by Mj Hendrix
Once inside the mansion of debauchery, Kenna grips my hand and propels me forward to get a drink. There are three guys in hot-pink swim trunks with painted Greek letters on their chests serving drinks. We get our Solo cups filled with mystery liquid and tiny, colorful umbrellas. There are beach balls being thrown around, and the song blaring on the radio says something about “feet in the water, hands in the sand.” Even though we are miles from the coast, the vibe is pretty compelling. Beautiful, nearly naked humans are surrounding us, gyrating to the beat of the music.
“Do you think they’ll come?” Kenna shouts over the noise.
I shrug, already wishing I were back at the dorm, under the covers.
A guy with gaudy yellow-striped swim trunks and an impressive six-pack struts by us, giving me an approving once-over. He swivels in our direction, a conceited smirk on his face. His wavy blond hair screams wannabe surfer.
“Damn, sugar, you must be a freshy. I know I would’ve remembered that sweet ass if I’d seen it before.” He gets close enough that I smell his overpowering cologne—an automatic throwback to every jock in high school after practice. His gaze licks over me hungrily, and I tense up. “I’ll be in serious pain for the rest of the night, looking at this body.”
His gaze resembles a hungry bear, and I’m a skinned cow, hanging in a meat locker.
“Guess I’ll save you from suffering by walking away then.” I’ve known too many bears.
I grab Kenna’s hand, jerking her toward the front porch. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Hey! What’s wrong? Kyle’s a douche, just ignore him. Let’s find Lexi,” she pleads with me when, suddenly, a bright smile touches her face.
“Hey, guys! So glad you could make it.” She’s scanning behind me, so I look back over my shoulder.
Adam is standing on the porch with the other two guys from the cafeteria, but Levi isn’t with them. I reject the tiny flutter of excitement in my belly at seeing him here. They’re dressed in ripped-up jeans and faded T-shirts, looking uncertain about entering the house. Kenna walks over to them, her body swaying. I see the dark blonde guy’s eyes widen as she approaches.
“Are y’all coming in? Where’s Levi?”
She looks behind them into the darkened street, searching for Clark Kent’s twin. I trail out onto the porch, a chill in the air touching my skin. Goose bumps prick my arms, and I hug them to my bare stomach.
Adam clears his throat and speaks, gaze trained at the top of my head, “He, uh, couldn’t make it. I’m sorry, he’s not big on gatherings.” He gestures at the other guys. “This is my brother, Daniel, and this is our suite mate, Silas. I hope it’s okay that I brought them instead.”
Daniel is clearly related to Adam, just a fraction shorter with darker hair. His eyes are trained on the interior of the party, ready to go in. He’s chomping at the bit. Silas is big and handsome, just like the others. He screams athlete with pale green eyes and wavy sandy-blond hair. They all have suntanned skin.
Daniel smiles at Kenna, reaching out his hand. His blue eyes are bright with excitement. He’s the shortest of the trio, but he still reaches at least six one.
“Hi. Nice to meet you. Hope it’s okay that I tagged along.” His Southern twang is just as pronounced as Adam’s.
“Oh, of course! Definitely. We should have a smaller thing at our place. Maybe Levi would feel more comfortable with less people.” Her smile is forced.
Adam turns toward me, and I look up into his amber eyes.
He licks his lips and swallows. “Hey, Harley. Nice to see you again.”
He’s keeping his eyes above the interesting bits, and I applaud the effort he’s putting forth. What kind of guy refuses to check you out in a tiny red bikini?
“I think you forgot the rules.” My voice is playful, but it sounds a little husky.
His gaze pinches. “Wha—”
A loud voice breaks in over him from behind us. “The rules are strict here, gentlemen! No shirts allowed. Take them off now or leave!” A beautiful girl in a hot-pink one-piece with high-cut thighs and a deep V-neck extends a skinny arm over Kenna’s shoulder.
“Kenna, I can’t believe you invited rulebreakers to the first party of the year! What a shameful way to introduce my baby cousin to the sisters.” The newcomer has a dark fake tan, long artificial lashes, and bleached hair.
“Lexi, hey! They are not rulebreakers. They are taking them off now. Let’s go get some punch. I want to introduce Harley to the girls. Isn’t she a hottie?” Kenna beams at me as she and Lexi pivot around to walk back through the front door.
Lexi’s gaze trails over me. “Hell yeah, she is. Stay away from my man, Jon. I’ll cut you.” She winks in my direction as they sashay off.
I turn my gaze back to the guys. “You guys coming?”
I catch Adam’s eyes shooting back up to my face as his cheeks heat with guilt.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
He lifts his shirt up, and it’s my turn to blush. Ridges hovering over a defined V-shape remind me of the men’s underwear packets on the Target shelves. Low-slung, tattered jeans barely hanging on bless my eyes. I try not to count, but wow, eight perfect, thick squares flex as his arms raise the stretching cotton over his head. Blue veins decorate his chest and thick, muscular arms. My jaw is somewhere in the vicinity of my kneecaps. Attempting to regain some coherent thoughts at his unexpected torso reveal, I nod and turn to walk inside.
Breathe in, breathe out. I try not to gawk but fail miserably, like every other woman in the room.
6
Adam
Red on creamy tan skin etched with black lines is my new favorite color. When God created the female body, he spent extra time on Harley. My eyes are rebelliously trailing over her retreating form.
I know she must be a wild, unsafe girl. Her hips are everything I never knew how badly I wanted. Her thighs are stamped with symbols, scales, and words I can’t read as she walks. Legs, long and smooth, saunter seductively over the creaking wood floor. I pretend that’s why I keep studying her body. I want to learn everything embossed into her skin.
How does a beautiful young girl like her end up with all this ink? Did she really go into a tattoo shop and ask for a lotus flower and a blue heron between her shoulder blades? Her waist is tiny, flaring into a perfect arch up toward her shoulders. She twirls back to glance at us, and thankfully, my gaze was on her back and not lower. My heart rate is a rocket, thundering toward the moon.
“You want a drink?”
She stills as I approach. Stopping a safe distance away, I notice a large, dark shape on her side. I look down at it, seeing a woman’s face with full hair spilling out, twisting around her.
“No, thanks,” I mumble.
I wanted to look back at the strange tattoo, but it’s too close to her breast. She’s gazing up at me with her oversize blue eyes. Her crimson lips are parted as she blinks and looks away.
“It’s too loud in here. Let’s get some air.” She weaves through the crowd effortlessly as I attempt to follow without bumping into anyone.
A blonde girl reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Hey, sexy, which frat are you in?” Her voice sounds funny, like she’s half-asleep and delirious.
I try to extract my arm. My head swivels around to see if Silas or Dan will jump in and help me, but I see them across the room at a long table with red cups all over it. A swarm of flesh and bikini straps has them trapped. I’m dealing with my own issue, or I would try to help them.
Flipping back to the small girl, I say, “I’m here with Harley.”
I smile and try backing away, but she grips me tighter, her nails digging in.
“Who the hell is Harley? This is my sorority house. I could give you a tour.” She leans toward me, her sweaty body pressing on my arm.
My heart rate picks up at the contact. I’ve never felt a woman’s breast.
“Hey, back off. This one’s mine.” Harley reaches over and literally pries the girl’s fin
gers off of me.
She yelps in surprise or pain.
“Hey! Who are you? You aren’t allowed to just barge into a party like this!” The blonde’s voice is rising, and she’s drawing attention around us.
“Bite me, bitch,” Harley snaps at her, tugging me along after her to the back of the house.
I don’t have time to process her blatant use of profanity and the unexpected claim on me. My eyes are glued to her flawless, marked skin. Trying not to look at her nearly naked is an Olympic feat I’m inadequately trained for. The shape of her body reminds me of an old Victorian corset I saw on a museum tour once. I’ve never seen anything more enticing in my life. Sweat beads on my lower back from the effort.
We finally emerge through the open back door onto a surprisingly quiet deck. There are a few couples scattered around and a distinct smell of skunk. I’m thankful for the darkness to conceal how unaccustomed to seeing girls in bikinis I am. My physical reaction is unbelievably embarrassing. I have to force my gaze up.
“I can’t believe that girl. What’s wrong with these sororities? Kenna wants to join one, and frankly, it’s embarrassing that…” She trails off, taking in a gulp of air and blowing it out slowly.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
She flips around, her face forming into a frown.
“Why would you ask me that?” Her voice is cautious.
“I just…you look like maybe you’re cold,” I stammer like a moron. “I’m a little cold, and you don’t…have much on. So, I thought maybe you’re cold.” Stop talking about her lack of clothing if you want to be able to rejoin the people in the light, idiot.
She blinks at me silently for several long seconds before nodding her head, piled with thick black hair.
“Yeah, I guess so. We can go back in if you want.” Her raspy voice is not helping the situation below my waist.
“No, no. I was just going to offer you my shirt if you want to…be more comfortable.” I hold my breath, thinking I might have possibly offended her in some way.
The shirt is in my hand, and she looks down at it. Realization crosses her face, and I turn a shade resembling a tomato ripe for picking.
“Um, sure, I’ll wear it. Thanks.” She looks up, biting on her lip.
I hand it over and turn around to give her privacy. She’s putting more clothes on, but it still seems inappropriate to watch her do it.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. Thankfully, my embarrassing state has ceased slightly due to the conscious effort of keeping my eyes up. I turn around to see that my favorite soft green John Deere T-shirt envelops her beautifully, like it was made for her to wear. Anything would probably look that way on her sinful shape, but my chest squeezes a little, seeing her in my clothes.
She’s clutching the bottom of it in her fingers, her head slightly turned away as she peers at me sideways. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy like you.” Her arms cross over her chest.
“What makes you say that?” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
She licks her eyes over me, and I’m feeling warmer under her stare.
“Most guys would rather a girl be cold, so they could see her nipples,” she observes casually.
Heat crawls up my neck as my eyes widen. I don’t know what to say to such a crass statement.
Do all worldly girls talk like this? It seems like something not even a husband and wife would say to each other. I’d love to see them, but she has to know I would wait for marriage to ever look at that part of a woman. I’m frozen, trying to find a suitable response, when she starts to laugh, an attractive, throaty sound.
“Wow, okay! I can’t believe I’m even out here, having this conversation. You seem like a nice guy, really. So, don’t waste your time with me. I promise even the one who tried to maul you would be a better choice.”
She starts to walk back into the party before I stop her with my hand in the velvety crease of her elbow.
“I’m not really looking to pursue a woman. I just came to get my degree in agriculture, so I can use it on the farm. I’d love to study with you for our Horticulture class…if you want.” That’s all I want—to study with her.
She smirks at me and nods her head. “Sure. Why not?”
Honestly, being in her presence feels strangely inevitable.
7
Harley
As I lie in bed after ditching the party, my mind cannot rest. My body is tingling, and I keep replaying the night in my head.
I bummed a few hits off of one of the stoners in the yard before leaving. It helps me relax, but it also makes me think too much. Tonight, Adam’s look of surprise is what I can’t forget.
Of course he would never “pursue” a girl like me. He’s a straitlaced farm boy, apparently. He’s probably on the hunt for a virginal innocent, not a tattooed foster kid, years past virginal status. I feel like a moron for even assuming he would be interested in me. Well, interested in anything more than sex—they all want that. He seems different, but he’s still a guy, thinking with one head at a time. If I know anything for certain about the male species, that’s it.
Whatever it is that’s so different about him, I will not waste my time with it.
That body though…
The door bangs open, interrupting my impure reverie.
“Harley,” my roommate whisper-yells, “are you awake?”
I briefly consider pretending to be asleep. She tiptoes into the room, sneaking over to her side of the tiny space.
“Back so soon?” My voice is raspier than usual.
She freezes, her head turning back to look at me.
“Oohhh, yes, I am back. I did not—did not drink much at aaaall.”
Wow, my four-year-old foster brother was a better liar than her.
“Hmmm.” I snicker as she trips on a stray heel on the floor, falling into her bed.
“Ouch! Dad-blam-it!” She groans, gripping her shin.
“Watch your language, would you? I have sensitive ears,” I deadpan.
She bursts out laughing. “I’ve literally heard you use the F-word!”
“Yeah, well, that’s less offensive than whatever the hell you just said.” I roll over on my back as my phone pings.
It’s a text from my mom.
mom: hey, sweetie, missing you! been saving up to come see my baby bird. would love if you could send me some cash for the ticket by next week. I want to celebrate your birthday with you. sleep tight, honey, xo
I cringe at the message. Gotta love when your mom forgets when your birthday is. My phone reads one a.m. I’m surprised the writing is legible at this hour. Maybe she’s so strapped for cash that she can’t afford her preferred “self-care.”
“Is that Adam?” Kenna has propped herself up on her elbow, an excited tone in her voice. “Y’all are such a hot couple.”
“No, my mom,” I correct her as I roll over so my back is facing her.
She doesn’t get the hint.
“Your foster mom?” she asks.
“No, my birth mom. I don’t talk to my foster momster,” I clip.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, do you and your real mom get along?”
Do people not understand body language anymore?
“If by ‘get along,’ you mean, she asks me for money and pretends to love me, sure.” I take a brief pause before adding, “I’m tired.”
Long seconds tick by, and I think she’s given up.
“Harley…I’m really sorry. That’s so awful. I can’t fathom not having a mom who really cares about me.” Her voice is quiet. She pauses, debating on how far to pry. She’s already gone about as far as most people care to.
“Do you…do you ever want to talk about it?” She doesn’t sound how people usually do who find out about my birth mother—full of pity. It’s sadder, which makes me feel full of the sadness I can usually keep out.
Silence is my answer.
Billy’s Pub is on the strip downtown. It was the first place I stopped after my twenty-t
hree-hour bus ride from Carbona, Illinois. It’s on Seventh Street, which is party central for the college students and young adults in Greencity, Texas. The uniforms aren’t my favorite, but they do help with the tips.
I tie back the little black apron over my mini denim skirt. The white tank with Billy’s Pub written in red cursive script draws quite a bit of attention even though I’m only a small C cup. Billy hired me on sight. I guess I fit the vibe. My foster sister’s old ID didn’t hurt me landing the job.
Thankfully, I’ve made a work friend, a woman in her thirties named Sal. She has new baby-daddy drama to blab about every shift, allowing me to silently nod along. Sal’s curly black hair forms a perfect, fluffy circle at her nape. Her voice sounds like a girl I knew in high school who was from Brooklyn.
“This fool came home without a damn clue we had even broken up. He says to me, ‘Sally, ohh, Sally baby, come on and get up on it for me.’ I said, ‘Fool! Get your drunk, cheating ass outta my house! We done broke up, and you’re too shit-faced to even remember all the mean shit I said to you!’ ” She shakes her head, puffy ponytail bobbing. “Made me so damn mad. Thankfully, he passed out on the couch, and I left to take Marley to school before he so much as rolled over. Can you believe I put up with that shit for seven years? Seven years of my life.” She tosses a broken glass into the trash bin, nodding her head at it to emphasize what she thinks of those seven years.
“Although I got my sweet little Marley. You got any kids?” She’s washing shot glasses, preparing for the Saturday night crowd requesting lemon drops and tequila shots.
I shake my head, which is all the encouragement she needs to go on.
“Well, that’s a blessing. Keep it that way as long as you can, sugar.” Her tone is secretive, like she’s sharing profound nuggets of wisdom.
“I’m never having kids.” There’s not a hint of doubt in my voice. Someone like me wouldn’t know the first thing about how to take care of a child. I only know what you shouldn’t do.