Rock Me Dirty

by Kaye, Alexa

  But not anymore.

  I don’t know why everything’s changed. The last time I saw him he insisted I call him Robert. Not Rob. Rob-ert. The name doesn’t suit him.

  I shove through a wall of cute college boys and find myself in the middle of a circle of them.

  “Hey,” one cutie shouts to me, grabbing my arm and giving it a tug. “Haven’t seen you around before. Freshman?”

  I don my best flirty smile. “Yes, I am.” The sad truth is I’m no good at flirting at all. In fact, I suck at it, thanks to my all-girl’s Catholic school education. I haven’t attended a school with boys in four years. And, outside of my occasional interaction with my brother Carl’s, friends, I’ve had very little exposure to guys. But a guy can’t tell that I’ve only been kissed twice and haven’t done much else, can he? I give my new friend an up and down lookover. He’s on the thin side for my taste, and a little under-developed. His beard is scant, and where he should be thickly muscled he isn’t. But who am I to judge?

  “Where are you heading?” he asks.

  “To the keg to fill this.” I wave my cup.

  “The line’s a mile long. But I know the guys who live here. I can get some for you.”

  “Thanks!” I shuffle toward the wall to wait for him to return. This puts me very close to Robert, who’s been holding up the wall since he arrived.

  “Hello, Rob-ert,” I say, giving him a faux cheery wave.

  His brows scrunch. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same. After all, the guys in this house go to my school. You graduated a hundred years ago,” I say, exaggerating slightly. In reality, Robert’s only eleven years older than me. “You don’t even belong at a college party.”

  “Neither do you.” His gaze peruses my person. “Especially dressed like that.”

  I look down. T-shirt. Skirt. Shoes. Okay, so my skirt is a smidge short. And my t-shirt a bit snug, but I see plenty of girls here wearing sluttier outfits than mine. “What’s wrong with—“ I cut myself off. “Never mind. What I wear is none of your business. Just like what I do.”

  His jaw clenches for a split second. It’s one of those micro expressions I’ve read about. In the next instant it’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I saw anything at all.

  He looks…I don’t know. Disinterested. Bored, even. If he’s bored, why doesn’t he leave?

  “Hunting for some fresh meat?” I ask, teasing him. There’s a part of me that likes to see Robert riled up. It excites me. I mean, it really excites me. In a shocking way. “What’s wrong with girls your age ?”

  “Women,” he corrects. “They’re women. And so are you.”

  “Nice of you to notice.” I bend slightly, hoping to give him a little glimpse of my womanly cleavage, peeking out of my t-shirt.

  “How could I not notice? Every asshole in this place has.”

  A thrill zips through me. So Rob—er, Robert—has noticed I’ve grown up. I wonder what else he’s noticed? My tits, which are huge? My round ass? My smooth, silky thighs? Maybe I’m playing with fire by poking Robert, but I’m having fun. There’s a genuine rush in playing cat-and-mouse with a man. And if any man is safe to play games with, it’s Robert. That is, if he’ll play. I want him to play. Correction, I need him to play. He’s so handsome. Like, Hollywood movie star hot. Like, fantasize-about-while touching-yourself hot. “What are you talking about? No, they haven’t. noticed my tits. You’re wrong.” Hoping to egg him on further, I wriggle my ass, hoping my skirt will ride higher up my thighs.

  It works.

  Robert stabs a hand out, nabs me by the arm and next thing I know it, I’m slammed against the wall with a snarling Robert towering over me. “What are you trying to do? Get yourself raped?” he growls as he grabs the hem of my skirt and gives it a sharp downward yank.

  “Who’s going to rape me?” I taunt, “You?” I run my hands up his chest, feeling the defined lines of his muscles under his shirt. Now, this is the way a man should be built. Like Rob. His shoulders are wide, his chest broad, his stomach a series of deep ridges cut between toned slabs of muscle. And the dark shadow of a day’s beard growth darkens his jaw.

  He’s big. And sexy. And powerful.

  He’s all man.

  And I like it!

  I also like how sexy I feel when he looks at me.

  “If you tried raping me, I might not fight it,” I tell him.

  “Fuck, no!” He jerks backward as if he’s been burned. “I’m not going to rape you.”

  “Well then…” I give him a haughty look as I shove at his chest. “Get out of my way.” If he isn’t going to play, I’ll find someone who will. Like that nice boy who went to fetch me some beer.

  Robert takes one step back. But he glares at me as I saunter past his big, bullying body. He catches my wrist as I go by. “You need to stop this. Right now!”

  I blink. “Stop what?” God, this is fun! Why didn’t I realize this before?

  He leans closer until his breath tickles my neck. “You know what.”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

  His jaw grits.

  I glare at his hand, still clamped around my wrist. “If you don’t mind.” I glance over his shoulder, catching sight of my new friend, holding a plastic cup, his gaze combing the crowd for me. I wave. “Over here!”

  Robert lets go of my wrist.

  I’m free. Which is good and bad. I was having fun getting a rise out of him. The tension buzzing between us made me feel tingly all over.

  Unlike how I feel when cutie hands me my drink. “Here you are,” he announces.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip. My first.

  My throat collapses in on itself. Holy crap, that’s nasty.

  “How does anyone drink this stuff?” I mutter.

  “Drink more. You won’t taste it after a few swallows.” He nudges the bottom of my cup, pushing it toward my mouth.

  I decide to give it another shot.

  Once again, my throat closes up. This time I gag. “This is awful!”

  “Do you want something else? We can go upstairs. They have more to choose from. Vodka. Tequila.”

  “Sure.” I hand him my cup and he sets it on the nearby fireplace mantle.

  “This way.” He takes my hand and shoves through the crowd, leading me to the stairs. We clomp up, climbing around and over people sitting, standing, making out. At the top, we turn down a hallway. He knocks on a closed door.

  It opens.

  “We’re looking for some vodka. Got any?” my friend asks the guy who answers.

  He opens the door wider and invites us inside with a wave. “Sure.”

  It’s a bedroom, I realize.

  There’s…one, two, three…four guys spread around the room. No, make that five, including the one standing beside me, holding my hand.

  “Have a seat. I’ll get your drink,” my escort tells me. He passes through a door at the other end of the room.

  I glance around the space. There’s only one place to sit—the bed.

  Okay, now I’m a total newbie to this world of wild college parties and boys and drinking. But even this newbie is getting a bad feeling about the way the guys in this room are looking at me—like a pack of hungry wolves would eyeball a juicy little rabbit.

  I stagger backward, my butt bumping the closed door behind me. “I changed my mind.” My hand feels the door, searching for the knob.

  “Don’t go yet! We aren’t going to hurt you.” One guy stands and slowly lopes closer, hands raised, palms out. He’s smiling, but his expression doesn’t quite ring true. It’s the predatory gleam in his eyes that gives it away.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re not going to hurt anyone. But I…my friend is downstairs somewhere. He’s going to be looking for me.”

  The guy standing in front of me turns around. “Your friend?” he echoes.

  “Yes. He’s downstairs. His name’s Robert. I was talking to him right before that guy,” I say, stabbing my
index finger at the other door, “before he brought me up here to get something to drink.”

  That guy pokes his head into the room. “I didn’t see you with anyone.”

  “I was.”

  He circles around the bed and hands me a cup. “Here you go.”

  I sniff the yellow concoction.

  “It’s just vodka and orange juice. Actually, it’s orange drink, if you want to get technical.”

  Against my better judgment, I sip. I don’t want to believe there’s anything threatening in the way these guys are watching me. No. This is my first party. I just want to have fun. And laugh. And flirt. And meet new people. You know, normal stuff. This drink does taste better. It’s tangy, fruity but with a kick.

  “Better?” the guy who brought me upstairs asks.

  I nod. “What’s your name?”

  “My name?” he echoes.

  “Yeah. You haven’t told me your name.”

  “Oh. It’s Simon. You?”

  I offer a hand, and Simon looks at it like he’s totally confused. “Taylor.” Feeling a little foolish, I let my hand drop and take another swig of my drink. It’s not the best drink I’ve ever had in my life, but it’s better than the beer. And I feel a little less conspicuous now that I’m drinking like everyone else at the party.

  Make that, everyone else except Rob-ert. I don’t remember him having a cup in his hand.

  Poor Robert, having to hang out at college parties because he doesn’t have any friends. My brother Carl moved to Arizona recently for a job promotion.

  A pair of the guys sit on the bed. One of them produces a pack of cards from somewhere and starts shuffling them.

  They’re going to play cards? With a raging party going on downstairs? I must have found the outcasts of the group. I’m good with that—I’m used to hanging out with the less popular kids.

  I plop on the bed between them, the mattress bouncing. “What’re you playing?”

  “Poker,” the boy who’s shuffling says. He’s okay-looking. Not overwhelmingly hot. None of the guys in the room are. They’re all pretty average, normal college kids—except the cutie who brought me up here. Wearing band shirts and jeans. The rest of them find seats, all of us forming a circle on the mattress. The dealer starts handing out cards. When he gets to me, he asks, “You in?”

  “I’ve never played poker,” I confess after swallowing several more chugs of my fruity drink. Simon is right, after a while the alcohol doesn’t taste as strong.

  “We’ll teach you,” the dealer offers.

  “Okay.” I’m in an agreeable mood. Is it the alcohol? I don’t know. I’ve never had alcohol before. I’m not sure what it’s going to do to me. But I do know this. I feel sort of giggly. And happy. And very, very relaxed. I chug the rest of my drink so I don’t have to hold my cup anymore then snatch up my cards as they’re dealt.

  I splay them out, but for some reason I’m having a hard time reading them. It must be because I’m sooooo relaxed. I set down my cards.

  Simon asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Ssure,” I say. “I’m gooood. Need to lay down.” I’m floating. Feels so good. Everything feelsssss goodddddd...

  Simon, wonderful Simon hovers over me. “That’s it, baby. Relax. You’re going to enjoy this.”

  “Yesssss.” I’m still floating. It feels like I’m adrift on a river of air.

  Faces appear before my eyes. I don’t know who they are. I don’t care. Am I dead? I don’t feel anything at all. My arms. My legs. It’s like I’ve left my body.

  Simon is hovering over me, his face contorted. He’s breathing hard. Why?

  Oh, who cares! I’m floating!

  Simon disappears. But I don’t care.

  Then I see Robert. Rob-ert. “Hiii, Robbbbb-erttttt,” I say. Is he really there? Or am I dreaming?

  I think I’m sleeping.

  Yes. Colors shifting, creating beautiful arcs.

  In my dream I’m soaring through space. Adrift among glittering stars. I feel nothing. Nothing at all. Just peace.

  * * * * *

  “Taylor.”

  Where am I?

  I look around.

  Rob. Rob is standing next to the bed.

  The boys are gone. And I’m in a bedroom, but it’s not the same bedroom I was in before. I push upright and my head spins. My stomach flips. Oh God, I feel like crap. I ease back down, wrapping the sheet around myself. Alcohol is poison! I’m never doing that again!

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “I’m dying.”

  “You’ll be okay. Drink some water.”

  I shake my head. I can’t sit up. Too dizzy.

  The mattress sinks on one side. He’s sitting beside me. “I’ll help you.” He eases an arm under my shoulders and lifts them off the bed. Then he places the glass at my mouth and tips it. Cool water hits my lips. Reluctantly I sip and swallow, hoping he’ll set me back down if I drink a little. It works.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “You were drugged.”

  Ah, so that’s why I feel so bad! It wasn’t the alcohol!

  I remember bits and pieces of the party. Simon. Cute Simon. Going upstairs to get a drink. It was fruity and yummy. Playing cards. Then waking up here. How much of a hole is there in my memory?

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Almost eight.”

  “In the morning? It’s morning?” I check the window. Sure enough, a slice of light cuts between the drawn curtain panels. Suddenly I’m very glad it’s a Saturday. I’d be screwed if it was Monday. “Did you say I was drugged?”

  “Yes.” He caresses my arm. I like the way he’s touching me, taking care of me. I feel safe. My gaze wanders up his arm, climbs over his broad shoulders and up to his face. Purple smudges stain the skin beneath his eyes.

  Why?

  “How did I get here? Where is here?” I check out my surroundings again. This place is much nicer than the party house.

  “You’re in my place. I brought you here last night.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’d be okay. Some of those date rape drugs can be dangerous if you take too much. I didn’t know what they gave you.”

  “That’s a sweet thing to do—stay up all night, to watch over the really stupid younger sister of your best friend. Thank you.” Feeling a smidge better, I scoot up, resting my back against the tufted headboard.

  He bites down on his lower lip and scrunches his brows. “My motivations weren’t all noble.” He hands me the water glass. “Drink.”

  Our fingers brush as I take the glass from him. “What do you mean?” I sip. The water feels cool in my dry mouth and throat.

  “We’ll talk about that later. After you eat some breakfast.” He stands, offering me a hand. I’m assuming you’d like to use the bathroom, maybe clean up. “Do you think you can walk?”

  “I think so.” I flip the sheet off, discovering I’m wearing only my bra and panties. “My clothes?”

  “They were torn and soiled. I had to throw them away.” He watches as I wobble to my feet, close enough to grab me if I need.

  Holy crap. Do I want to know how they got torn? “Um, okay.” I take one step, another. I’m moving slow. My legs unsteady, my head a little spinny.

  “I’ll get you something to wear as soon as I know you can make it to the bathroom without falling.” He motions to a door. It looks really far, in my current state, though it’s probably less than ten feet away.

  “I’m fine.” I toss a dismissive hand. It’s embarrassing, being so needy. It’s bad enough he had to come to my rescue in the first place. I’ve learned a very valuable lesson. I’ll never trust someone I’ve met at a party again! I feel some sense of accomplishment when I make it to the bathroom without collapsing…or throwing up. I close myself in.

  “You can use my toothbrush if you want,” Robert shouts through the door. “And I’ll leave the clothes on the bed.”

  “Thanks!” I shout
back as I crank on the shower faucet.

  God, I hope the shower makes me feel more human. Because I hate feeling this way, being this way. Though I’m glad it’s Rob who’s seeing me like this.

  Thank God for Rob.

  Though I wonder…what were those not-so-honorable motivations he was talking about?

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  Books by Alexa Kaye

  Rock Me Dirty

  Bad For You

  Mine to Take

  Royally Wicked

  Game On

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