“This is one of my favorite places,” Nick called to me from across the table. We had sat in a far corner booth away from the large crowd of people on the dance floor. I figured I would end up out there at some point tonight, but I wasn't drunk yet.
“It's nice,” I said to him, and I meant it. Seattle people were so—stylish. And carefree. And fun. I looked down at the drink I had ordered my—a huge “fishbowl” that held a beautiful blue drink mixed with what were probably six too many shots of tequila. Tonight, I couldn't bring herself to care. I leaned forward and took a long swallow of my drink, feeling the warmth flush to my cheeks in a few moments.
“Do you like it?” Nick asked. Under the club lights, his eyes seemed to twinkle and glow. He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, his brown hair slightly mussed and the five o’clock shadow just appearing on his face. I didn't know if it was the alcohol in the drink or what, but I felt a physically overwhelming desire to jump his bones.
“I love it,” I said, averting my gaze away from his face before he caught me staring. “It's sweet.” I took another long drink, ignoring Nick's pointed look.
“Easy,” he said. “Those shots will sneak up on you.”
“Good.” I straightened up in my seat. By now, my head was feeling fuzzy in a pleasant, drunk way. “That's what I was hoping for.” Hands still wrapped around the fishbowl, I scanned the club, admiring the flowy dresses of the Seattle girls with their long locks of dark hair and rocking bods.
“Can I get you a refill?” the blond server asked Nick, stopping in front of our table. I looked down, baffled to see I had chugged most of my strong tequila drink.
“Keep them coming,” Nick said before I could answer.
“Ah,” the server said, smiling kindly at me. “One of those days?”
“One of those days,” I agreed. I smiled back as she walked away to put in my drink order, sashaying her hips in just the right way to draw men's stares from all over the room. I sighed wistfully and rested my chin in my hand, wishing I had the confidence that every woman in Seattle seemed to have. “Everyone is so beautiful here,” I said to Nick. “The women are all models, and the even the men are abnormally attractive. It's not fair.”
“What's not fair?” I asked. He reached for the second bottle of beer that the server had set on the table. He was staring at me. “No one in this entire room is any better than you are.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you don't have to try and make me feel better.” Pushing my empty drink aside to start on the new one, I avoided Nick's gaze, hoping I wasn't flushing an angry shade of red in front of him. Briefly, I thought of Emily and wished—though not for the first time—that my best friend was here to talk to.
“Thank you for this, Nick,” I said after a few minutes. The alcohol had loosened me up enough to look him in the face and smile. “I needed to get out.”
“You and me both,” he said. He stood from the table then, extending his hand in my direction. “Wanna dance?”
“Oh. I, um—” I frowned, debating whether I was drunk enough to make a fool of myself in front of one hundred pretty people. “I'm not much of a dancer,” I said finally.
“I’m not sure I agree,” Nick said. He flashed a smile at me, but I was anything but flattered. I hadn't been lying—I was a terrible dancer—but he also hadn't tried very hard to get me out on the floor. I watched him shoot back the rest of his beer before he made his way onto the dance floor, leaning in toward a single woman with long dark hair moving to the music without a partner. From our booth, I watched the woman turn toward him and smile, taking the hand he offered her with a flirty shrug. Something deep inside of me seemed to stiffen with anger, and I scowled as I watched him rub up on the strange girl, his body practically attached to hers as they moved seductively to the music. Too annoyed to keep watching them, I took another drink and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to check for any missed calls or texts. There was a text from Kit, who had volunteered to work the night shift in the ER—a picture was attached to the text, a photo of Kit and one of the ER docs grinning into the camera.
Slow night, the text read. Are you doing anything fun? I typed back a quick reply and sent it, making a mental note to call Tasha back tomorrow and catch up. Missing Tasha made me miss everything about home. I wished my good friend was here tonight drinking with me.
“Excuse me?” I called, raising one hand in the air. The same busty blond server saw it and came over, grinning as if someone had just given her the best quickie of her life.
“Another drink?” she asked. I sucked down the last of the boozy juice and pushed it aside. “Yes, but I'll take four straight tequila shots instead of the drink. Also, do you have limes here?” As the server prepared my drink order, I found my eyes fluttering back toward Nick and his sexy dance partner. They were still in the middle of the floor, flirting like crazy and swinging to the music. Somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach, I felt the green-eyed, jealous monster emerge. I did not understand why I was so annoyed—Nick was not my boyfriend; we were merely friends. But if he wanted to play that game, so could I.
“Four tequila shots,” the server said, dispersing the glasses onto the table. “And a freshly cut lime.”
“Awesome.” I beamed at the waitress and handed her a twenty as a tip. “Keep the tip, and keep the shots coming. Just put them on Nick's tab.”
The waitress smiled slyly, took the money, and hurried away. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the first glass of amber liquid and tossed it back, grimacing. The booze burned my throat going down, but then it warmed my insides. Without hesitating, I tossed back the other three shots, feeling my stomach roll and tighten with nausea. Then I bit into the sour lime and sucked the juice between my teeth, trying to kill the rancid taste of the hard liquor.
“Impressive,” someone behind me said, approaching the table. “I haven't seen skill like that since high school.” He was a handsome man who looked little older than me, and he was grinning as he sipped on a dirty martini.
“I'm Jake,” he said, offering his hand. “What should I call you?”
“Drunk,” I said, and then giggled. Over Jake's shoulder, I saw Nick looking back toward our table, catching sight of the strange man standing near me. Feeling excessively flirty, I took Jake's hand in mine, batting my lashes. “My name is Sam,” I said.
Jake's grin grew, and he set my drink down on the table.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked. For a moment I hesitated, but then shrugged and got to my feet.
“I'd love to,” I said. Still in the middle of the crowd, I saw Nick's neck crane to the side as he tried to catch a glimpse of us.
I'll show him, I thought. Putting on my best sexy face, I pulled Jake onto the dance floor and moved my body into him until my groin was nearly pressing into his.
“You are beautiful,” Jake murmured in my ear. Had I been sober, I would have rolled my eyes and flipped the guy my middle finger, but after two fishbowl-sized drinks and four shots of tequila, I was feeling anything but annoyed.
“You're not too bad yourself,” I said, leaning into him. Jake's skin was hot on mine as he trailed his fingers up and down my arms, burning with a feather-light touch. He smelled like cheap cologne and drug store hair gel, but tonight I didn't care. He was handsome, and I was single—and even above all that, Nick was watching us from across the dance floor, and he didn't look pleased.
There were bodies everywhere—couples entangled in each other's arms, hearts racing and skin damp with sweat. I could practically smell sex in the air as Jake grinded on me. As he pulled me against him, I could feel the excitement rise under my jeans. I was too drunk to care. Sex didn't sound all bad right then. It sounded good. I wanted to have sex—no, I wanted to be fucked.
“Hey,” I murmured, slowing my body's seductive rock. I leaned into Jake, my hand subtly traveling over his abdomen and down below his belt. “Wanna go back to my place?”
“Do I ever,” Jake growl
ed in my ear. He yanked me close to him, catching me off guard as he pushed his lips to mine. I returned the kiss with hunger, not caring about anything at that moment besides the fact that fire lit my entire body. I felt Jake's hand snake around my wrist and tug me toward the door. I followed, stumbling, looking back over my shoulder for Nick.
“Hold on,” I called to Jake. “I need to tell my friend I'm leaving.” He didn't stop, barely even slowed. Behind me, I could see glimpses of Nick's T-shirt in the crowd. “Jake, stop!” I shouted, yanking back. Instead of releasing me, he wheeled around, inches from my face. His eyes were glassy, and his breath stank of liquor. I opened my mouth to tell him once more to let me go back, but Jake's grip tightened on my wrist. He swiftly turned back, nearly yanking me clean off my feet. Both shocked and startled, I fought his grip as I was pulled toward the exit.
“Let me go!” I shouted. My cries went unheard above the pounding bass and horde of dancers. I couldn't see Nick anymore, and with a horrific, sobering thought, I realized that whatever was about to happen next would not turn out well.
He yanked me through the exit door and out into the cooler air, his fingers never loosening on my arms. There was no fun anymore, no sexy, innocent flirting and seductive dancing.
“Let me go, you sick bastard!” I screamed. I dug my heels into the ground, pulling back. Had I not still been drunk, the swing of my fist toward his face probably would have connected. Instead, Jake caught my arm in his free hand before shoving me back against the wall, his hands rough on my arms. I winced as the harsh brick wall dug into my back, and with horror, I realized he had pulled me into an empty alleyway.
“Please,” I begged. My whole body was numb with fear, head fuzzy with fog as I tried to fight him off. Jake was strong, much stronger than I was. He pushed his body against mine, nearly knocking the breath from me. I opened my mouth to scream, praying someone would hear me, but Jake slapped his hand over my mouth, smothering it.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hissed, and I gasped as one free hand wrapped painfully around my neck. The other unbuttoned my pants. I struggled again, heart racing as I strained against him. There was nobody, not even a shadow in the dark. I closed my eyes, realizing that if I couldn't get away from him, I would just have to take it. I was too woozy to think straight, buzzed just enough to keep my limbs and muscles from working properly. I closed my eyes, wishing I were dead.
“I'm gonna fuck you good,” Jake whispered. I turned my head away from him, tasting the salty sweat on his damp palm. I closed my eyes again and prayed to a God I wasn't even sure existed.
“Please—”
“I said, keep your fucking mouth shu—!” The last word ceased, and in a shocking moment, I felt Jake’s grip on my body release, his hands slipping from my neck. My eyes flickered open, and I fell to the ground, realizing that he had been holding me a few inches from the pavement. Terrified and woozy, I clutched my throat as I gasped for air, fighting to catch my breath. I felt nauseated, sick to my stomach, and wondered if I would vomit all over the alleyway. A few feet from me, Nick was holding Jake against the opposite wall, his free fist raised and ready to strike. I sucked in another breath of air, shaking, feeling the painful buzz of my skin where Jake had been groping me. As I struggled to breathe, I looked up just in time to see Nick throw a furious punch in Jake’s direction. I heard the crack of what I could only assume was the breaking of his nose, and I couldn’t bring herself to cringe for him.
“You have sixty seconds to get the fuck out of this neighborhood,” Nick said. I watched him drag Jake to his feet, eyes practically burning with a red-hot rage that I had never even seen before. “And if I ever see your face around here again, I will beat you to a pulp before I tie your ass up and call the police. Do you understand me?”
Jake nodded frantically as blood trickled down his nose and into his mouth. He didn't look at me, and I couldn't look at him.
As I pushed myself shakily off the ground, Nick swung at Jake's face once more, his knuckles cracking against the man's jaw. I watched, still numb, as Jake clambered to his feet and ran—not even once looking back. There was a heavy silence for a moment as the two of us stood in the dark alleyway, breathing hard and silently trying to compose ourselves. After a moment, I felt Nick reach for me, his hand on my arm. I flinched away unintentionally, feeling like my whole body had just been beaten with a metal bat.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked softly. I turned to him then, forgetting all at once about the stupid girl he’d been dancing with earlier. He was looking at me, his hands listless by his sides. Nothing mattered at that moment, no jealousy or anger or hurt as I stepped forward and melted into him, letting the tears spill from my eyes and trail down my cheeks as Nick embraced me, holding me tight.
Nick
I was not a violent man. I was the class clown, the goof, the guy that asked girls to prom with stupid pranks and spouted stupid jokes until somebody laughed. But tonight I had felt something in me that I'd never felt before—anger so intense it had crawled into my brain and mocked me.
I'd been terrified when I’d lost sight of Sam in the club. One moment she had been there grinding up on that loser, and the next she had been lost in the crowd, no longer in my view. It had taken me too long to find her, and I was so angry at myself for that. I'd had to ask around in the crowd, describe her fiery red hair to the bouncers and servers until someone told me she'd gone out the door. I'd been angry at first that she was just bailing on me, and then I became even angrier when I realized she was probably about to hook up with another man. Before I could wallow too long in my jealousy, though, I'd heard the guy's raspy voice. The moment I rounded the corner and spotted them, every fiber of my being had bristled, and rage had washed over me.
I remembered seeing red as I pulled Jake off Sam and hit him the first time across the face. I didn't feel like one good hit was enough, so I'd hit him again. All I wanted to do was smash the guy's face in until it was unrecognizable, but I hadn't. I wasn't dangerous—I was angry.
It was two in the morning when I escorted a drunk and hysterical Sam out the door and back home. Once she had stopped crying after the ordeal in the alley, she’d insisted that she was fine and that we had to have two more drinks, because she wouldn't let that asshole ruin her night. She’d smiled when she said it, as if trying to laugh it off, but her voice had cracked, and her lip trembled. I had wanted nothing more than to pull her back into me and never let go, but I didn't. Instead, I agreed with her request, sensing that if she were to keep drinking, she would sober up. Now, two hours and nine and a half tequila shots later, we were home. Fortunately, she’d agreed to the water bottles I’d offered her, so by the time we stumbled through the door, laughing about I had no idea what, she had sobered up.
She leaned back against the closet door as if to catch her breath. I locked the deadbolt into place and offered her my hand in case she still felt unsteady on her feet.
“You know what, Nick?” she asked, not fighting as I led her across the living room and toward the stairs. “That guy was a real jerk.”
“He was more than that,” I muttered, but she didn't seem to hear me.
“My last guy was a jerk, too,” she said, pulling me to a stop at the bottom of the staircase. I turned to face her, fighting my impatience. I was tired and still furious.
“You're right,” I said, humoring her. “You sure know how to pick ’em.” I meant it as a joke, but the silence was one beat too long. I met Sam's eyes again, horrified to see her bottom lip tremble.
“I can't,” she said. “You're right. I can't even keep a man.” All at once the tears spilled from her eyes, pooling in the brims. Whatever little bit of mascara that had remained now streamed down her face, staining her red-flushed cheeks. I made an awkward attempt to hug her, but she was still sobbing. “He was it, Nick,” she said between pitiful gasps of misery. “Richard was exactly what I needed, and I went and fucked it all up.”
“Richard was a grade-A douc
he-bag,” I said. I pulled Sam's mop of curly red hair back into a loose ponytail to keep it out of her face. “He was exactly what you didn't need, Sam.”
“He helped me excel,” she said. “I was successful because of him.”
“Are you kidding me?” Growing irritated, I gripped her arms gently. “Samantha Elizabeth Carson—you are the most successful person I know, and I can tell you for a fact that it didn't have jack shit to do with Dick.”
“Richard.”
“Dick.”
“Christ.” She lowered her head, her chin nearly touching her chest. I watched her dig into her pocket for her cell phone and check it with bleary eyes.
“Let's get you to bed,” I said after a moment. “You can sleep it off.” I took her arm, tugging her toward the bottom of the stairs, but she resisted.
“I'm not ready for bed, Nick,” she said. A stubborn, vehement stare now replaced the tone of misery only moments ago. “I want to stay up.”
“You're drunk. And crying.”
“I'm not crying anymore, and I'm already sobering up.” She pushed my hand away unconsciously, still staring at the cell phone screen as if waiting for it to light up with an incoming call.
“Seriously, Sam,” I said, reaching for the phone. “Bed.”
“Fuck off, Nick.” She looked up sharply, her lower lip trembling as she stared at me. “Stop involving yourself in my life.”
“It's hard not to,” I said. “Usually when one of my friends is about to get raped, I figure it's an excellent idea to step in.” I paused, fighting for composure. “We live together, Sam, and we're raising a kid.”
“Piper's not ours!” she hissed, and I could see the moment of pain in her eyes, a look I knew meant she wished she could take it back.
“Whatever,” I said. I dropped my hands to my sides and stepped back. “If you don't want my help, Sam, fine. But I'm going to bed. You can sleep on the couch.” I turned around and made my way toward the staircase, fuming. Years of friendship and hard times and good days and bad had proved nothing—Sam would forever be the same woman with a chip on her shoulder and her nose in the air.
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