Punk and Zen Read Online Free PDF Page A

and sank into the groove, at peace and at home in
my little musical world, feeling fine, just fine, thank you. Of course that
moment of peace couldn’t last. What is it they say, “When you least expect it,
expect it?”
    I felt a gentle touch on the bare skin of my back, and
as I opened my eyes, I saw a hand holding a plastic cup of water. That was
nice. Wow, sometimes Trace could really set me off, and sometimes she could be
just so damn sweet, so considerate, it drove me fuckin’ crazy.
    It was like she’d been raised in my home—nobody ever
said they were sorry. Okay, well, my parents would force us to say it if we got
caught doing something, but otherwise, nobody ever said those words; they “did”
it instead.
    For example, if Nico and I had an argument and it was
his fault? Later on, he’d say something like, “Hey, um, wanna go play some
video games? My treat.” Or if it was me, I’d catch up with him and hand him a
cup of hot chocolate or something. Our parents did it too. I mean, if they were
“wrong” (which, of course, never happened), they’d pick up a book one of us
wanted or take that person out for a Saturday afternoon—something along those
lines. We “did” it; we didn’t just say it. Well, okay, I was known to say it on
occasion, but I always backed it up with an action because “actions speak
louder than words.”
    Trace “did” it, too, although she might every now and
then say it, but usually not.
    I took the cup and gratefully tossed back and
swallowed more than half of it before I realized it was a tequila pop (tequila
and 7-Up) and not water. As the combination of sourness and soda fizzled
against the back of my throat, my eyes opened wider, and I gulped down what was
left in my mouth before handing back the cup.
    “Hey, thanks, Trace, but I’m not drink—” It wasn’t
Trace. It was Blue.
    I was momentarily speechless as I pushed my headset
from my ears. No one ever, and I mean ever , had entered that booth
before that either I didn’t know or didn’t personally invite. This was unheard
of. This was—
    “Your friend let me in,” she told ABC me,
neatly plucking the cup from my fingers with a smile. “She figured you wouldn’t
mind.”
    A setup. That’s what this was. I looked back out into
the room and didn’t have to scan far. Trace was right by the “request” window,
smirking at me, and I leveled my eyes on hers as I leaned over to catch her
ear.
    “Trace, what the fuck?” I asked her in a loud whisper.
Invading my domain and all—sheesh, you know?
    Trace tweaked my hair again. “You’re so fucking cute
when you’re mad.” She laughed, then reached up and kissed me. Her lips were
soft and full but pressed hard against mine, and when she finally let go, she
bit my lip. I tasted blood.
    “If you did some of the things I would”—she stroked my
cheek—“you’d have more fun.” Trace drew a finger across my lip, taking the red
stain she’d left with it, and I watched, angry, stirred, and mesmerized, as she
slid it between her lips. What was wrong with me, that I let her get to me like
that? I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to, and I wasn’t sure I did.
    Trace smiled as she brought her hand down. “Mmm,
delicious,” she commented, then smirked at me. “Now go have fun. I fuckin’ dare
you.” Her smile turned wicked, a flash of teeth, eyes sparking her challenge. She
held my eyes a moment, then gave me her back, dismissing me.
    My mind swirled as I straightened up and faced my
“guest.” The carbonation burned through my stomach, the tequila sent a flush
through my body, warming my skin and thrumming in my chest.
    Blue simply observed me, cup in hand and eyes narrowed
in consideration. “I told your friend I wanted to speak with you, and she said
she’d help me out, since she’d interrupted,” she paused a moment and set the
cup on the ledge behind her, “our earlier conversation.” She stepped closer to
narrow the short distance between