by BB Easton
I expected Harley to drop some bomb, based on the way they were acting, but instead he just quipped, “Because Davidson here is too fuckin’ poor.”
“Fuck you,” Dave spat, splashing his brother with baby-pool water.
Harley laughed and shook the shit out of his beer, spraying foamy Natural Ice at Dave like a fire hose.
Turning to Goth Girl, I smiled and said, “Victoria, meet Harley and Davidson.”
I expected Goth Girl to arch an eyebrow and act too cool for school, but instead she half-smiled and looked at Dave, whom I noticed was half-smiling right back.
“I go by Dave,” he said, standing up and wiping the beer suds off his white wifebeater as he plastered on his best Southern charm.
Fucker even took off his hat as he walked over. He never took off his hat for me. Goth Girl tentatively accepted his outstretched hand. Instead of shaking it, like a normal person, Dave lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I might pop a blood vessel.
“It’s nice to meet you, Victoria.”
“I go by VV.”
She didn’t tell me that.
“No shit?” Dave turned around and shouted at Harley, “Hey man, we got a VV and a BB now.”
Whatever. I am not calling her that.
Harley gestured for me to come over, so I went and sat on his lap, leaving the two lovebirds alone.
“How was school, lady?” Harley asked, planting a kiss on my temple.
I took a swig from his beer and told him all about it, using big hand gestures and zero pauses. Harley smiled as I rambled. I couldn’t tell if he was just happy for me or if he was amused by my manic enthusiasm, but either way, that smile was sexy. My eyes dropped to Harley’s lip ring. With my ass on his lap and his mouth that close to mine, I really wished we didn’t have company.
When I was done telling my story, Harley clapped his big, oil-stained hand on my thigh and said, “That’s it. We’re having a party. You just started college, it’s my motherfuckin’ birthday, and hell, Dave might even get laid tonight.”
We both laughed and glanced over at Dave and Goth Girl, who were smiling from ear to ear at each other. That was the first time I’d seen Goth Girl smile. She was actually really pretty. Great teeth. That black lipstick made them look super white. Even whiter than her skin, if that was possible.
“Hey, Davidson,” Harley chided. He loved watching Dave bristle whenever he said his full name. Especially in front of a girl. “You wanna throw a rager tonight?”
“Hell yeah,” Dave said, never taking his eyes off my new friend.
“Good, because I went ahead and picked up some party favors.” Harley shifted my weight and reached into one of his front pockets, retrieving a tiny Ziploc baggie with half a dozen white pills inside.
“What are those?” I asked quietly, my eyes wide.
“Ecstasy,” Harley replied. “You ever tried it?”
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled as the memory pulled me backward in time, from the light of day to the dark, strobing bowels of Sin—a fetish club that I’d had no business being in at the age of fifteen.
I was right back there, crawling through a sea of leather-clad sadists and rubber-clad masochists again, frantically trying to escape their grabby hands and gyrating hips. My stomach churned, preparing to reject the white pill with the lightning bolt on it that Juliet’s boyfriend had said would help me “stay awake.” I remembered the smell of the dumpsters as I burst through an exit door and landed on my hands and knees in the alley. I remembered the skinhead who’d carried me into his tattoo shop and force-fed me and talked to me about art and smoked with me on the fire escape and took care of me while I came down from my high. I also remembered how badly I’d wanted to touch him even though I knew I should be afraid. How the white pill had made me want to dance and scream and strip off my clothes.
Harley’s voice brought me back into the light. “It’ll take a little while to kick in, so we should dose now. You in?”
I looked up at Harley, which was a mistake because he was giving me those goddamn puppy-dog eyes he knew I couldn’t resist.
Leaning in closer, he whispered, “It’ll be fun,” as he slid his rough hand up my bare thigh.
There was no mistaking the innuendo in his voice or denying that I wanted whatever fun he was offering.
Nodding, I held out my hand, which was quickly joined by two others—Dave’s and Goth Girl’s. Harley dropped a Tylenol-shaped pill with a tiny CK logo stamped on the top into each of our palms.
“Calvin Klein is making ecstasy now?” I giggled, holding the pill up in front of my face. “Will it make me smell like CK One, too?”
“I fuckin’ hope not,” Dave said with a wink as he popped his into his mouth and chased it with a swig of beer.
He offered the can to Goth Girl, but she waved him off and swallowed it dry.
“Oh, shit! It’s like that at Central High, huh?” I teased.
Goth Girl shrugged like it was no big deal, but that little half-smile told me she felt like a badass.
Harley and I took ours at the same time—me chasing the bitter-tasting pill with what was left of Harley’s equally disgusting Natty Ice.
“So,” I said, clapping my hands together as soon as I was sure I wasn’t going to barf, “what now?”
“Now,” Harley said with a grin, “we prep.”
Prepping for a party at the James’ house involved Dave picking up a keg in his truck, Harley calling everybody in his phone, and Goth Girl and me going to buy luau supplies. We figured, with the inflatable palm tree in the front yard, we might as well keep the theme going. You’d be amazed at how many plastic leis, grass table skirts, and tiki torches you can buy for under twenty bucks at Walmart.
There was a moment, after Dave’s redneck friends and the rockabilly crew from the track started showing up, that Goth Girl and I just looked at each other and burst out laughing. We were all grinding teeth and dilated pupils, having the time of our fucking lives.
I couldn’t believe I’d just met her that day. Maybe it was the ecstasy talking, but I felt like I’d known Victoria my whole life. She didn’t say much, but when she did talk, it was dry and ballsy and exactly what everybody else in the room was thinking. She was cool as hell, man.
I introduced her to the people I knew, which I’d expected to be like three dudes but turned out to be almost everyone at the party. My relationship with Harley was still pretty new, but between hanging out at the shop while he tuned up my car, going with him to a couple of races, and bumping into some of Dave’s redneck buddies here and there, I’d managed to meet most of their friends in just under two months. That made me feel pretty fucking amazing. And I was already feeling pretty fucking amazing, thanks to Calvin Klein and his designer MDMA.
Once we’d made the rounds, Goth Girl and I headed to the back porch where Harley and Dave were sharing a joint with Bubba and JR by the keg. Harley pulled me into his side, somehow maintaining his chill despite having a head full of ecstasy, beer, and weed. I, on the other hand, was practically jogging in place. A few other people trickled outside, and the next thing I knew Harley was bragging to the entire peanut gallery about how Goth Girl and I had just started college that day. I mean, technically, I was still a high schooler, at least for the next year, but I wasn’t about to correct him. His version made me sound so much older.
“So, whadda you wanna be when you grow up?” Bubba asked, spitting a black loogie into a beer can.
“Well, I’m going to school for psychology,” I said, trying to pick one of the three floating Bubbas to focus on, “but I kinda wanna be a showgirl, too.”
“No shit? Like in Las Vegas? With the”—Bubba gestured above my head—“feathers and all?”
“Yep!”
“You got any moves?” Dave interrupted, pointing his red plastic cup at me. The side of it was mangled, like he’d been chewing on it, and his pupils were so big, it looked like he was wearing black contact
lenses.
“Fuck yeah,” I said, swaying on my feet as I listed my accolades on my fingers. “I can do the high kick. I can do the…hip roll. I can do the…bra-tassel-shimmy thing. I don’t have the boobs to make the tassels go in two different directions at the same time, but once I get some implants, it’s fucking on. Just you wait and see.”
Harley’s hand slipped under my tank top as his hot, beer-and-cigarette-scented breath hissed in my ear, “I don’t wanna wait.” His voice sounded rich, layered, as if someone had recorded him saying the same sentence three times then played all three tracks simultaneously.
My eyes closed as my skin ignited in desire. That simple touch felt like it sank through every layer of flesh and muscle and massaged my very bones. I felt completely enveloped by his aura—usually so cool, now warm as a crackling fire. If that man wanted a show, I’d give him a goddamn show. Hell, I would’ve sawed a bitch in half if he’d asked me to.
Looking up into Harley’s blackened irises, I felt tethered to him somehow. Like our arms had wound around each other and into each other and through each other until there was no other anymore. There was only us.
“You’re the birthday boy,” I cooed, my voice husky and full of promise.
“Wait. What? BB’s strippin’?!” Dave yelled, drawing the attention of everyone on the porch. “I’ll get the black light ready!” As he took off for the door, Dave snatched up both me and Goth Girl and dragged us along.
“What the fuck, man?” Harley asked, sounding more amused than angry.
“BB’s gotta rehearse, damn it!”
I heard a Solo cup crash into the sliding door just as Dave pulled it shut behind us. Goth Girl and I giggled and tripped over our own feet as Dave tugged us down the hall and into his bedroom. I’d never been in there before, but as soon as he flipped a switch on the wall, it all made sense. A black light, strobe light, disco ball, and boom box playing Ginuwine all roared to life, transforming the drab bachelor pad into a tiny, little strip club. The only thing missing was a pole and a DJ booth.
“What kinda girls are you bringin’ home, Dave?” I teased, poking him in the ribs.
When Dave glanced over at Goth Girl, I suddenly wanted to eat my words.
“None lately,” he admitted, holding her gaze. Then, looking at me, he added, “I just do a shitload of drugs.”
We laughed until Dave locked the door behind us and started digging in his closet.
“Uh, Dave?” I asked, dodging an adult-sized kangaroo costume as it went flying across the room. “Whatcha doing?”
“Lookin’ for props, dummy. Here, wear this,” Dave said, tossing a white feather boa at me.
In the black light, it looked like a fluorescent-purple man-eating caterpillar was flying toward me, so I screamed and karate-chopped it to the ground like a fucking ninja.
As I stomped on it to make sure it was dead, Goth Girl hooked a finger into the neck of my tank top and peeked inside. “She has on a white bra!”
Awesome. Now they’re both playing costume designer.
“What color is her underwear?” Dave asked, rummaging through his dresser drawers.
Goth Girl tugged at the waistband of my cutoff shorts. “I don’t know, but it has white hearts on it!”
“Good enough,” Dave said, tossing condoms and rolling papers and sock balls over his shoulder. Then, slamming the last drawer shut, Dave turned around and grinned in triumph. His teeth glowed in the black light, then disappeared, then reappeared—twenty-four times per second, thanks to the strobe light. He thrust a yellow highlighter into the air above his head, as if it were fucking Excalibur. “Ladies, this shit just went to the next level.”
Ten minutes later, I was hiding in the closet, wearing nothing but my bra and panties, a white feather boa, and a shitload of fluorescent body art. Neither Goth Girl nor Dave had any artistic ability, so I’d had to write, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARLEY, on my own stomach, backward, while rolling. It could have said, HAPPY HANUKKAH, GRANDMA, for all anyone cared. We were all speaking the same fucked-up language at that point.
I heard the trippy, sultry sounds of Outkast’s “ATLiens” come on just as Dave’s Southern drawl boomed over the music.
“Laaaaadies and asshoooooles! It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Here, for your birthday pleasure, is the one, the only Baaaaambi Boooooty Clap!”
Bambi Booty Clap? Jesus, Dave. No pressure or anything.
As soon as André 3000 started rapping, I burst out of the closet to find Harley sitting on the end of Dave’s bed, grinning like a damn fool, and Dave and Goth Girl sitting with their backs against his headboard, totally making out. I actually appreciated the fact that two-thirds of my audience weren’t even paying attention. It helped me loosen up and focus on the one audience member who really mattered. My guy. My hero. My motherfucking savior, Harley James.
We might as well have been the only two people on Neptune. Nothing was familiar, except the connection I felt to the man staring at me with glowing eyes and teeth. The light made things look otherworldly. The rapid blinking made time feel like it was moving in slow motion. The bass in the song made the ground feel like it might crumble beneath us. So why not fucking dance?
I held Harley’s gaze as I rocked my hips from side to side and slid my hands over the places where curves should have been. Unclasping my five-pound water bra, I let it slide down my arms, then playfully tossed it at Harley’s face. Luckily, my aim was shit; otherwise, he probably would have ended up with a black eye.
I stepped toward him as I swayed to the beat, looping my boa around his neck once he was within arm’s reach. Giving him a chaste kiss, I quickly spun around and rubbed my ass on his crotch, like I’d seen Elizabeth Berkley do in the movie Showgirls when it came on HBO late at night.
Harley’s hands grazed my thighs as his fingers tugged at the sides of my panties. I swatted them away and took a step forward, watching him over my shoulder as I bent at the waist and slid my last remaining article of clothing down my legs.
Completely naked, I twerked a little—popping my hips like Craig had shown me how to do during our closing-time dance parties. When I turned back around, I propped one foot up on the bed next to Harley and rolled my hips like nobody was watching. It was just me, the beat, and the man blinking in and out of existence before me. The man whose big hands were pulling me closer. The man whose lap I was climbing onto. The man who was unbuckling his belt.
When I felt flesh against my flesh, my eyes popped open. We weren’t alone on Neptune. We were in Dave’s bedroom. I was naked, Harley had his cock out, and we had an audience.
Over Harley’s shoulder, I saw Dave and Goth Girl watching us with hooded lids and gaping, hungry mouths. I froze and clung to Harley’s shoulders, suddenly feeling all-too exposed. Letting Dave watch was one thing, but Goth Girl?
Three is a party. Four is a crowd.
Harley must have sensed my apprehension because he stood up—with me still wrapped around him like a spider monkey—and growled, “Show’s over.”
Carrying me out the door and across the hall to his room, Harley kicked the door shut and tossed me onto his mattress, which is where we remained for the next few hours while Harley showed me exactly why they called that little white pill ecstasy.
When I finally stumbled out of that room—on shaky legs, cloaked in one of Harley’s A&J Auto Body shirts with his name embroidered on the front—I crept over to Dave’s room to get my clothes. I listened with my ear against the door to see if the coast was clear and heard the unmistakable sounds of skin slapping against skin and names being moaned, even over the thumping of Outkast, which was playing for the hundredth time in a row.
Laughing to myself, I made my way to the bathroom, not giving two fucks who saw me in Harley’s shirt and no pants. As I peed, I realized that the laws of physics had returned. The lights behaved like normal lights. Nothing was strobing. The floor wasn’t tilting. My brain wasn’t being scrambled by booming bass and mind-blowing
orgasms. It was just me, on the toilet, in a regular old bathroom, realizing that it was probably late as fuuuuck.
Like late, late. Like wherever-my-phone-was-it-probably-had-forty-seven-missed-calls-from-my-paranoid-father-and-one-from-the-local-police-station late.
I flushed and flew out of there, ignoring all the drunk rockabillies and rednecks between me and my purse.
When I pulled my phone out and mashed the buttons, nothing happened. No lights. No sounds. Dead.
Fuck!
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I dashed over into the kitchen and peeked at the microwave, which I’d made sure was set to the correct time after my first little curfew fiasco at the James’ house. The red numbers didn’t even make sense.
12:02, they said.
12:02.
No.
What?
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Flying into Dave’s room, not even bothering to knock, I scooped up all my clothes while simultaneously trying not to see, breathe, hear, or touch anything in the direction of the bed. I dashed back into Harley’s room where he was lounging on his back in all his naked male glory, puffing on a cigarette and blowing smoke rings into the air. I shimmied back into my shorts and tank top. Then I shoved my feet into my unlaced boots. I didn’t have time to admire him. I didn’t even have time to explain why I was fleeing—not that I needed to. Harley knew. He sat up and watched me prepare to meet my doom with sad, droopy blue eyes and arched brows—not because I was going to get in trouble, but because he didn’t want me to go.
“I’m so fucked,” I choked out, just before planting a quick good-bye kiss on his sex-swollen lips.
“Yeah you are,” he teased.
His little joke didn’t exactly lighten my mood. When was Harley going to realize that it wasn’t fucking funny? That some people had fucking consequences when they broke the rules. That my ass was going to get straight-up handed to me in less than thirty minutes—that was, if I didn’t wrap my car around a tree on the way home.