by Kat T. Masen
I go outside to call my dad and ask him to pick my car up. I can’t drive like this, plus I need some alone time to make sense of everything that happened inside. There’s something about that jerk which rubs me the wrong way, and even more so, I can’t understand why Zoey’s becoming obsessed with getting him back.
It’s not long before Zoey finds me chatting with some random chick I could have scored with in the bushes somewhere. She would have been a five-minute fix—just not worth my time—to be frank. I’m simply not in the mood.
Whatever her name is, she quickly disappears when Zoey places her hands all over me pretending to be my girlfriend. It catches me by surprise. Kissing her does something to me—something I’ve never experienced before. The kisses between us connect with the rest of my body. It’s surreal and unknown. I don’t know what it means, and despite wanting to talk to her about it, it seems like an unmanly thing to do. But much like the calm before the storm, her following words strike a nerve.
This is all for show, and outside there’s no audience.
That’s right, that’s all I’m good for.
She doesn’t look at me that way.
She doesn’t feel the same way I do.
My anger rises to a whole new level dragging her back inside so I can show her ‘audience’ what the fuck I’m all about. I am a man who does not intend to lose despite her having no interest in me.
I lace my hand around the back of her dress making contact with her skin. Running my fingers along the edge of her dress, I pull her closer until her tits are pushed against my chest.
My mouth makes its way onto her neck caressing her skin with a gentle roll of my tongue. She smells divine, like roses and vanilla, and all this other sweet shit I want to eat. Kissing her skin gives me an instant hard-on, one I’m not afraid to let her feel. If she wants that dickhead to believe we’re a couple, then I’m going to make her feel that way.
Then, I say the words I can’t hold back any longer. If she wants a war, then she’ll have one. She appears shocked at my admission, yet as I continue to touch her in ways I’ve never imagined, her sweet moans continue to echo softly in my ear.
I need to get her out of here—maybe the restroom, the cloakroom, somewhere outside, against the fancy bushes, where I can show her what it’s like to be my girlfriend.
Except she’s your roomie.
Your best friend.
The one human being, the one person, who’s seen you at your worst and been there to support you on more occasions than you can remember.
She’s your definition of family.
She’s the nagging conscience that sits on your shoulder influencing you when you make your decisions about women. What is she saying right now? I pull back slightly and look into her eyes. They’re glassy from all the champagne, but somewhere in that glance, that little devil in her is dancing around. She wants to get Jess back. That’s her mission.
Then it hits me again—she still loves him.
She doesn’t care for me in that way.
I’m not good enough for her.
With every move, my blood is thickening, and anger consumes me in ways I’ve never imagined. I’m still holding on to her, only just, and the question that plays on my mind I get off my chest, “What hold does he have over you?”
Her bleak expression, followed by her silence, tells me it’s more than what I think. But she doesn’t say anything and continues to dance, wrapping her arms around my neck. I pull them back off and stop, my body stilling.
I want a fucking answer.
Enough of this bullshit game we’re playing.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, eyes sidelining toward the band.
“It’s not nothing,” I dismiss her lie in frustration. “Yeah, he cheated on you, but how can you not see how great you are?”
The insecurity and need for revenge are now bugging me. This stupid game is slowly becoming some sick and twisted obsession. Zoey deserves better. Why can’t she fucking see that?
“Because… because he had a way of making me feel like I was inadequate.”
“Inadequate?”
“Yes,” she strains. “I was never good enough. I never wore the right things. Never performed the way I should have in the bedroom. I just want to prove him wrong. Like I was the best thing in his life, and he missed out.”
Did I hear right? That piece of low-life scum had the nerve to belittle her in the bedroom.
I clench my jaw, inviting the memory of one night when Jess stayed over. It was in the first couple of weeks they started dating. I remembered the night because it stuck with me. Her words. Her actions. But being the dedicated ‘roomie’ I was, I tried my best to erase the memory.
The moron is over again, but with the door shut, I’m hoping to get some sleep after a big study session. I walk down the hall to use the bathroom when I hear her voice. It’s not loud, the walls just happen to be paper thin, or I’m wide awake from the pills I took to help me study for my exam.
“That feels so good. The way you rub my pussy...”
Oh. Just ignore it, Drew. So, every girl likes that. No biggie, right?
“I’m going to turn around now, spread my ass nice and wide for you. I want you to stick your finger in my ass. Just one.”
Holy shit! Did I hear what I think I heard?
I scramble for the bathroom, shutting the door with panic and jamming my big toe in the process. No, this can’t be happening. You didn’t just overhear that your roomie likes it in the ass. It’s all just a figment of your imagination, your dirty imagination.
The memory floods back, my hard-on intensifying. For a woman to tell you she wants anything in her ass is like winning the lottery. Occasionally, I’ve come across a woman who wanted to experiment with her dirty side. I’d play around with the rim and gently ease my way in with a tube full of lube. But then they would complain, tell me to back the fuck out, and that would be the end of the fantasy. Cockteasers. It’s like staring at the lottery ticket thinking you’ve won, but you’re one number short.
Okay, so any anal activity’s like winning a million bucks in my eyes.
You have some women who enjoy it in a slow and relaxing pace, and others who run for the hills if you go anywhere near their asshole.
Zoey’s that woman.
The ass woman.
And my sudden need to get near her ass and show her what I want to do with it needs to be curbed on so many levels. These thoughts are so unnatural.
“So, what do you need? A shot? One or two, maybe three?” I ask, dulling down my tone to ease her insecurity.
“Excuse me?”
“What do you need, so I can prove to you that it’s all in your head and you dated a loser who has no clue what the fuck he’s doing?”
She laughs nervously, unable to make eye contact with me. “You’ve had too much to drink. Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
In hindsight, I am. What’s so wrong with that? Maybe we could try that whole friends-with-benefits thing.
Taking a deep breath and allowing the alcohol to talk, not the usual levelheaded Drew, “Zoey, I need to be honest with you. There was this one time when I overheard you and Jess. Basically, you asked him to finger your ass.”
“Um… what?” she says, her normally pale skin flushing a bright pink.
“You heard me. So listen, women don’t usually say that shit, and if they do… hallelujah. My point is, you can’t be that bad. No woman who likes it in her ass can be that bad.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation on the dance floor… of a wedding…” she trails off, avoiding my eyes and staring embarrassedly at the floor. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, and I yearn to run my hands along it and feel the effect I’m having on her.
“Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud.”
Shaking her head with a cute smile, she manages to drag her eyes up to meet mine. “Proud? That I like things in my ass? Are we seriously having this c
onversation?”
“We’ve had worse conversations,” I remind her.
“Oh, no. I think this one tops them all.”
I don’t have enough alcohol in me to be able to maintain this conversation, and so, I drop the ass talk attempting to carry on dancing. It’s a lot harder than I think to forget our conversation, plus my cock’s in pain from having massive blue balls. The only thing deflating my cock at a rapid rate is some drunken man with no teeth who attempts to dance with every woman on the dance floor, and when that fails, he moves onto the men.
Men—myself included.
The music slows down again, a mellow and sexy beat which sets the perfect mood. I can see the fucker standing leisurely at the bar with a drink in hand. He’s watching us like an animal ready to attack, and with a satisfied smirk, I slowly move Zoey’s hair away from her neck again and brush my lips against her skin kissing her as I trail down to the base of her neck. This time, her eyes close, and she presses carelessly against my groin.
Fuck, is she even wearing a bra? Her nipples are erect, and that doesn’t help the fucking hard-on I’m trying to control, again. My eyes move up purposely making contact with Jess. His stare is hostile, his face fueled with rage as his choice of liquor appears to be some hard scotch. The bartender speaks to him. Lashing out, he slams the glass on the counter, his body suggesting he’s demanding another.
That doesn’t deter him from turning his attention back to us.
Checkmate, fucker.
I’m going in for the kill.
I move my hands to the back of her neck, directing her face so her lips are flush with mine. Kissing her softly, rolling my tongue, I pretend she’s mine, and that the world around us doesn’t exist.
The timing is impeccable.
The DJ switches the song, playing a popular Jason Derulo song. Maybe it’s the champagne letting my inhibitions go, but damn does she look sexy with her body moving against mine.
I fucking want her.
And I don’t care about anything else right now.
Just one night, one moment.
When codes don’t exist, and rules are made to be broken.
Just her and me on the dance floor—the best type of foreplay—bodies swaying, sweat glistening on our skin, creating this magnetic force which feels impossible to tear apart. She follows my lead, not allowing her body to break away. The smell of her skin is lingering in the air, and every part of me wants to take her back to our place and show her body what it needs. What it’s been craving.
I start to think about us and what this all means. Zoey is my best friend.
What’s so wrong about your best friend being more than that?
The aftermath—the what if it doesn’t work out, and things don’t revert back to the way they were. It will affect everything we have—the trust, the honestly, and the friendship. Will it even be possible for us to be roomies after taking it that step further?
My head is spinning.
Stop thinking.
When the lights come on, her skin is flushed, and she struggles to make eye contact with me. Reluctantly, we both pull away from each other when the MC announces it’s the end of the night and requesting all guests form a line to say farewell to the bride and groom. Who the fuck invented this stupid tradition? I can barely walk, let alone form a line.
I turn to my left, surprised to find Zoey’s no longer beside me. Scanning the room, I spot her at the table and immediately start walking toward her trying my best to act cool.
“You okay?” Losing my balance a little, I rest my hand on the back of the chair trying to ignore the dizzy spell.
“Yeah, it’s a shame it’s over,” she says, nonchalant.
“The wedding? I’m sure Mia and Troy have better things to do on their wedding night as a married couple.” I chuckle, eyeing the leftover champagne on the table.
“No, I meant the dan—” She clears her throat. “Never mind.”
I do mind. Does she want this as much as I do? What does this all mean?
Fuck, I need something to take the edge off. That glass of champagne remains untouched, so I lean forward, pick it up and raise it to my lips. It may be a glass, but it feels like a drop.
Not enough. The bottle sits in the middle of the table with a small amount left. I pour the remainder into my glass. It goes down a lot smoother, taking the edge off this unknown anxiety I am feeling.
The MC once again reminds us to join the line like animals in a circus act.
I want to go home.
“Slow down, Drew,” Zoey warns me, taking the glass out of my hands. “How are we going to get home?”
I don’t answer her following the crowd to the dance floor. Riddled with guilt, I turn to apologize, stopping abruptly when Jess comes out of nowhere and latches on to her arm. She appears startled, switching to annoyed, then something in her face softens. I’m only a few steps away but unable to hear their conversation until they turn in the opposite direction. What the fuck? Instinctively, I follow them but stop short of the foyer where they both stand.
Jess is pacing up and down, rubbing his hands along his bald head in frustration. “Were you fucking him when we together?”
She remains silent and not bowing down to his demands. Thank God! At least she knows how to stand up for herself.
“Fucking answer me, Zoey,” he grunts, moving closer to her face trying to terrorize her with his bullying tone.
“You cheated on me. I didn’t touch Drew when we were together. I already told you that. Everything that happened between us is your fault. Stop blaming me.”
“The way he’s touching you tonight. It’s driving me fucking insane,” he seethes. “He can’t fucking touch you like that. You’re mine. You understand?”
Zoey continues to stand still, crossing her arms and keeping her distance. With a satisfied laugh, she shakes her head and says, “Wow. Imagine what it’s like to catch your best friend blowing your boyfriend.”
“Zoey, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, softening his tone with false pleas. “I’d been drinking that day, and it sorta just happened. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Well, Jess… Drew and I sorta just happened, too.”
“I can’t do this, Zoey. It was meant to be us all along. You’re mine. I can’t leave here tonight knowing you’re going home with him.”
I can hear the desperation in his voice. If this is what Zoey wanted, then she’s won. The fucker is suffering. But something tells me that brewing on the horizon is something bigger than this.
“I have to go, Jess. There’s nothing else for us to say to each other.”
“I love you,” he blurts out. “Please. Give me another chance. I’ll prove to you it’s meant to be. I can’t live without you.”
Zoey remains silent, but her sullen face says it all. His words, his reaction, they have affected her deeply, and I have no doubt at this moment she still loves him.
Him.
Not you.
The tension is palpable, and just when I think she might walk away, he takes his hands and places them on her face kissing her passionately.
When I notice she doesn’t pull away instantly, the fury inside me hits boiling point, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. My body charges forward, out of control, tearing them apart until I have Jess pinned against the wall.
Within my grip, his anger consumes him, squirming his body free and using his arms against mine. We both struggle, and my next move is paramount. He deserves this for everything he’s done, for the person he is. And most importantly because Zoey still loves him.
My fist connects with his jaw, slamming hard, the pain instantly ricocheting and causing my body to buckle in agony. Caught off guard, Jess pulls me up, punching my face in return. The pain is even worse than before, coming in waves, intensifying with every second that passes. The taste of blood lingers on my lips, the noise and commotion drowning out the yelling coming from two men trying to break us up, pushing the both of us apart.
“Drew,” Zoey cries, latching on to Jess. “Why did you hit him?”
I don’t say a word.
She’s just proved my point.
She defended him. She still loves him.
Zoey caresses Jess’s face, but he knocks her over in a bid to get back at me.
She tumbles to the floor. Her hair messily falls to pieces, and she winces as her ankle twists. I push past the men holding me back, grabbing his suit until I have slammed him onto the floor. His eyes rage against mine, and together we both fight for the one person who has driven us to this point—Zoey.
“Stop it, Drew! Please,” she begs.
I don’t know what’s come over me. This is not me. I’m not the person who goes around violently hurting others, even if they deserve it. There’s a lot of commotion in the foyer, then large security guards usher me outside like I’m the perpetrator warning me they’ll call the cops if I don’t calm down.
“Fuck this,” I yell. “It’s all his fault. Fucking loser. Leave her the fuck alone.”
Jess watches me with heavy breaths, wiping his cut lip with a blood-stained shirt. A couple of people have helped Zoey up, and she continues to wince standing against the wall.
I manage to communicate—through slurs—to the valet that my dad will be picking up my car and request they call a cab. It isn’t long before the lit-up cab drives down the pebbled entrance and stops before me.
Walking to where Zoey’s standing, I demand she comes home with me. Her face is covered in mascara from the tears, and the strap of her dress is torn. She carefully holds it up staring back at me with a furious glance.
“Let’s go.” My voice is hoarse, commanding her to follow me.
“No.”
“Zoey,” I say, teeth clenching with utter rage. “Get the fuck in the cab.”
This time she doesn’t argue and slides into the cab slamming the door behind her. She doesn’t turn to face me, and instead, stares out the window giving me the silent treatment.