by C. Shell
Chapter Six
The rest of the week goes by at a snail’s pace. Connor’s texting has gone from psycho crazy down to moderately annoying. He stopped by my dorm room once, but luckily, I had already left to go get my laundry done at the local washeteria. I’ve never been so thankful for dirty panties in my life.
I’m working my ass off to catch up on the classes I missed. The stress from school and my failed relationship is wearing on me. Lack of sleep has left dark circles under my eyes, prompting a new rumor to circulate that I got beat up by one of Conner’s flavors of the week. For someone who claims to love me so much, he’s doing a poor job of showing it. I’m tired of hearing about all his random hookups. Something’s got to give, and soon.
I can’t keep going like this.
Friday couldn’t come fast enough. I’ve got Becs helping me get dressed. I use the word help loosely because so far all she’s done is belittle my wardrobe. Pointing a pink manicured finger in my direction, Becs turns all bossy. “Stop being lazy and get dressed. We’re leaving here in thirty minutes and not a second later. I promised my man that we wouldn’t be late.” Her hand goes to her hips and her face turns sour. “You will not make me into a liar.”
“How am I supposed to get ready when you’ve vetoed everything I’ve put on? I’m out of options. Pick something before I decide to go in my pajamas.”
Peeking around her closet door, Becca tosses a dress at me. Picking it off the bed, I give it a once over before raising an eyebrow. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”
“Your outfit for tonight. The jade green color will compliment your skin tone. You’ll look hot.”
“You never said I had to wear a dress.,” I say accusingly. I look over the skimpy little number and sigh. I don’t mind getting dolled up, but short dresses are not my thing. “You of all people know how much I don’t like showing off my chicken legs.”
Becca barks out a laugh. “You don’t have chicken legs.” Walking over to where I’m standing, she holds the dress up in front of me and nods her appreciation. “This will look perfect on you. You’ve been wound tight all week. It’s time to relax and have some fun.”
I’m not feeling as confident as she is. The scrap of material she gave me will barely cover one ass cheek. Walking around without flashing my panties to the world will be a challenge. I don’t think I can do it.
Resting a free hand on my hip, I try to thrust it back at her, but she easily dodges my movements. The girl moves like a cat, all lithe and fast. “This dress makes me want to break out in hives,” I all but whine. “What’s wrong with my skinny jeans?”
“Oh. God, no,” Becca protests. She doesn’t even bother hiding her eye roll. “Tonight is about you. Strut your stuff. With that dress on, you’ll look hot as fuck while doing it. Skinny jeans and a shirt won’t cut it. Now,” she says, giving me the stink eye. “Stop complaining and get dressed. Time is not our friend and I still need to do your hair.”
With a loud huff, I rush against the clock to get ready.
It takes a few tugs to get the dress in place, but once it’s done, I’m happy with the result. Telling Becca she was right it will only makes her big head larger, but damn if this little number doesn’t look good on me. Hugging me in all the right places, it lengthens my legs and extenuates my curves. I give myself a final once over before humming in appreciation. My ass has never looked better.
When I feel her eyes boring into my back, I finally give in. “You have good taste,” I admit, turning around and letting her see for herself.
The corner of her mouth quirks. “I can’t believe you doubted me.” Grabbing a brush and some hairpins from her vanity, she pats the cushioned seat beside her. “Sit. We need to get started on your hair.”
I’m a put it in a ponytail and go type of girl - mainly because I suck at anything remotely girlie - so when Becca turns me around and I get a look at my new chic updo I almost fall over.
I’m at a loss for words. And that’s saying something.
My friend has a gift. I’m beyond grateful and a little excited about showing off my new look. Compliments start pouring out of my mouth like water from a broken faucet. Becca’s hand shoots up, halting my word vomit.
“You can show your gratitude later when you slam shots with me.” She picks up her bag and starts off toward the door in a fast walk. “If we don’t get out of here, Patrick will do us both in. Grab your shit and let’s roll.”
Well, damn. Looks like I’ll be shit faced tonight.
Shoving my phone into the top of my bra, I race to catch up to her long strides. The evening sky is beautifully cast in shades of pink and blue, making the night feel magical. I take a deep breath, feeling lighter for the first time in weeks.
“Do you feel like walking? Patrick’s fraternity house isn’t too far,” she asks, grinning at me.
“Might as well. We can always call an Uber later if needed. Better to be safe than sorry.”
Joining me on the sidewalk, Becca slings an arm my shoulder and starts walking with me. “I have a good feeling about tonight,” she tells me. “There is a tingle in my bones. That’s a signal for good things to come.”
I tip my head down and rub at the back of my neck. “I don’t know where you come up with this stuff, but I’ll take your word on it.”
The frat house is located near the football field a few blocks from our dorm. By the time we arrive, the party is in full swing. Vehicles line the street, and music drifts through the air, making the night feel alive and electric. Grabbing my hand, Becca takes the lead, maneuvering us through groups of partygoers and pushing people out of the way. We get a few nasty glares, but in true Becca fashion, she doesn’t give a shit.
The smell of sweat and marijuana hangs heavy in the air, tickling my nostrils and calming me at the same time. I cough out a laugh as I check out the amount of liquor being doled out. A full bar is set against one wall in the main room with a line stretching far behind it. Manning the table are two guys, both of equal height although one is encased in a set of muscles that has my mouth watering. They play off each other, juggling bottles and flipping them in the air, putting on quite a show for the gathering crowd.
My feet come to a grinding halt as I take a closer look at the men slinging drinks. Our school is full of preppy guys born of old money and privilege. You don’t find many scholarship kids like me around. The muscled guy behind the bar stands out from the rest. He’s rugged with striking features and a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe vibrating off him in spades. Becca tugs on my arm to keep me walking, but I don’t budge.
Something about this man has piqued my attention.
“Hello?” Becca says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Why did you stop?” The exasperation in her tone is unmistakable. She tries to pull me forward again, but I pull my arm free from her grip. “This isn’t the time to be weird,” she complains. “We need to find Patrick.”
“Let’s get a drink first,” I suggest.
Call me stupid, but I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m more than a little intrigued. He’s tall with a nice amount of muscle coating his sculptured form. Both arms are covered in a sleeve of colorful tattoos. Snakes, dragons, skulls and who knows what else decorates him from shoulder to wrist. I wonder where else those tattoos are hiding.
Becca follows my gaze, her brows bunching as she looks the bartender up and down. “He’s hot. Do you know that guy?”
“Nope,” I answer, popping the P. But I want to.
“Why are you staring at him like he’s a hot fudge sundae and you’re a girl with a permanent sweet tooth?” she prods.
My shoulders shrug. “I don’t know.” And I don’t. This guy is a total stranger to me, and yet, I feel drawn to him. It sounds cliché, but when his gaze settles on mine, it’s as if time stands still. There is a buzz flowing through my veins that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I don’t want to leave for fear of losing it. With swift footsteps, I walk over to the table and stand before hi
m on shaky legs.
My heart skips a beat as his gaze drinks me in, his eyes trailing a path from the top of my head down to my legs, and not missing anything in between. It’s unsettling how much I enjoy his attention. He could be a serial killer for all I know, and yet, my body doesn’t seem to care. It’s moving on autopilot, not giving two shits that I probably look like a creeper.
This man is hot as fuck, and judging by the smug look on his face, he knows it. One perfect brow lifts. “What’s your poison, pretty girl?”
My mind blanks. I scramble to come up with an answer and end up blurting out, “Do you know how to make a sex on the beach?”
I want to face plant the moment the words are out of my mouth. Heavy silence hangs in the aftermath. Out of all the mix drinks available, why did I choose that one? I’m more of a jack and coke kind of girl. The last time I drank something fruity was in high school. Becca isn’t helping, her insistent giggling is causing my embarrassment to rise to unbearable heights.
Bartender guy just smirks, the corner of his kissable mouth tipping up a notch. “Sex on the beach is my specialty,” he answers, and damn it if the deep timbre of his voice doesn’t make me weak in the knees.
He turns and starts grabbing an assortment of colored liquors off the shelf behind him, and I finally relax enough to let out the breath I’ve been holding. Holy shit balls. I’m out of my comfort zone and feeling lost. I haven’t flirted with a guy other than Conner in years.
I’m not sure I can do this.
Becca leans in and nudges my arm. “As interesting as this is, I need to go find Patrick. You okay here?”
“What?” I ask, panic riding my voice an octave higher. She can’t be serious. I blink repeatedly before turning to her with a pleading look. I lower my voice so as not to be heard by anyone else. “No. I can’t do this alone. You can’t leave me here.”
She gives me a wink and starts walking backward. “Don’t freak out. I’m not going far. You’ve got this.” Before the crowd gobbles her up, she raises her voice loud enough for Bartender guy to hear and says, “Don’t forget to wrap it before you tap it.”
I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. I don’t want to turn around and face him, but what choice do I have? I need to finish what I started and figure out what it is about this man that has me intrigued. I focus on keeping my breaths even as I turn back to the table. It’s a trick I learned in speech class that helps calm the nerves when facing a large crowd.
The Bartender finishes making my drink, pours it into a tall glass, and tops it off with a maraschino cherry before sliding the glass in front of me. I can’t help but frown. I’m not a garnish type of girl. I never eat them, so it’s just wasteful. Carefully, picking it out by the stem, I wad it up in a paper napkin and hand it back to him.
“I don’t need this. I’m sure you have a trash can back there. Would you mind discarding my cherry for me?”
Oh. My. God!
I can’t believe I just said that.
My words roll on repeat in my head like a bad movie that just won’t stop. I just asked the hot Bartender to rid me of my cherry. My fucking cherry! I need to say something smart or quirky to help lessen my humiliation, but my mind has shut down and vacated the premises.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Glancing up with wide eyes, I find him staring down at me with the biggest grin, not the kind that showcases his teeth, but one that is full of mirth. I give him a slow, painful blink.
I don’t realize he’s taken my wrapped-up cherry from me until I see him bend down and throw it in a trash can hidden under the table. Leaning forward, his gaze thickens, and his eyes become hooded. “Thanks, pretty girl,” he drawls, his voice a sexy melody that makes my knees want to buckle. “It’s been a long time since I had the pleasure of taking a girl’s cherry.”
I choke on a breath. He’s playing along instead of making fun of me, that’s a good sign. A girl behind me pushes in, trying to get his attention. “I’m on break,” he tells her, his eyes still holding mine. “Move along. Dale at the other end of the table can help you.”
With a pout and a huff, she stomps off, her ass swishing in her wake. I can’t help but laugh. I don’t know why he lied to her, but I’m not complaining. I like having his attention on me. An ache low in my belly grows, reminding me it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.
“Do you go to school here?” His question is simple, but it’s a reminder I know nothing about this guy. I need to play it smart and not allow my hormones to get me into trouble.
I sober. “Yeah. I’m in my last year.” I narrow my eyes, trying to place him. With plump kissable lips and high cheekbones, he’s a sexy masterpiece not easily missed. “I’ve don’t remember seeing you around. Where are you from?”
The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “You’re just not looking hard enough. I don’t go to school here, but I’m around.”
His dark gaze heats me from within, stirring around feelings I thought were long gone. Bringing his face close to mine, I squirm under his deep scrutiny. Butterflies invade my belly. We just met and yet, it feels like he knows me, can read my thoughts and uncover all my secrets.
I don’t like it. It’s unnerving.
Glancing away, I take a sip of my drink as a distraction. I’m not sure how to handle the war waging inside me. My body is screaming at me to drag him into a quiet corner and have my way with him while my head is saying run while you still can.
My head wins.
Glancing at the end of the table, I let out an exaggerated sigh. “You should help poor Dale before loses his cool. He’s in over his head and that line’s not getting any shorter.” Dale is in my history class. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not the smartest tool in the shed. Either his daddy pulled some big purse strings to get him accepted into the college or his momma gives a mean blowjob.
The guy waves off my concern. “Dale will be fine. He’s enjoying all the attention.” His eyes turn hungry as they bore into mine. “Besides, I’m not ready to get back to work. Talking to you is more enjoyable than making drinks. You should probably give me your name, otherwise, I will have to call you Cherry from now on.”
His eyes hold mine and damn if they aren’t the color of melted chocolate. His brow quirks as he waits for me to make the next move. With a rock-hard body, sexy as fuck tattoos, a voice that makes my panties wet, and a face I will be adding to my spank bank- this guy is sin on a stick. He’s the complete package and I want to get to know him better, which is exactly why I need to walk away while I still can.
I’m not ready for a guy like him. Not yet, at least.
Gripping my glass, I drain the entirety of it before placing it back on the table. The strong alcohol burns my throat going down. I’m already hating myself for what I’m about to do, but it’s got to be done. I take a reluctant step back. And then another. “Thanks for the drink and…” I bite my lip and laugh. “And for taking care of my cherry. I should go find my friends.”
He pushes up off the table and stands tall, his height easily topping over six feet. His russet-colored eyes go ridiculously dark. “I didn’t take you for someone who scares so easily.” Reaching out, he brushes the hair off my face, tucking the unruly strands behind my ear. “Your hand is shaking. Do I make you nervous?”
I hold his intrusive gaze with one of my own. “I’m fine,” I lie. Truthfully, my emotions are all over the place. I’m not ready to go home, but I don’t feel like being here either. My chin trembles a little and it pisses me off. I want to give him my name and learn his all the same, but what’s to come of it? I just got out of a shitty relationship and I’m one ugly cry away from falling apart.
I turn on my heel, ready to make my escape. Tilting my chin up, I call out over my shoulder, “It’s been real. Thanks for the drink.”
Not waiting for a rebuttal, I march forward and get lost in the crowd. With the number of people packed in this house, it isn’t hard to do. Sipping on my drink, I pick my way
through the rooms until I find my pink-haired friend hiding in a corner, wrapped protectively within Patrick’s arms. As I get closer, I notice her glazed over eyes. Becca is drunk or stoned. Or maybe, it’s both.
I’m going with the latter.
“What are you two crazy lovebirds up to?” I ask, giving them a rueful grin. They think they’re being coy, but I see where Patrick’s hand is hiding - and it isn’t in his pocket.
“Nothing much,” she giggles. Taking in her pink cheeks and swollen lips, my stomach clenches with jealousy. I can’t remember the last time my mouth was kiss swollen. “My boyfriend is being a dud,” she pouts. “He won’t dance with me.”
“What’s with the name-calling?” Patrick asks, pressing closer to her back. I watch in fascination as the tip of his tongue snakes out and traces the outline of her ear. I’m not a voyeur, but even I can admit that it’s getting hot in here. My friends have never been shy about their love for each other. Doesn’t matter where we are or whose around, they never hide who they are or how they feel.
“You two need to get a room,” I deadpan. “And Patrick, no handling my drinks until you wash your hands. I’m no dummy. I know what kind of freaky shit is going on under Becca’s skirt.”
Becca bursts out laughing. “You’re right,” she says, righting herself and her clothing. Patrick looks upset that I ruined his fun as he works to adjust his jeans. The poor guy is going to have a massive case of blue balls. Becca either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice. She’s already moving away from us, ready for the next adventure.
We end up on the overcrowded dance floor, smashed between sweaty bodies and half-dressed girls looking for their next victim. Tuning it all out, I sway my hips to the music and enjoy the heavy beat vibrating through me.
We’re into our third song and I’m laughing at Patrick, who is trying out some old dance moves. I don’t which is worse, his running man or the electric slide. I feel weightless and more than a little buzzed as I spin around with my hands up in the air.