“Oh, is that how it works?” I grumble sarcastically, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m really not interested in talking to him.
“Yeah, man, that’s what we do for each other out here.” He thumbs the air behind us. “Just the other night, Danika called me to come out for her 25th birthday party. I got a lot of great shots of the Kidz Channel girls and, in turn, she got a story written about her on the blog. Builds her brand, you know? It works out for everyone.”
I turn and squint down at him. “25th birthday? Danika’s 25?”
He grins. “Yeah, man, she’s an assistant. What, you thought she was a kid? How would she be Cherie’s assistant if she had to go to school and stuff?”
I’m dumbfounded and stare at him, trying to make sense of it all. Danika, nearly ten years older than Cherie, is the one enabling Cherie to drink and party? She even drives her underage employer to and from the parties and clubs and probably buys the bottles of booze for their late night Jacuzzi ventures, too. Now, more than ever, I want Cherie to fire Danika. If she won’t, then my mom and Jim will.
Reminded of her, I search the dance floor for Cherie and her friends. When I find them, the song changes, and the girls decide they don’t like the new song so much. They make their way toward the bar and right into me in a fit of laughter. Derek snaps away.
“Derek, can you give us some space, please?” Cherie says sweetly. “I’ll give you a few stills later, okay?”
“Of course. Thanks, Cher,” he replies. He snaps one more picture of her, and he walks away.
I gawk. “Seriously? That’s all it takes?” Cherie meets my marveling gaze and gives me a smug smile. She peers over my shoulder, noting that I’m alone.
“Lose your lame friends?” she asks. I shake my head and roll my eyes. I don’t like this version of Cherie. She reminds me of the Cherie I met on Christmas Eve, and I feel her getting under my skin.
“Shots?” Amber shouts out, although it was really more of a command than a request. Cherie nods eagerly, and Danika orders three lemon drop shots. Suddenly, she turns, and her eyes flash menacingly at Cherie.
Too many guys and cameras lurk nearby, watching them, watching me, waiting for something to happen. I try not glare at the strangers, but I can’t help it. Danika whispers something in her ear, and Cherie grins, nodding vigorously and giggling. Positioning my body possessively beside them to ward off their predators, I’m distracted from asking what they’re up to.
When I look down at the girls again, the scene is staggering, and I almost choke on my water.
Danika is primed and ready for the cameras to flash once more, a shot glass sitting snuggly inside of her cleavage. Cherie winks at her. Gracefully, she arches her neck and puts her lips to the rim of the shot glass. Once she has her mouth firmly planted around the rim, she yanks her head back and swallows the shot. She proceeds to lick any spilled drops off of Danika’s skin. The small crowd roars, and my brain turns to mush while other parts of me jolt with alarm. I can’t process what is happening fast enough to react.
“My turn!” Danika cries enthusiastically. Cherie carefully places a shot glass inside of her own cleavage and presents it to her assistant. I watch, befuddled, as Danika takes her shot with vigor. Whooping and clapping erupts from a group of men at the bar who have gathered to watch, and even a few bachelorettes prepare to pay homage to the scene by ordering up their own shots.
Cherie looks up at me and gives me a coy smile. “Want one?”
I promptly shake my head no, but I do. I can’t hide the panic that I feel rising into my chest. Cherie is making a lot of bad choices and attracting all the wrong kinds of attention. She’s making me mad and nervous at the same time. Worse, she’s choking the sense out of me and turning me into one of her panting admirers.
“Cherie, what is wrong with you?” I try to scold, regaining some of my dignity. But her friends are whisking her back to the dance floor. Danika and Amber laugh giddily to each other, and Danika reaches for her hand to pull her away. Cherie looks up at me, and I give her a warning glare. Does she know she is beginning to crack through my senses and make me nuts? Is that what she wants?
She smiles up at me. “Dance with us?” she says, and I catch the hopeful pitch to her tone. She reaches out for my hand. I want to say yes. I want to follow her and protect her from the men lusting after her right now. I want to touch her. I see headlines again, and I shake my head.
Watching the groups of predatory males who move in toward the girls like lunchtime in a zoo, I reply through clenched teeth, “I’m going for a walk.”
I slip away into the crowd while she follows Danika and Amber begrudgingly in the opposite direction. Behind me, I hear the girls shout about me to one another.
Amber: “Where’s he going?”
Cherie: “A walk. If he comes back with that girl –”
Danika: “Relax! He probably has to go jerk off.”
Classy.
CHAPTER 30
My mouth tightens, and I’m ignorant of passer-bys as I enter the men’s bathroom, slamming into them if they don’t move out of my way. Someone curses at me, but I maintain tunnel vision and move swiftly to the sinks, thrusting my hands beneath the automatic faucets. The cold water does little to calm me as I sweep it over my face with my fingertips. I drench my eyes with it, desperate to clean away the image of Cherie putting on such a crude show in front of so many people.
What is she thinking? How could she do something so trashy? I try to convince myself that this behavior just isn’t like her. When other people are around, Cherie is a monster, doing whatever it takes to pacify the crowd, following and indulging her friends’ whims. I can feel my blood boiling at the thought of how she changes her entire persona depending on who is in the room.
An old, familiar possession threatens to overtake me. A fire is blazing in my chest and spreading through my arms. I look down. My veins are bulging. My knuckles are white from how hard I’m gripping the sides of the sink.
I should leave. I should go home before something bad happens. I feel like I could turn into King Kong and burst out of this club with Cherie inside one of my fists. I’d carry her to the top of a building, too, just to take her away from all of these eyes that are watching her implode.
But this is real life, and I can’t control her; she’s not my little sister, she’s not my real cousin, and she’s certainly not my girlfriend. She made it clear to me today that what I think, what I need, doesn’t matter. She can and will do whatever she wants. All the nights in the world spent sleeping next to each other won’t suddenly make her care how I feel about her drinking or her slutty performances.
Still, I can’t watch her do those things and let it go because I’m into her, big time. Every night, I’ve fallen a little harder, trusted her a little more, and risked losing my control with her. She’s the one who crawls into my bed and breaks down all the walls I’ve tried to put up, but I’m the one paying for it.
No one else knows this, of course. No one knows because I am Cherie’s biggest secret that I’m keeping, and that secret is instantly raging inside of me in this setting, where I have to watch other guys stalk her and lust after her; my feelings for her have permeated my senses and make me want to claim what’s not really mine with force.
No way, I tell myself. I’ll only end up looking like an ass or getting into some kind of fight.
I wait a few moments by the sink, taking deep breaths and reassuring myself that I can handle Cherie’s antics and not lose my cool. I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, I vow to ignore her for the rest of the night. I’ll find Carly and Mica and enjoy their company, hopefully forget Cherie is even there.
I stride out to the club’s center confidently, and I notice Cherie and her friends are planted in the middle of the dance floor again, grinding on each other and moving provocatively for all of their lolling-tongued spectators. I order a beer from the bar and climb the stairs, determined to stay true to my own promise.
“Jack!” Carly calls when she sees me approaching. They are coming back down to the main floor and meet me in the middle of the stairwell. “The upstairs room is playing lame house music. We were just coming back to find you!”
“Same here,” I laugh. “Great minds think alike.”
She beams and bats her long, flirting lashes.
Mica points to my drink and raises his own beer bottle. “Yes!” he laughs, and we clink bottles. “Now it’s a party! Drink your troubles away, playa!”
I nod and turn to follow them. Carly takes my hand in hers and parades through the crowded bar area, pulling my hand up to rest on her hip as we walk. It’s a bold, possessive move, and now she has my full attention. When we get back down to the lower floor, Carly guides me toward the dance floor.
“Dance with me!” she pleads. I nod and take a big swig of my beer. I haven’t danced with a girl in a long time, but I’m more than game at this point. I pull her close, letting the sweet scent of her hair sweep over my face. She moves with the beat, and I shadow her motions blindly. She rolls her hips in circles and presses her back to me. A deep hunger churns inside my groin. I close my eyes, lost in the moment.
I open them only to find Cherie dancing nearby. Her eyes catch mine, and she forces an arrogant grin. Then, she looks over at Amber and scowls. Amber gives Carly a death glare. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Cherie was actually getting jealous.
Carly yanks my vision back into focus by turning around to face me and pouts, as if she knows I was distracted. I grab her small waist and pull her closer, and then I’m ripped back into Cherie’s world by a whooping crowd. Cherie is running her hands up and down Danika’s body. I’m pulled in and out of monitoring Cherie’s situation by Carly’s teasing hips as they trace figure eights against mine and send shudders through me. My hunger whips into a frenzied starvation, causing my fingers to dig into her waist. She bites her lower lip and pins me with one of those “I want you now” stares.
Another dull roar of cheering buffoons snaps me out of the trance. I scan the crowd that’s formed around Cherie. Striped-Shirt lurks close by with eyes narrowed into slits like a snake. He’s ready to strike, and I feel my muscles stiffen. This time, Danika and Amber do not send him the message to back off.
Cherie glances over at me, probably expecting me to foam at the mouth like the rest of her fans. Instead, I turn my full attention back to Carly, keeping in time with her. When I glance up again at Cherie, her eyes are burning a hole into the back of Carly’s head.
And that’s when Striped-Shirt moves in for the kill.
He begins grinding hard against Cherie’s body as though they were this-close to being naked. She steps away to put space between them and pretends to laugh it off, but he draws an arm around her waist and pulls her tight against him. My hunger flares into anger as I watch his hand fan out along her lower abdomen. The tips of his fingers graze a part of her I know he shouldn’t touch. I pause, and my limbs quake with fury.
Carly follows my gaze. “What is it?”
But I’m barely conscious of Carly now. The position of Striped-Shirt’s hand has triggered panic in Cherie, and her face contorts with discomfort. She squirms, but he is strong and holds her tight against him, smiling and saying something into her ear as if they’re old friends. She pulls and pushes, and his hand drifts lower, until finally she throws an elbow into his ribs with a shriek.
“Get off of me!”
He doubles over, clutching his side. “Hey!” he yells. “Why are you being such a bitch?”
Like dynamite, my rage explodes. Without thinking, I’m in motion, bulldozing through the crowd and immediately jumping between them. I draw back and swing my fist into his face. Striped-Shirt is off of his feet and splays backward like a crash-test dummy. Someone screams. My knuckles blaze with pain, but I pursue him anyway, until someone drags me back a step. Two guys, possibly his friends, come right for me. The bigger one aims a punch at my face that I dodge while the other tries to keep the peace by getting in the middle. Striped-Shirt returns with a vengeance, his mouth bleeding, his eyes blazing, and froth spitting from his mouth as he threatens me. Immediately, brave onlookers move forward to break up the fight, putting distance between all of us.
“If you ever touch her like that again, I’ll kill you,” I threaten him.
“Come on, kid, I’m right here!” Striped Shirt taunts.
Cherie cries, “Jack! Jack, stop! What are you doing?”
My teeth grind together, and I’m driving through the peace-making friend who tries to hold me back from killing Striped-Shirt. My eyes burn with fury.
“Try hitting me now, punk!” Striped-Shirt shouts. “I’m ready for you this time! C’mon!”
“Let’s go, then!” I reply over his short friend’s head.
Cherie grabs me. “Stop it, now!” She pulls me away, but I won’t back down. Striped-Shirt and his friend are ready to fight, and they continue to taunt me. Mica and D’shawn shove through the crowd to come to my aid.
“Stop him, please!” I hear Cherie beg my friends, and Mica swoops in to pull me further away from Striped-Shirt.
The bouncers, led by D’shawn’s cousin, are closing in, just as I calmly shake off the hands grabbing at me, including Cherie’s. I hold up my arms, showing surrender. Striped-Shirt and his friend still try to plunge through Peacemaker and the bouncers, who are forcing them back. The crowd joins the bouncers’ efforts, turning the dance floor into a pit of struggling bodies. The two shout curses at me, and I ignore them, but Mica shouts some choice words back in my defense.
Danika takes Cherie’s hand roughly and drags her away from the crowd as it grows more violent and chaotic, and now the cameras are really snapping away at both of us.
“Cherie, is he your boyfriend?” a man calls, taking a video of her. I viciously swipe the camera from out of his hand and glare at him.
“Jack!” she nearly scolds. She looks furious. I obediently go to her side. “Let’s go. Now.” She grabs my arm once again. She hastily leads me through the crowded club to a hallway that opens to a set of bouncers guarding hidden back doors. They step aside and let us through, eying me as if they know I’m the cause of the fight. Mica follows, too, using his manners and charm to distract them. We emerge from the club into an alley.
“Wait – where are we?” I ask, looking around.
“Getting out of here, and fast!” she mutters. “What were you thinking – you could get arrested!”
Only then does it hit me: Cherie is desperately trying to sneak me out of the club because I could be in serious trouble.
But I’m only in this mess because she had to act like a complete slut tonight.
I stalk forward and away from Cherie as fast as my legs will take me; my jaw is as tight with anger as my chest is with anxiety. I ball my hands into fists, even the one that feels broken. Mica is at my side, trying to calm me down.
“Dawg, what happened?” he asks, glancing back at Cherie and her friends.
“Wait, Jack!” Cherie shouts feebly, trying to keep up with me in her stupid high heels. Danika growls something incoherent under her breath, and Amber is lagging behind all of us, typing on her cell phone.
“I’m sorry,” Cherie slurs under her breath. I won’t look at her.
“You shouldn’t ask for trouble in the first place,” I grumble.
Cherie is offended at the implication. “What are you talking about?” she demands defensively.
“You knew what you were doing,” I groan. “Winking at guys, dancing like that with Danika, doing body shots!”
I make the mistake of meeting her gaze. Cherie quickly tries to hide her satisfaction. Even Danika forgets her resentment for a moment to look back at her with a sly grin. My comment confirms that I’ve given her exactly what she wanted in the first place: attention. That little victory gives her nerve, and it infuriates me even more.
She taunts, “I don’t know what you are trying to say, but it’s
not my fault some guys can’t control themselves – ”
I turn on Cherie then, my body looming over hers, enraged. I feel a primitive urge to physically shake sense into her, and I have to lock my hands at my sides to avoid grabbing her. She instinctively shies backward, shocked and frightened.
“Do I look like an idiot to you?” I bellow. Mica steps in and puts a hand against my chest to hold me back. I must look like I’m about to pummel her next, but I’m fuming and don’t care. “I saw everything! You’re just as much to blame! What, do you want guys to drool over you until some fool like me has to jump in and fight them off – is that it?”
“I didn’t expect you to fight with anyone!” she tries to say, but I won’t hear it. I’m a pot that’s finally boiled over.
“What do you expect from me, huh? Do you expect me to look the other way when you’re practically inviting guys to mess with you? You sleep in my bed, for Christ’s sake!”
The alley is silent; even her friends gawk at me. Apparently, only we knew this secret. I know I shouldn’t unveil everything, but I have lost my filter completely, along with my patience.
She’s mortified, her voice trembling. “I’m not your girlfriend, Jack. I can do whatever I want.”
My voice is guttural. “If you’re going to pretend there’s nothing going on between us, at least have the decency to do it behind my back, not right in front of my face.”
Her stare is frigid. I feel an explosion is imminent, but I’m not sure which one of ours will have the most impact.
“I didn’t think you would get like this over one of our dumb guy friends–”
“Friend? That guy is your friend? Friends shouldn’t touch you like that. I don’t touch you like that!” I yell.
“I never asked you to, and I certainly never asked him! I was just having fun, Jack,” she insists, humiliation filling her cheeks with pink. “He went too far –”
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