“No, no—” She shook her head but I interrupted her.
“Because I’m perfectly fine with that. I’ll even go first. Fighting in some form has been a mainstay of every society, even in some of the most civilized, like the gladiators in Rome or dueling in the refined historical England. It’s a natural event seen in most predatory species, many times around mating. Ancient texts include references to physical brutality, including the Bible and the epic poem Gilgamesh.”
“Wow, you’ve given some thought to this.” She looked surprised once again.
What was with these girls thinking I had less than two stones rubbing together in my head? Did I look like a caveman? “I go to college, just like you.”
She grimaced, then said, “Whatever our historical relationship to violence is, I don’t think beating up any of the lacrosse club members results in anything positive for me. I’m just here to get my degree and get out.” There was a tone of finality to her voice.
AnnMarie suddenly displayed a fascination with the placement of the kidney beans in her chili, scooping each bean individually and placing them on top of each other. A girl had never expressed so much disinterest in our conversation and me with so little volume. Her obviousness made me want to grin. I was really getting to her.
When I realized that AnnMarie was going to continue to act as if her food were more interesting than anything, I broached the most important question she’d left unanswered.
“Why not leave, AM?” I asked gently. The insistence on staying seemed masochistic, like she enjoyed the notoriety. But she didn’t come off as someone who got her rocks off on being a hot campus topic. None of it fit for me.
“Why should I be the one to leave?” she shot back fiercely. “Like you said, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But at a new school—” I began, but AnnMarie leaned toward me with a glint in her eye. She looked so militant that I was afraid I’d pegged her wrong. Maybe she could stab me in the eye with a pen.
“I did nothing wrong.” Every word was said slowly, a puff of breath emphasizing the pauses between each one, as if the spices from the chili had impaired my mental acuity.
“Okay,” I said in reply. “But I think there’s more to the story than that.”
Her non-reply was answer enough.
“You know that the only guys who brag are the ones who aren’t getting any,” I told her.
Rattled, she said, “I don’t disagree, but why?”
“Because then you aren’t talking about actual exploits, you’re playing telephone, trying to gain social power by being in the know. And then it becomes one person trying to top the other. It isn’t even about the subject of that gossip anymore. It’s a power play.”
I knew all about power plays. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I understood that half of my father’s actions were because he was a small man, not physically, but mentally and emotionally. His father was an overpowering figure, and to compensate, my old man was mean.
In boot camp, the sergeants enjoyed fucking with the newbies or “grunts” by waking us up at two in the morning to run with our rucksacks in the muddiest, dirtiest, most uneven ground on the base. It was their way of asserting their power over us. If they could have teabagged us every morning, I was convinced they’d have done that too. So I understood the why that led to what. I’d never been able to figure out how to terminate the action other than to walk away. That’s what I’d done.
“Why does it matter to you?” AM asked softly, her head bent so I couldn’t see her eyes.
“It matters.” I replied firmly. AM wasn’t weak, but she needed me. Or maybe I needed her. I felt boxed in here at Central, like I was living in one of those tiny houses Finn was flipping. Maybe because I recognized something of myself in AM, I felt like I could relax with her. I wanted to spend more time with her, and yes, if I was honest, I wanted to spend time inside of her.
As if my internal intentions had shouted to her, AM’s eyes shot toward mine. Whatever showed through my eyes made her flush, color blossoming in her cheeks like someone took a brush and painted it on. But she didn’t look away. Our verbal confidences had been personal, but they were nothing like the look we were exchanging. The clatter of the café around us diminished. I could see the pulse in her smooth, pale neck start to pump faster. I understood the vampiric instinct here. Bite and mark. Bite and mark.
There was no blood to rush to my cheeks. It was all lower now, much, much lower. I could hear my own breath turn harsh, like I’d run several miles at top speed. As one, we stood to get the hell out of the restaurant. AM might be running to get away from me, but I was leaving quickly because I was afraid I was going to jump across the table and start mauling her.
The cold outdoor air cleared my head momentarily as I held the door for AnnMarie to exit, but her body brushed mine and I felt all my muscles strain toward more contact. Down, I commanded, and I could feel my muscles bunch at the effort of not grabbing her. I wanted her. She wanted me. Now I just had to figure out how to get her to admit the latter and accept the former.
Chapter Sixteen
AM
“IT’S ME.” I HEARD SASHA’S muffled voice at the door.
“The Garden is having an underwear party Wednesday night,” Sasha announced, flopping onto our sofa. The news made both Ellie and me perk up.
“Open?” I asked.
“No, but I have four invites. Want two?” She waved two pieces of beige cardstock in front of us. Ellie snatched them out of her hand before they could make a return trip past our faces.
Gleefully, Ellie waved them above her head with a triumphant, “Yes!”
Sasha leaned toward Ellie. “I hear you’re one of us now.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Creeper McDouche the third sure has a big mouth.”
“Big mouth, small dick.” I offered Sasha a cup of hot cocoa, which she took with a grateful smile.
“I wouldn’t know, but that makes sense,” Sasha replied, taking a sip of the cocoa. Waving her cup in the air, she said, “You know I only come over here for this.”
“If all it takes is peppermint hot cocoa to get tickets to the Garden so we can ogle hot gay guys in their underwear, I can deal,” I joked and handed another cup to Ellie. Settling in between the two on the sofa, I leaned over to look at the details on the invitation.
“Who’re you taking? Victoria?”
Sasha made a face. “No, she’s being too hormonal. Last week she accused me of being too aloof because I didn’t want to snuggle while we watched The Bachelor.”
“I don’t get why you watch that show.” I shook my head.
“AM.” Sasha heaved a huge sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you? There are hot, dumb women on that show. They’re just my type.”
“I agree that there are hot and dumb women on the show. I don’t agree that that’s your type,” I argued. “Victoria’s premed!”
“I know, and we aren’t together, are we?” Sasha countered. “Speaking of big mouths and new people, the Central rumor mill has placed you in the same proximity as one notorious Bo Randolph. What happened to your No Central Guys Ever motto?”
It was my turn to make a face. “He’s just my lab partner.”
Sasha made a humming noise and took a sip of her cocoa. At my glare, she fessed up. “Martin Sommersby was at Palmer’s Deli with his boyfriend and saw the two of you in a serious discussion. He said your faces were this far apart”—she held up her thumb and forefinger to display a minuscule distance—“and that the sexual tension was so thick it was like a force field.”
With my cheeks burning, I replied as nonchalantly as possible, “We were a polite table distance apart.”
“Good thing you’re the math major,” Sasha said to Ellie, “because this chick has major problems with measurement.”
“Measuring isn’t really a math thing,” Ellie said mildly, having my back as always.
“Come on,” Sasha cajoled. “Bo Randolph is interesting
, even to this lesbian.” She paused. “Maybe to all lesbians. He should be my plus one. It’d drive Victoria nuts.”
“It’s nothing,” I insisted. “We’re lab partners. I was hungry. He offered to pay. What sane student passes up a free off-campus meal?”
“If that’s the way you want to play it.” Sasha rolled her eyes.
“Let’s talk about what we’re gonna wear,” Ellie interjected. I shot her a grateful glance, which she acknowledged with a wink. Sasha rolled her eyes again at our obvious ploy.
“I’m doing the bra and panty look this time,” Sasha told us. “I got a new set at Agent Provocateur the last time I was in Chicago. It’s a black widow getup with a spiderweb detailing in the butt area.”
“I’m going corset,” Ellie announced.
I shrugged. “I only have the one set that’s acceptable to wear without clothes.”
“I’m sure it will be hot, babe,” Sasha said. She finished her drink and set the mug on the coffee table. Standing up, she waved the invitations at us. “Shall we cab it down around ten?”
Ellie and I nodded our agreement, and Sasha left.
“So this is a good thing, right?” Ellie looked at me.
I nodded. “Very good. We get to trick ourselves out, ogle some man flesh, and dirty dance with some gay guys and hot lesbians until our feet bleed and there isn’t a brain cell functioning in our bodies.”
“Bo is that much of a temptation?” Ellie said knowingly.
I fell back against the sofa. “You have no idea,” I admitted with relief.
“Oh I do,” Ellie said ruefully. “Ryan sat next to me in class yesterday and again in lab today. He smelled delicious, like baked apples. I wanted to lick his neck.”
“Did you?”
“No, but I fantasized about him last night. A lot.”
“Did that help? Because I dreamt about Bo, and when I woke up, I was more frustrated than before,” I whined.
Ellie shook her head. “Do we need to watch Magic Mike?”
“No,” I groaned. “That would only make it worse.”
“You know we’ve got it bad when a naked and gyrating Channing Tatum can’t solve our problems.”
I rolled my head against the back of the sofa to smile at Ellie. “Take two CTs and call me in the morning.”
“If only.” Ellie slapped me on the knee and said, “Let’s go make ourselves irresistible.”
MY ONE RESPECTABLE SET OF underwear was from Agent Provocateur, too. Ellie and I had both bought a set when we were in the city. I’m pretty sure my mom would have died if she’d known that I spent some of my graduation money on this, but it seemed naughty and adult and fun. The bra was white with embroidered lace flowers with scalloped edges along the top of the cups. The straps were made of pink satin and were sewn to my exact size. It was a service that the store offered for free. Custom tailoring for underwear. I could hardly believe it when I bought the set.
The panties were made of the matching lace with the scallops dancing across my butt and along the v of my thighs. Pink satin laced up the sides and tied at each hip. I wore my hair down, curled, and hairsprayed. At the Garden, everyone seemed to wear makeup, from the gay boys to the cross-dressers and the lesbians. No amount of eyeliner was too much, and no color of lipstick was too red.
I shuffled out into the hallway with a pair of spike-heeled sandals unbuckled on my feet and a pair of wedges in my hand. Ellie was fluffing her hair and pulling at her corset. I held up the wedges with a query in my eyes. “Wedges are more comfortable,” I said, knowing what Ellie’s response would be.
“But the stilettos are sexier,” Ellie pointed out.
“Stilettos it is.” I dropped the wedges to the floor. Ellie turned and lifted her hair. She needed help fastening the corset. I hooked the laces and pulled a bit, finishing it off with a bow at the base of her spine.
We posed in front of our hallway mirror. “We look good,” Ellie said, drawing out good so that it sounded like three words.
“Let’s go, ladies,” Sasha called from the hallway. Ellie pulled on her long puffer coat and I wore my trench. It wasn’t even close to warm enough but it was the longest coat I had. I grabbed my clutch and double-checked that I had the invitations. Sasha pounded on the door. “COME ON.”
“Hold your panties,” I yelled. In the hallway, Sasha was standing with a hand on her hip, tapping her foot. The placement of her hand drew back the jacket so we could see the red and black webbing that made up her ensemble.
“Girl,” Ellie whistled, “you look amazing.”
Sasha winked at us. “So do you. Let’s get down to the Garden and dance our bows off.”
>THE GARDEN WAS ONE OF two bars in the warehouse district. The other one was a dance club called Mustangs, a hiphop/techno dance club despite the country-western name. None of us were sure why it was called Mustangs, but it was a well-known meat market. Both guys and girls went there, primarily to find a hookup. Dancing was the mating call. I know this because I’ve had my own Mustangs hookup. I’m pretty sure almost everyone has. The Garden, however, was known for its awesome themed parties and cage dancers. Because it was targeted at the GLBT population, it was rare to see a straight guy inside, which made it a safe place for straight girls to come and let their hair down.
The undies parties were legendary, but I’d never attended one before this. I knew you were only allowed to wear underwear or pajamas.
Sasha, Ellie, and I spilled out of the cab and presented our IDs and invitations. Once inside, we stood and waited in the foyer as people took off their boots and overcoats. Ultraviolet light washed the nightclub, and bouncers were marking people’s shoulders as they passed out of the coat check area into the main club.
The hardbodies were out in full force. Acres of ripped and glistening abs stretched from one side room to the other. Special Magic Markers sat on tables and people were drawing on each other, the black lights in the ceiling and in the spotlights making us look like glow-in-the-dark cartoons.
Men and women walked around the bar with trays that hung around their necks. Jello shots, slippery nipples, and Jager Bombs were offered for $5 a pop. Getting drunk at the underwear party wasn’t cheap.
Sasha dragged us through until we found a table to prop our purses on. Cash, credit card, and ID we stuck in our bras. The phones and makeup were left in the purses. Some guys wore long fluorescent tube socks that held their gear. Others had cute fanny packs with the pouches resting at the base of their spines.
Every guy’s package looked alive.
“Cock rings,” Sasha whispered to me.
“What?”
“The cock ring makes the penis stand up. No guy wants to look like he has a sad package here.”
Ellie waved over a waiter and paid for three slippery nipples. We gulped them down and perused the room. The webbing in Sasha’s bra and panties were traced in thin strips of safety tape and in the dark, it made her look nearly naked. She’d make Victoria sorry in this getup.
“Oh my God,” I heard Ellie gasp and she grabbed my arm, hard.
“What?” I asked, reacting to the panic. She lifted her free arm and pointed across the room. Following the path of her finger, I saw an equally shocked Ryan Collins, dressed in what looked like red board shorts. Even at a distance I could see his mouth was slightly open. I wasn’t sure if he was shocked to see us or struck dumb by how gorgeous Ellie looked.
“Goddamn it,” Ellie cursed. “Is he gay? Was he trying to get me to be his fucking beard?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“What’s going on?” Sasha asked. I quickly filled her in.
“Mohawk guy across the dance floor was hitting on Ellie.”
“No way,” Sasha said.
Ellie dropped her arm. “Yes, way.” She looked furious. She pushed her way around me. “I’m going to confront that motherfucker right now.”
She started across the dance floor looking fierce. Sasha and I glanced at each other, our eyes wid
e, and raced after her.
Ellie stopped right in front of Ryan and pointed her finger against his chest. “What’re you doing here? If you think I’d be your beard for your stupid fucking lacrosse team, you’ve—”
Ryan grabbed her finger and pulled her against him, flush against his body. With her heels, she came up to his nose. The sudden and unexpected action shut Ellie up. Ryan dipped his head down slightly and pressed his mouth over Ellie’s and began eating at her lips like he hadn’t had a good meal in a week. His hands tangled in Ellie’s dark, coarse hair, holding her tightly in his grasp. Sasha and I just stood there, dumbfounded. I think the entire crowd in a five-foot radius was watching with breathless anticipation. It was a Telemundo soap opera, acted out in real life.
Ryan let her go, and Ellie stumbled back. She brought her hand up to her lips, and I saw it was trembling.
“I’m not gay, honey,” Ryan said and then placed his hand on his crotch. “And this is all for you.”
Ellie raised her hand. For a moment it looked like she was going to slap him, but then she turned on her heel and stomped back to our table. Sasha followed her immediately, but I paused. My attention was arrested when Ryan’s face tightened as he watched Ellie walk away.
“Fuck,” he muttered and hit his fist hard against the table, making it rock on its pedestal. A dark-haired guy with washboard abs walked up wearing tight green underwear with a fluorescent band and dollar bills poking out of the waist. He was carrying a mixed drink in one hand and a beer in the other.
“What’d I miss?” he asked, directing the question toward me but handing the beer to Ryan. Ryan took the beer and swallowed about half of it.
“Just me, fucking it up,” Ryan said, swiping a forearm against his mouth.
Unspoken (The Woodlands) Page 14