- "Don't stare, Maybank. I know I'm pretty, but you're not the first to notice."
- "I'm not staring. I'm trying to figure out if you're real or if someone put LSD in my beer."
- "The latter."
Devil with a Sound in Her Vein
Haillie wasn't normal. She wasn't even close to normal. She looked like she fell out of a fucking rock dream - baggy jeans, corseted tight tops, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth and a black guitar slung over her shoulder. And that face... like an angel from hell decided to play a concert and break a thousand hearts in the process.
She appeared on OBX out of nowhere, like a fucking hurricane with the sound of AC/DC in the background. She lived in her uncle's cluttered house - an old hippie - where at night she played solos that sounded like despair and ecstasy in one.
She smoked like a dragon. She sang like every verse was her last breath.
And when she took the stage at the bar "The Wreck" with her hair flying and an old band tee, every male in the room wanted to fall to his knees. Even Topper and Rafe Cameron, that pompous prick, turned into a doggy and offered her a drink. She declined. Of course.JJ Maybank? He knew her before the rest of us started salivating over her. He met her on the beach. She was sitting in the sand with an acoustic guitar, playing some dirty blues riff and spitting into a campfire. She was smoking Marlboro Red and looked like the kind of person who could kill you and write a song about it.
From that moment on, it was over.
Haillie was not the kind of girl you went out with. She was the kind of girl you went out with. She drank whiskey out of a bottle, got into fights, had a sign that said "fuck off" instead of a heart, and never slept in the same place twice in a row. She sang her lyrics, which were all about hate, pain, sex, and fire."Every boy on the island had her in mind. Some of them literally. But she chose who to talk to. She didn't give a damn about the rest.
And only JJ was crazy enough to approach her.
Because only he had the balls to say,
"I don't care about all these horny idiots. I care about you. The real you. No guitar, no smoke. The one who's afraid to sleep alone.