by Trisha Wolfe
* * *
Only the town’s adored Bobcats could manage shutting down a whole beach bar to host a private party. I shake my head as Gavin and I enter, the cranked, bass-filled music hitting my chest with a rattling boom. Flashing LED lights decorate the ceiling, dripping from the rafters. Little blue lights are woven between sheer material being used to section off private seating areas.
“How the hell did you pull this off?” I shout over the music.
Gavin chuckles, a beer already in his hand. “Dude, I’m the shit.”
I have no other choice but to accept this as fact. Because I’m actually impressed.
Looking around for the boosters, all I note is the team. A bunch of dudes. No girls. And I know at least half of these guys have girlfriends, or at least their current hookups. I quirk an eyebrow in Gavin’s direction.
“Don’t worry, man. This won’t be a sausage fest.” He takes off toward the bar top to talk to the bartender.
I pull up a seat next to Jeremy and nod my head toward a bottle of water when he asks what I’m drinking. None of the guys ever mention it, but they know the reason I don’t drink. That I stay far away from the shit that turns my brother into a monster.
I’m listening to Jeremy and Beck’s animated debate about a play, when light spills into the darkened bar as the door swings open. Six members of the boosters amble in, shaking off the cold. I squint, as if that will help, and zero in on Ari. She’s standing beside Vee, glancing around anxiously, as the other girls head toward Gavin.
Ari’s eyes meet mine for one quick second before Gavin shouts, “Take your places, boys!” And the music stops. The flood of my teammates hustling around breaks our eye contact.
This…does not look good. I’m suddenly wary, a sinking feeling gripping my stomach and my back stiffening against the plush seat. Hoots and whistles sound out as Ari trails the girls toward the back of the bar.
The music switches back on, a sensual, slow rhythm filling the bar, and Carly leaves Gavin’s side to strut toward the mini-stage in the corner where all the band equipment has been pushed against the wall.
I’d like to think she’s getting ready to perform—sing, play the guitar, beatbox—but I almost hooked up with her back in my sophomore year—and from what I remember, she only has a few talents, and those are not among them. Luckily, she got too drunk before anything serious happened between us. I’d feel damn awkward right now, otherwise.
“I tried my hardest to bribe Todd into putting up a stripper pole,” Gavin says as he plunks down on the bench seat beside me. “But he wasn’t feeling it. Oh, well. It beats the shit out of the titty bars! At least the lap dances are free.” He woops as Carly begins swiveling her hips. She lets down her long blond hair and shakes it out.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, slithering ever so slowly, encasing me in a feeling of dread. I avert my eyes as she begins to unbutton her shirt. “What the fuck, Gav?” I say.
“What? We’re a short ways away from the championship.” He shrugs. “I figured a little stress relief would be appreciated.” Then his gaze is back on the stage, his head nodding along to the strip club beat. “It’s just a few girls, man. They were all about it.”
Then—because my brain hasn’t even began to process everything just yet—it fucking hits me like a Mack truck. Square in the chest. Only by now it’s too late, because the other booster girls are moving into the room, my Ari trailing their lead.
My eyes are glued to her sexy body draped in a long, tight black dress, a slit running the length of her leg. It’s strapless, and her cleavage pushes over the top—all her silky skin glitters under the twinkling lights.
Anger spikes my blood, lava hot. I can actually feel my blood boiling, sizzling under my skin as she prances in front of a table full of guys, modeling off her body. I’m already thinking on my feet, about to storm over to her and drag her out of here, but I hear Gavin say, “Right here!” as he points to me. And then hands are pressed against my shoulders, pushing me into the seat.
I look up and into Vee’s eyes. They’re wide and imploring. “Please?” she whispers. “Just go with it.”
My eyebrows pull together, and I try desperately not to look at her tits. Which are barely covered by a sparkling string bikini top and right in my face.
Hell. I feel fucking degraded for her. Here she is, stripping her clothes off for me, riding my lap, just for the chance to be near Gavin. Why the hell did he do this? Why the hell did I not clarify anything to him? I should’ve known. I just should’ve fucking known. I wish I’d just told him to ask the poor girl out. Take her on a real freaking date. He’s not actually all that bad—he’s just…Gavin.
Luckily, Vee keeps her top on, and I can tell she’s never once done this before. I can feel her limbs trembling as she awkwardly tries to ride one of my legs, her knees knocking painfully against my thigh.
I’m starting to think this might not be so bad. Ari’s just here to support Vee, who is about as nervous as a trembling snowflake in August. I’ll hand her over to Gavin in a second with a stern word to keep his eyes on her. Then I’ll end the party before Ari can even think of shedding that dress for any of these losers—supporting her friend or not, I’ll be damned. It’s so out of character for her—I don’t care how much she wants to help Vee. This is over the fucking top.
I’ll also put a hurt on Gavin real soon. Just for the fact that Ari is walking around in stripper clothes.
My gaze darts around the room as Vee tries to adjust her bikini bottoms…and I find Ari.
My heart stops beating. Just stops dead in my chest. My lungs cease to breathe, and they burn painfully. She’s dancing in front of Beck, damn near grinding against him, wearing next to nothing.
I hear Vee’s yelp, and I realize I’ve seized her arms. “Sorry,” I say through clenched teeth. Then I’m looking into her eyes. “What the fuck is she doing?” I seethe.
She attempts a shrug, and I loosen my hold. “I honestly don’t know. I told her—” But I cut her off as I move her over to Gavin.
“Do not—” I get right in his face, narrow my eyes “—let this girl give anyone else a dance. Do you hear me?”
His head jerks back, stunned. I don’t give him a second to say anything stupid. “She’s Ari’s best friend,” I continue. “And I will cripple you next practice if another guy so much as looks at her. Take her to a private section.”
Eyes wide, he nods. “Yeah, dude. That’s cool.”
Then I’m stomping toward Beck, my hands curling into fists, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw aches from the pressure. I see red. As Beck’s fat hand snakes up Ari’s back, fingers grasping the string to her top, blood red pulses in my vision.
My hand clamps around his and I squeeze. Hard.
“Ah! Mother fu—” Beck breaks off as his eyes meet mine.
“Get off him,” I grind out.
Ari’s head whips around, her dark curls slashing Beck across the face as she leans over him. I’m still crushing Beck’s hand as she looks me over. “No.”
My stomach hits my boots. “Get. The fuck. Off him.” I do not like who I am right now, but I’m going to hate myself in a matter of two seconds if she doesn’t do just that.
Her eyes gleam defiantly in the soft blue light, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “I’m tired of being told what to do. Wait, how’d the whole thing go again?” She cocks her head, pretending to think. “How to act, what to wear, what to do for the rest of my life? Isn’t that the way you put it?”
Anger scorches my chest as I force out a heavy, hot breath. “I didn’t mean it like…” I turn my head away, collect my thoughts. Then I look down at Beck. “I’m going to kill you if you do not get your fucking crotch away from her right now.”
His hands fly up. “Ryde, it was just messing around.” My glare reinforces my threat. He gently pushes a scowling Ari upright by her shoulders, but my fury doesn’t diminish in the least. All I can do is stare at where her naked thighs touch his big
, fat, jean-clad knees.
My head pulses in sync to the beat vibrating the walls, sound whooshing in and out of my ears, as my anger mounts. There’s no reeling it in. I’m grabbing Ari around her trim waist and pulling her away before she can protest.
“Hey! I’m sick of you manhandling me,” she snaps. “Like some freaking caveman. What, are you going to throw me over your shoulder again?” She smacks at my hand.
She means it as an insult, but I’m thinking that idea sounds pretty damn good right about now. Anchoring my hands to my hips, I survey the small room. Most of the guys’ attention is on the stage, where Carly is still dancing, and the others are waiting their turn for private dances.
“Are we done?”
Ari’s annoyed voice draws my focus back on her. Arms crossed over her chest, pressing her silver bikini top upward, her glittering breasts pushed over the triangles. What the fuck happened to all her modest layers?
I shake my head. “Far from it,” I say to her. “Get your clothes.”
“The hell I am,” she mutters, then starts to walk off, but I catch her arm. “I came here for Vee. And I’m going to dance.”
“What are you trying to prove?”
Her eyes hold mine, then she steps into my personal space. A mischievous glint lights her eyes as she presses her body against mine. I suck in a quick breath at the feel of her hands on my chest, roaming down, as she swivels her hips against me. Fucking hell.
Hollers rise around us, the guys cheering Ari on.
“I came here to dance, Ryder,” she says again. “And I’m not asking for your permission. I’m not asking for anyone’s permission.”
Tension thrums through my body. A shout sounds out about me finally “getting some,” and I snap. Just like that first night, I swoop down and haul Ari into my arms, but this time, I grab her around her back and legs. Not wanting the guys to stare at her bikini-clad ass.
The whistles and shouts grow louder as I cart Ari off to a secluded section far in the corner, enclosed by curtains running ceiling-to-floor. Then I set her on her high-heels. “Dance all you want,” I say. She sends me a slitted glare that could flay me, but I only shrug. “When you’re sober tomorrow, you’ll thank me.”
Before, I smelled alcohol on her breath. I’m sure a lot of this is coming from a need to rebel, lash out at her conservative, controlling parents—and to prove something to me. I’m not exactly sure what, but I must have hit a nerve with her the other night. And I’m sure her mock bravery stems from a good bit of alcohol. I can’t see Ari getting this loose, otherwise.
“You want a bottle of water?” I ask.
She laughs. Then she’s lunging up against me, backing me toward the bench seat. The back of my legs hit the cushion and I fall backward. “Is this what you wanted, Ryder?” she asks, trapping one of my knees between her thighs. “Did you bring me here for a private dance? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point, though? I mean, no one will be able to see. But then, I guess they can assume what will happen, right? That works just as well.”
I grit my teeth. “I thought… Didn’t I prove that I wasn’t out for anything like that?”
She lifts her hair off her shoulders as she rolls her hips. I avert my eyes. “Still,” she says, “you like that it will get around. That you won’t technically be the bad guy. And I know you like this…” She slides a knee along the seat, bringing her body above me, and my gaze is drawn right to her spread thighs.
As she strokes one hand across my chest, she moves fully above me, caging me in with both knees on either side of my thighs. My heart leaps to my throat, the ache beating in time with the music pumping out of the speakers. Some Korn song, the lyrics drumming their way into my skull—talking about never having to justify…run and hide.
It’s so fucking fitting for this moment.
My voice isn’t as sure when I speak next. “I need you to stop.”
She smiles down at me. “As long as I’m giving you a dance, I’m not giving any of them one.” She cocks her head to the side. “Isn’t that what you want? Why you brought me here?”
Shit. No, it’s not… But I can’t argue with her logic. I’m already thinking of a million ways I’m going to hurt Beck tomorrow just for looking at her. And if I witness Ari straddling anyone else…I would lose my shit and start dropping fists.
But I can’t sit here and let her degrade herself like this. Not when I know that she really doesn’t want to be here. She’s angry with me, and from the way she’s behaving, I assume also angry with herself.
I clasp my hands around her wrists and look up into her face. “Let me take you home. You can slash me with as many insults as you want, but let’s get out of here first.”
I am not prepared for what happens. Ari dips forward, pushing her chest right up against mine, her lips just brushing my ear. A hard shiver racks my body, and I close my eyes. Trying, and failing, not to be fucking turned on. I’m a shit.
“I can feel how badly you want me,” she whispers. She frees her wrists from my hold. With a sultry ease the exact opposite of Vee, Ari lowers herself fully atop me, riding my crotch with expert moves of seduction.
I can’t help myself; my body reacts. I catch fire, the throbbing pulse in my throat dropping right to my dick. As her tits brush against my chin, I inhale deeply, sucking in the sweet scent of her. Her soft skin surrounds me, her tight ass grinds against my cock, and I’m gripping the cushions on either side to keep from touching her.
And when her mouth dips to my neck, I fear I’m about to lose all rational thought. Her tongue delves out to caress my throat, and I swallow hard, every muscle in my body aching, vibrating, with tension.
Only when she reaches behind her to untie her top does the blood rush back to my brain.
I reach around her back. Closing my hands around her wrists, I inadvertently pull her to me. Our chests are pressed so tightly together, I can feel her heart pounding against me. “If your plan was to torture me,” I say, forcing the words out around my tight jaw, “it’s working. I’m effectively tortured. But please spare me my last shred of dignity.”
And I truly mean this. All control over myself will be lost if she loses that top. I do not want to be that bastard. Not with her.
My words must register, cutting through the haze of lust and alcohol, because she grimaces and pushes her hands between us. Then, as her eyes flick over my face, she licks her lips. I brace myself to taste those lips…just for a second. Just long enough to sate the ramped desire burning through me.
Before I meet her there, she turns her head to the side and loses her stomach.
“Oh, shit…” I’m suddenly bent over with her, trying to pull her hair aside as she wretches.
Damn, I think, combing her soft curls back from her face, that’s even better than a cold shower.
21
Arian
Oh, holy hell, somebody kill me.
My stomach obviously didn’t appreciate the two shots of vodka Jessica fed me in the back room. I’d already downed a beer before we left the dorm, needing some liquid courage to settle my climbing nerves. That probably didn’t mix too well.
When Vee and I realized just what was expected of us at Gavin’s party, I told her no. Actually, I told her hell no. But the pleading look she gave me completely deflated my resolve. She was going through with it, regardless of whether or not I came. And how could I not? How could I let her go off with these crazy chicks and dance—no, strip—in front of the whole college football team?
It sounded so cliché; like some awful hazing initiation.
But it was really happening. And Vee was really going for it. I chugged back the beer, then told her I wouldn’t let her go on her own. She argued, knowing that this was way out of my comfort zone. But I could not, in good conscience, let my friend debase herself alone.
I hadn’t actually planned to strip myself—just tag along to watch out for Vee. But then Jessica had to hit a nerve. A very sore one. “You always do what’s exp
ected of you, don’t you?” she said. Ugh. My stomach roils just remembering those words, and how they tipped my already fragile sense of self over the freaking edge.
With my father pressuring me with an engagement to Lucas…and Ryder’s harsh argument having devastated me so thoroughly…I had to prove to myself that I could let go and make my own choices. Just act on impulse.
Oh, I so did. I threw back two shots of vodka with animated force and suited up in little more than a G-string and bikini top and found the first a-hole to prove it to.
Beck was not my first choice, but he was there. And he was close enough to Ryder. I needed Ryder to see that I can, in fact, take control of my own life. Only I guess I’m not strong enough to take control over my damn stomach yet. I felt the hot bile coating my throat. I knew it was coming, but no way was I going to let my stomach rule.
I lost, obviously. My stomach always wins. Years of training myself to purge on command has worked against me in a horribly embarrassing outcome. I didn’t even drink that much, really.
As I hunker over, saliva filling my mouth, I feel Ryder smooth back my hair. He’s actually holding it. It’s like some bad rom-com movie. I feel like a total cliché. I probably look like one, too. His other hand is massaging my back, and my stomach burns as the bile begins to worm its way back up my throat.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I manage to say, my throat closing up.
“Come on. I’ll carry you,” Ryder says, and I groan.
“Please don’t.” I chance a look at him. His eyes are clear and concerned. I can’t bring myself to beg, but I cannot allow Ryder to carry me out in front of those guys once more; it’s getting stupid.
He nods once, sits back to pull his jacket off, then wraps it around my shoulders. The sentiment hits me in my chest with a fierce ache. I’m awful for how I was just behaving, and I don’t even fully understand why I was being such a bitch. The mix of liquor and rage over my father’s demands is like setting a flame to a fuse. The explosion was inevitable.