Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  Then an image of a plush donkey with a pink bow on its ass popped into my mind.

  Harley chuckled. “Nah. Principal Jenner actually punched me. Clocked me right in the jaw, that motherfucker.”

  Juliet and JayShawn gasped.

  “And you didn’t sue his ass?” Juliet snarled.

  “He had it coming.” I smirked up at Harley, all too familiar with the story. “You shoulda heard what he said about Principal Jenner’s mom.”

  Harley shrugged and smiled back with those full lips and mischievous blue eyes. “Saying somebody gives a good rim job is a compliment in my book.”

  Harley distracted us from our impending doom as we slowly made our way to the front of the line. When it was our turn to have our picture taken underneath the arch of black and silver star-shaped balloons, Harley stood behind me with his hands around my waist and gave the camera a lazy grin. I, on the other hand, stood stick-straight, held my breath, and smiled through clenched teeth. I didn’t even look at the camera. I couldn’t. Because just beyond it, walking through the front doors wearing a scowl, was my worst fucking nightmare.

  Or should I say, Knightmare?

  Seven

  “Smile!”

  Before my eyes had a chance to recover from the flash, Juliet was hauling me away by the arm, telling the guys we had to pee and would meet them inside.

  “I’m gonna drag Harley to the back of the dance floor,” she whispered in the hallway outside the ladies’ room. “You go talk to Knight, and for the love of God try not to get eaten.”

  I nodded aggressively, psyching myself up to face him.

  Spinning around, Juliet and I walked back into the lobby. With a shove, Juliet thrust me toward the sign-in table, where I stood, stilettos rooted to the ground, and gaped. Knight didn’t look like a tattooed skinhead psychopath. He looked like a…knight. He was wearing his U.S.M.C. dress blues—royal-blue slacks, a navy-blue blazer fastened with a white belt and brass buttons all the way to the neck, and a white hat with a black brim shadowing his eyes. He looked regal and handsome and nothing like the savage asshole I’d come to know and sometimes love.

  Coach Johnson leaped to his feet to shake Knight’s hand…right next to the sign-in sheet where I had already written Harley motherfucking James as my plus one.

  Ohhhhh shit.

  I won’t be able to get him in.

  He’s gonna see Harley’s name on the sheet.

  We’re all gonna die!

  I was about to turn and run, grab my two best friends and head for the hills, when Coach Johnson and Knight let out a guttural, “Oohrah!” in unison.

  The coach slapped his fellow serviceman on the shoulder and gestured toward the lobby with an outstretched arm. Knight stepped past him with a nod, locking eyes with me immediately.

  I searched his features, frantically trying to gauge his mood, but that damn hat shielded his face. Had he seen Harley’s name? Had Coach Johnson just let him in, no questions asked? More importantly, did he think I looked pretty?

  Forcing a smile, I swallowed my fear and held my ground as Knight approached. “Hey,” I said, my voice rising an octave at the end for no reason. “You look so handsome in your uniform. I almost didn’t recognize you. Not that you don’t normally look handsome, just…”

  I had to lift my head slightly to maintain eye contact as Knight walked toward me. He stopped a foot away from my face, close enough for me to see the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

  I was safe.

  “This is the closest thing to a fucking tux I can stand.” His words were sharp, but his eyes were soft. “You look good, Punk.”

  I glanced down at my flowing, floor-length, dark blue dress and smiled. “Hey, we match.”

  As my eyes roamed back up, I noticed for the first time that Knight had something in his hand.

  Lifting the clear plastic container, he offered it to me with a grunt.

  “Knight…” My breath caught when I saw what was inside. A single white rose framed with black tulle and silver ribbon. A colorless corsage from my colorless boy.

  “Figured your punk ass would be wearing black.” He shrugged. “I like the blue though.”

  I blushed, using the corsage as an excuse not to look at him. I slipped it onto my bony wrist using the elastic band attached to the back. Lifting it to my nose, I inhaled the sweet fragrance and smiled. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  I turned away, seeking a trash can for the plastic container, and noticed a familiar pompadoured figure standing at the top of the central staircase.

  Fuck.

  Harley had his back to us and appeared to be talking to a group of goth kids, but the sighting definitely got my ass in gear. I backed up against the wall beside the staircase, which just so happened to be the end of the line for pictures, and waved Knight over.

  “Hey!” I chirped as he approached with suspicion in his icy eyes. “We, ah…should get our picture taken, since we match and all.”

  Standing that close to Knight without being able to rip his clothes off was physically uncomfortable. As much as I hated him, as many times as he’d hurt me, as desperately as my head and heart tried to convince me to stay away, my body was simply too weak to resist the pull. We didn’t just have chemistry, we had magnetism. A negative charge and a positive charge so strong that the only thing to ever successfully keep us apart was an ocean. And now here he was, on the wrong side of the sea, wearing that damn uniform and making me forget that the tears I’d cried over him could fill an ocean of their own.

  When the bulb flashed and our awkward smiles fell, I glanced back at the top of the stairs. The space was empty.

  “I’m…ah…I’m gonna run to the restroom real quick. Be right back!” I blurted, darting away before Knight could protest or try to follow me. I sprinted to a hallway on the far-right side of the lobby that not only had restrooms, but an elevator. Ducking inside, I hit the door close button and exhaled in relief when it shut without Knight’s arm shooting out to block it.

  I got off on the second floor and followed the sound of thumping bass into the Egyptian Ballroom.

  Inside the house lights were off, sconces illuminated the hieroglyphs carved into the massive columns lining each wall, and horny teenagers dry humped each other on the scarab-themed carpet. I knew that unlike Harley, Knight would give me about thirty seconds before he came looking for me, so I tore through the room, scanning the crowd for a baby-faced blond. Instead, I found Juliet and Goth Girl pouting with their arms folded across their chests over by the DJ booth.

  “Hey!” I panted. “Where are the guys? Where’s Harley? He’s not looking for me, is he?”

  “Fuck the guys,” Goth Girl slurred, taking a drink from a beverage I knew with one-hundred percent certainty was spiked.

  Juliet leveled me with an annoyed, albeit glassy-eyed gaze. “What she said.”

  “What happened?” I yelled as Outkast rapped about hushing that fuss and moving to the back of the bus.

  “JayShawn is off dancing with some asshole in a pink tux.” Goth Girl hissed.

  “And Steven left with some bitch who said she could score him an eight ball,” Juliet added.

  “Wait. He just…left?” I cried. “What the fuck? He just left you at prom?!” Glancing back and forth between my scorned friends, I asked, “What about Harley?”

  Juliet shrugged and flicked her chin in the direction of a shadowy corner beside the DJ booth. “He’s over there, talking to the Phish-heads.”

  Phish-head was what we called the stoner hippie kids at our school. The ones who played hacky sack and wore moccasins and said dude every other word. I looked in the direction of Juliet’s gaze and saw them, huddled in a circle, a familiar mop of blond hair sticking up out of the middle.

  I should have turned around. I should have been satisfied that he wasn’t looking for me, and I should have hightailed it back to Knight. But something about that hippie cluster didn’t sit right with me. Harley was a friendly guy, but no
t that friendly.

  Tip-toeing over to the congregation, I peeked in between two scraggly-haired losers in tuxedos just in time to see Harley taking twenty-dollar bills from five anxious palms, replacing each one with a little white pill.

  “Oh my God,” I groaned.

  All of their faces snapped up in shock, then the group scattered, leaving me alone with my douchebag ex.

  “This is why you fucking came tonight, isn’t it?” I placed my hands on my narrow hips and glared at him as he discretely pocketed a fistful of cash. “I thought it was weird that you didn’t call me for a week and then showed up in a borrowed suit acting like we were BFFs, but it makes perfect sense now.” I swept an arm out in front of me, gesturing to where the congregation of hippies had been. “You just used me to get in here so you could find some new customers.”

  “Lady…” Harley smiled, his voice dripping with condescension.

  “Punk.”

  Harley’s panty-melting grin morphed into the hardened glare of an outlaw as his eyes shot contraband bullets over my shoulder.

  I spun around and held my hands up, as if that could possibly shield Harley from the wrath of Ronald McKnight. Knight’s hand shot past me and grabbed Harley by the tie. Yanking him forward, I found myself crushed in a Knight-Harley sandwich as the two men bared their teeth at each other over my shoulder.

  Couples slow-danced around us as Steven Tyler sang about not wanting to miss a thing.

  “Guys,” I warned. “Do not fucking fight here. Do you hear me? Knight, you could go to military jail, and Harley…” I swiveled my head backward to make eye contact with him. “You’ve got a pocket full of ecstasy, dumbass.”

  Knight’s eyes and nostrils flared as he began taking slow steps backward toward the door, dragging our two bodies with him. “Fine,” he hissed in my ear through his clenched teeth. “We won’t fight here.”

  Harley began pushing against my back, urging us to walk faster. “Let’s go, motherfucker,” He turned his head and spat on the dancefloor. “Anywhere you want.”

  I should have done more to stop them, but the sensation of Knight’s chest against my chest and Harley’s crotch against my ass caused my hormones to mutiny and take over the whole damn ship. I wasn’t thinking about how to prevent bloodshed. I was too focused on the way their breath felt against my skin and their strong hands felt gripping my hips and arms.

  We shuffled, locked in a three-person stalemate, out of the Egyptian Ballroom and into the hallway overlooking the two-story lobby below. As soon as we were out of sight, Knight wrapped his free hand around Harley’s neck and body-slammed him into the wall, not giving two shits that my body was in between their bodies.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Knight seethed.

  Harley’s hands released me and wrapped around Knight’s neck in return.

  Unable to speak, both men choked and glared at each other as I thrashed in between, squealing and grunting, cursing and shoving, kneeing and elbowing, until I heard a woman scream at the end of the hall. All three of us turned our heads at once to see my Spanish teacher, Mrs. Santos, clutching her chest in horror before running off to get help.

  “She’s gonna call the fucking cops!” I screamed. “Stop it!”

  I saw Harley’s fingers relax and fall away from Knight’s thick, corded neck just before I felt his body slide down the wall behind me and slump to the floor.

  “Harley!” I turned and knelt beside his unconscious body, palming his cheek and feeling for a pulse. He was breathing, thank God, but he had deep, purple, finger-shaped welts on his neck and his beautiful baby face was flushed and red.

  “Harley…” I slapped his cheek lightly with my hand. “Harley, wake up.”

  I turned to scream at Knight, but the insults and accusations turned to ash in my mouth the moment I realized that no one was there.

  Knight had vanished like a ghost.

  Just then, I heard Coach Johnson’s voice boom through the lobby below. “Yes, officer. Right up the stairs there.”

  Shit!

  “Harley,” I whispered, more frantically. “Harley, the cops are here! Wake up!”

  His eyes fluttered, but he made no effort to move.

  Glancing back and forth between my unconscious ex and the staircase where the heavy footfalls of the law were approaching, I suddenly knew what I had to do.

  And I had to do it fast.

  Eight

  Six people arrived at the Fox Theater in that white stretch Lincoln, but only three of us made it back out.

  Goth Girl, Juliet, and I sat side by side on the ride home, guzzling champagne and giggling over our prom pictures, which Juliet had insisted that we pick up before sprinting out the front door.

  “Steven is so fucking ugly,” Goth Girl hiccupped. “What the hell was I thinking? He looks like—"

  “Lord Licorice from Candy Land?” I interrupted, causing Juliet to spit a mouthful of Korbel onto the off-white carpet.

  “Oh my God, you’re right!” she cackled.

  “Not that I’m one to talk,” I giggled. “Who the fuck brings two dates to the same prom?” I held up both eight by ten photos, fanned out in one hand.

  “No shit!” Juliet snorted, nudging me with her shoulder. “You cocky as hell, girl!”

  “Not as cocky as that motherfucker, Harley. I can’t believe he just used me to sell drugs at fucking prom.” I rolled my eyes and took another sip of champagne.

  “So, what’s gonna happen to him?” Goth Girl asked. “I know he’s a dick, but I still feel kinda bad about leaving him there to get arrested.”

  “Oh, he won’t get arrested,” I smirked, handing Juliet my champagne flute so that I could unclasp my silver clutch bag. Reaching in, I pulled out a fat wad of twenties, Harley’s flask, and a baggie full of pills stamped with little lightning bolts. “They don’t have any evidence.”

  Juliet and Goth Girl squealed in delight as our chariot delivered us home.

  Prom might not have turned out to be the magical night I’d envisioned, but I still managed to leave with two people I loved.

  And call me cocky, but I made one hell of a profit too.

  About the Author

  BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.

  * * *

  If that sounds like the kind of person you want to go around being friends with, then by all means, feel free to drop her a line. Just don’t be surprised if you get a reply at four a.m. with an inexplicable Shia LaBeouf meme or a text that was clearly meant for someone else. BB is what doctors call chronically sleep-deprived—or, as Ken pronounces it, depraved.

  You can find her:

  On email: authorbbeaston@gmail.com

  On her website: www.authorbbeaston.com

  On Facebook: www.facebook.com/bbeaston

  On Instagram: www.instagram.com/author.bb.easton

  On Twitter: www.twitter.com/bb_easton

  On Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/artbyeaston

  On Goodreads: https://goo.gl/4hiwiR

  On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/bbeaston

  * * *

  Selling signed books and original art on Etsy: www.etsy.com/shop/artbyeaston

  * * *

  Giving stuff away in her #TeamBB Facebook group: www.facebook.com/groups/BBEaston

  * * *

  And giving away a free e-book from one of her author friends each month in her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/c4OCOH

  Also by BB Easton

  44 Chapters About 4 Men: A Memoir

  * * *

  The 44 Chapers Spin-off Series:

  SKIN (Knight, Book 1)

  SPEED (Harley, Book 2)

  STAR (Hans, Book 3)

  SUIT (Ken, Book 4, Coming Fall 2018)

  The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder
they Fall

  Jaymin Eve

  Short story featuring Jessa and Braxton from the Supernatural Prison series.

  The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall.

  A Supernatural Prison Short Story.

  * * *

  Copyright © Jaymin Eve 2018

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2018

  Eve, Jaymin

  The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall.

  *1st edition*

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Stay in touch with Jaymin: www.facebook.com/JayminEve.Author

  Website: www.jaymineve.com

  One

  A fiery heat trailed down my spine, the firm hand sliding around to cup my hip. Waking up to Braxton’s touch was pretty much what my dreams were made of. I was tired, but the moment he brushed the slightly calloused skin of his palm over my body, my senses fired up.

  “Think the twins will give us twenty minutes?” The grumble of his voice in my ear sent goose bumps across my skin.

  I’d been lying in his arms, my back pressed against his front. But I needed to see him. Flipping over, I pressed both hands to the thick muscles of his chest. “Honestly, ten minutes would do me right now.”