. Can you imagine that?” I pretended to gasp.
    “I cannot.” We both laughed as everyone settled back into their spots.
    “Don’t worry about Ric. She’s not the one I want to fuck on this couch after I kick everyone out,” he whispered in my ear before swapping his mandolin with Zoey for his banjo.
    I’d said no this afternoon, but maybe it was the combination of the alcohol burning in my veins or the music burning in my ears, but I wanted him to throw everyone out right then and there and have my way with him. Not angry-revenge sex. Just hot, sweaty, passionate sex.
    They played “Beat The Devil’s Tattoo” again, followed by “Demons”, by Imagine Dragons and then “Letter to the President”, by a Maine band, The Rustic Overtones, followed by a crazy time when someone would yell out a random song and they’d all attempt to play it. Anything from commercial jingles to cheesy pop songs. Then Allan yelled out “We Are Never Getting Back Together!” and they started playing it.
    They didn’t quite know the lyrics, but that made it all the more entertaining.
    “Sing it out, Pinky!” Allan yelled as they mumbled their way through the verses. I’d finished my first drink and was on my second, so my walls were down a bit. I sang the words, and somehow my voice carried and everyone followed me. I didn’t try to do anything fancy, but somehow I was able to blend with the rest of them and sound okay. At least, not like an injured whale or one of those horrible tone-deaf people on American Idol.
    They ended the song with a bang and everyone laughed.
    “I knew you had it in you, girl,” Allan said, holding his fist out. I bumped it and got fist bumps from everyone else. Except Ric, of course.
    “You can sing,” Stryker said, looking at me as if I’d revealed that I had a box full of treasure hidden in my dorm room. I heard a scoffing sound coming from Ric’s direction.
    “I wouldn’t exactly call it that. I just like to sing in the car when I drive,” I said, shrugging. “Oh, and I was in chorus in sixth grade and I totally rocked ‘Jingle Bells’ at the holiday concert.”
    Everyone laughed.
    “Well, it’s getting late,” Stryker said, glancing at the clock on the DVD player. “You guys should probably get home. Don’t you all have things to do early tomorrow morning that you need to go to bed for?”
    “All right, all right. Stryker wants to get laid, everyone out,” Allan said, putting his guitar back in its case. “Some of us don’t get to have sex with the girls we want to all the time.”
    “Oh shut up, Allan,” Zoey said, getting her coat. “I am only giving you a ride if you are silent the entire way.”
    “I don’t know if I can promise that,” he said seriously. “Please?”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “Fine. It was nice to meet you, Katie.” She waved and gave