by Wright,Lulu
This appears to have been the wrong way to bring back happy Jack. He slides out from under me to sit straight up in bed. “What time is it?” He jumps off the bed and darts around the room as if looking for something.
“I dunno.” I shrug. “6:30? 7?”
“Shit,” he curses as he throws on a bathrobe. “Listen, Lily, I had a lot of fun tonight, but you have to leave. I’m sorry.”
“Um, ok.” I gape at him, shocked. Things have turned on a dime and I don’t know why. “But what am I going to wear? You ripped off all my clothes,” I point out, frowning. I mean, I wasn’t complaining at the time. But you can’t throw me out of your house naked, dude.
“Not a problem.” He opens a bureau drawer and tosses jeans and a black tee shirt at me. “But I’m serious. You have to go. Right now.”
I shake out the jeans and yank them up my legs, my whole body trembling. His eyes dart from the window to me and back again. “Come on, Lily.”
As I throw the shirt over my head and stomp to the kitchen to the smell of cooked zucchini, I can’t decide whether to curse him out or cry. I can’t even look at him. “Where’s my backpack?” My throat is tight, but I swallow it down.
He shoves my bag at me and nudges me toward the elevator. He pushes the button and the doors pop open. “We’ll talk about the floor later,” he adds, as I’m leaving, and I think I must have misheard him. Was that an offer to explain what the fuck is going on right now?
“The floor?” I parrot him numbly.
“For the store.” He stares at me, stockroom-serious once more, like the only thing he sees in me is just another employee. “I’ll see you in there on Monday,” he adds before the elevator door closes.
I feel sick to my stomach.
I fell for it. He charmed me into thinking he wasn’t a douchebag and he fucked me. Well. I guess I’m the pathetic girl that makes stupid choices based on libido alone. Should have listened to the store gossip more closely.
Should have learned from Crystal’s mistake.
When the elevator reaches the ground floor, I run out through the lobby and keep my head down as I pass by Doug, the doorman. His jeans smell like him. His shirt does too. The fabrics hold the memory of his body and so do I, but I feel the shame more.
13
Jack
That was a near miss; too close for comfort. Miss Brook, Lily … distracted me and I lost track of time. My sister and her friends are due at 7pm, and Madeline is never late. I have no more than ten minutes to get rid of any evidence of Lily’s visit from the apartment.
The kitchen is a mess, which doesn’t necessarily mean I had a guest over, but the empty wine bottle and Pinot-stained glasses are telltale. I collect the goblets and hide them in the pantry, then stash the wine bottle under the sink.
I head to the bathroom and take what my grandfather would call a navy shower—yep, I wash my dick in the sink. No other way to get Lily’s red, red lipstick off of my cock. Even in the sink, it takes some doing. Wow, that stuff is really waterproof.
As I’m splashing my pits in the sink too, I spot her tank top and yoga pants in wet clumps on the floor. The memory of her naked wet body caught between mine and the wall of the shower makes me smile, but I pull myself together and get a move on, kicking her clothes under my hamper.
After a quick dry, I throw on a suit in record time, leaving my top two buttons undone on my shirt because it’s not a tie kind of night. The place we are going is upscale, but more business casual than formal dress. Just as I button my sleeves, my phone vibrates. Doug downstairs at the door, announcing that Hurricane Madeline has arrived.
I grab the jewelry box from my underwear drawer and shove it in my jacket pocket. At least I got the gift right. I know she’s going to love it.
When the elevator door opens, Madeline spills out of it in a burst of giggles with her friend, Sophia, close behind her. I see by their wobbly walk they’ve been pre-gaming and I consider my options. Do I want a less drunk Madeline asking busybody questions or a drunk Madeline acting like a handful? “Did you cook something?” Madeline sniffs her nose in the air. She’s wasted no time poking around my life as usual. “I recognize that world-famous Ratatouille?”
God bless her. Madeline’s prying question has made my decision for me. Handful it is. I reach for the new bottle of Ciroc on the bar and twist off the cap to pour two shots for them. Just as I’m passing them the shot glasses, however, Madeline peers around me and into the bar.
Right where I stashed the wine glasses earlier.
“Did you have someone over?” she asks, reaching for one of the lipstick-stained glasses. “You know you need to wash these once you use them, right?” She raises an eyebrow at me sarcastically. “I thought you and Crystal broke up,” Sophia interrupts. She does her best to hide it, but there’s a note of sorrow in her tone. Shit. Of course, of all the friends Madeline decides to bring over tonight, it’s the one who’s been crushing on me for a year.
I’m not without sympathy for her, but I can’t do this right now. I fucked Lily all afternoon and I’m too worn out, physically and emotionally, to deal with 20 questions. I pour Sophia another shot to distract her. Good girl, she drinks it in one gulp.
“So, who is she?” Madeline wiggles the wine glass in my face. I love her, but Madeline sounds like Courtney Love when she is drunk.
“Nobody, Maddie. Just a friend from …” But I am drawing a blank.
“From … ?” She smirks.
Panicked, I scan my brain for the least nonsexual visitor I can remember. “It was Mrs. Cranston!” I blurt out. In the dining room with the wine glass? Come on Jack, you’re smoother than that. “You’ve met her. The old lady with the art gallery on Spruce. She wanted to see the antique bowl you got me from that estate sale.” I gesture toward my coffee table where the ugly multicolored monstrosity lives. Many times I have plotted its death. Many times I have accidentally knocked it to the floor. Many times, the miraculous old thing has survived so much as a dint in its flawless paint.
Maddie accepts this with a lazy nod and shoots the Ciroc. I figure now is better than any time to change the subject, so I take the jewelry box out of my pocket and slide it across the bar toward her. “Happy Birthday.”
Maddie opens it, and I swear, the slow-blooming look of shock on her face is priceless. For a second, it’s Christmas morning fifteen years ago when I saved up my allowance for three months to get her that American Girl Doll. Mom and dad weren’t going to get her one because they thought she was too young.
“Oh, Jackie …” Her voice breaks and her eyes well up just like when she was seven. As usual, her emotions outweigh the situation, but I adore her for it.
“What did he get you?” Sophia squeals.
Madeline plucks the bracelet out of the box. “Look.” She dangles it in front of Sophia. “It’s little vampire clowns. My vampire clowns. Exactly like the ones I paint.”
I feel a tug inside my chest at her happiness. “I found a guy in Pittsburgh who molds metal from images, and so I sent him pictures of …” But I can’t finish because Madeline throws her arms around me and squeezes the life out of me.
“You are the best, most amazing and sweetest big brother ever!”
“I am pretty great, aren’t I?” I smirk at the top of her head.
“I love you, Jackie Jack.”
I put my arms around her too and give her a squeeze. “Ok, Maddie. Me too.” Wow, she is drunker than I thought.
Sophia puts her arms around us—well, mostly me. “I want a hug too, guys.”
As the huddle grows more awkward, I spy a ponytail holder tangled on the bar, with strands of brown hair twisted in it. Definitely not something gray-haired Mrs. Cranston would own. I have to get Madeline and Sophia out of here.
I gently nudge them both toward the elevator. “It’s going to be a great night,” I say. “We’re headed to the best place in town.”
I thank heaven above the elevator doors slide open the second I push
the button.
“Wait I have to pee,” Madeline says.
“No. You don’t,” I say hooking her arm in mine.
“I think I would know when I need to pee.”
I pull her back into the elevator and push the L button. “Think of the desert,” I say as the doors close.
The Sofa Bar is true to its name. There must be thirty couches of various colors spread out over the room in a haphazard fashion. The hostess leads through a packed crowd of flirting couples and tipsy coeds to our reserved floral-patterned couches in a corner on a dais. She unhooks a velvet rope to let us in the area.
A velvet rope. For beer and whiskey stained couches.
Tim recommended the place, but apparently his tastes can run hipster cheesy.
Luckily Madeline and Sophia don’t seem to mind—they’re busy oohing and aahing over the decor and the waitresses uniformed in grandma dresses. Then it’s selfie time for them, so I whip out my own phone and pull up Lily’s number.
Then I stare at the blank screen.
I love fucking you.
Which is true. But maybe not the best first text to follow up with. I hit delete and start again.
Thinking of you.
I cringe and delete that with such fury I am surprised the screen doesn’t crack. Way too sappy. Besides, this is Miss Brook we’re talking about. She’d hold a text like that over my head for the next decade. I roll my fingers across the screen for a few seconds, before I realize what I really need to tell her right now.
Sorry I made you leave so quickly. My sister was coming over, and she’s, shall we say … indiscreet. As in, if she’d seen you in my bed, she probably would have photographed us there, texted it to my entire family, and then posted the snap all over her Twitter page. I figured we don’t want to go there … Yet.
I stare at the words. That felt good to write. Like a release. And yet … Yet, that’s the problem. I delete it.
But no. The whole thing still seems way too desperate and explanatory. Lily would tear that to shreds. Oh, so you’re ashamed to be with me?! Or, worse, you think I would have wanted to meet your sister in the first place?
I grimace, and deliberately erase every character on the screen.
K-I-S-S. Keep it simple, Stupid.
You left your yoga pants in my shower and your hair accessory on my bar.
I hit send and ease back on the couch. At least the follow-up is done.
A waitress approaches and the look on her face tells me she has heard enough grandma jokes about her uniform to last her until she is one. So, I order a round without comment and make a mental note to leave her a huge tip at the end of the night.
“You look lonely,” Sophia slurs. “Want me to keep you company?” I see Madeline sipping her third vodka martini, too distracted by her phone to notice Sophia plopping down into the seat next to me and running her hand up my knee.
I remove her hand, but she puts it back on my leg, this time on the middle of my thigh. “I think you are the most hottest guy in this place.” She waves her glass in the air and drips Moscato and 7up on my pants. I grab her hand and hold it on her lap.
Maddie looks up from her phone and smiles. “Aw,” she says. “You two would make a cute couple.”
“I know.” Sophia giggles and rests her head on my shoulder. “We would have such beautiful babies.”
I would say something, but it’s not worth it. The last time I shut down Sophia’s drunken come-on, she burst into tears in the middle of a bar. I could make an excuse to leave, but it’s Madeline’s 21st birthday and I have promised her this night. Besides, my big brother instincts have kicked in. My little sister is drunk and I need to make sure she stays safe.
When Madeline gets up to powder her nose, Sophia leans against my arm, her face so close to mine I can smell the peach Schnapps on her breath.
Her hand is on my thigh again. Higher this time.
“You look so good tonight.”
“Thanks.” To discourage her I keep my voice curt and stare across the room. Then I stand up and sit on a couch across from her. Unfortunately, her response is to flash me what’s under her skirt She’s got panties on, thank god. I turn my head and count the couches in the bar.
“Ah, come on Jack.” She gets up and lands so hard beside me the whole couch slides back. “Can I suck your dick? I’ve been watching a lot of porn to perfect my technique. Let me practice on you.”
“You’re funny.” I laugh, but it sounds fake because I’m annoyed. I know she’s wasted, but she’s making me feel like meat. I shake it off. She’s Maddie’s friend. I can be polite for one night.
“Jack …”
She touches my chest, but I grab her hand. “Sophia, no. That’s not going to happen.”
She bats her eyelashes. “C’mon, you know you’re tempted.”
With relief, I spot the rest of Madeline’s friends arriving, her art school buddies and a few girls I remember from when she was in high school. By this point, I’m holding Sophia’s wrist like I would to keep a toddler from touching a hot stove.
Sophia’s attention turns to some guy with a pink faux hawk. At last. I’m off the hook. Now that I am not getting molested, I check my phone.
Lily read my message at 10:23pm, but didn’t reply.
I turn my head again to count couches.
There are 28.
It’s near two and this bar is going to close soon. I’ve drunk enough sweet cocktails to kill a sorority girl. I just want to go home and fall into my bed face first.
I bet my sheets smell like sex. Or even better, like Lily. Sex with Lily. I close my eyes and picture the scene again. Her body splayed before me on the bed, her sweet, tight little pussy wet-hot for me. God, I could stare at her all day. Those lush curves, that sexy little scowl of hers when I’ve pissed her off.
I remember the shower, those red, red lips of hers wrapped around my hard cock, and fuck, suddenly I need to cross my legs and strategically readjust my seat on this couch.
I focus my blurry vision on my phone. Still no reply. Is she mad at me?
I will my intoxicated thumbs to cooperate.
Tu me rends dingue. Quand puis-je vas te faire encule à nouveau?
The second I hit send Sophia perches on my lap. “Take me home, big boy.” She slurs these words into my ears with some hot spit. Where did pink Mohawk guy go? I thought he was my friend.
I’m drunk, but not drunk enough to go home with Sophia or any of my sister’s girlfriends. I know better than to cross that line. I’ve had my fair share of hookups, and despite what you think going into it about how you’ll be able to separate sex from emotions, somehow, my hookups always get messy. Girls get too attached. Hearts break.
Madeline would kill me if I dumped one of her friends. Which I would need to, if I ever slept with any of them, because her crowd, much as I love them, aren’t really my type.
“No, Sophia,” I say again when she licks my cheek.
She pouts and jumps off my lap. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Somehow I’m fine with that.
“Closing time!” Grandma waitress is in our roped off area pushing the bill folder at me. I tuck my American Express inside without looking at the damage.
Outside the Sofa Bar there’s an unfortunate complication. Madeline is drunk, but Sophia is next-level.
“Imma go to Liz’s house and spend the night,” Madeline slurs at me. “You take Sophie home. She lives on Walnut.” She tries to wink at me, but just ends up blinking both eyes. “I hope you two get married. I wanna be the bride’s maid and the flower girl.”
I remind myself it’s Maddie’s birthday. “Ok.” I nod. “But we aren’t getting married.”
“Yes!” Maddie shouts and raises her hands in the air. She almost falls over, but I manage to steady her with one hand as I grab the cab door with the other.
Once Madeline and Liz get rolled inside their cab, I find my big brother voice through the fog of booze. “You text me when
you get to Liz’s,” I tell her. “I don’t want to be worried about you all night.” I sound like my dad and it makes me chuckle.
“I promise.” She blows me a kiss. “Thanks for an awesome birthday and the amazing bracelet.”
I watch the cab drive up 15th Street and I sigh with some relief. The first part of my odyssey home is complete. I glance over my shoulder and see the second part of my odyssey twerking against a street light. Sophia’s moves are comical, not sexy, and Pink Mohawk is back, laughing at her. I cringe on her behalf. I gotta get her home before clothes start to come off.
I glance around for a cab. None in sight. But we’re close enough to walk. I turn back around, and Sophia’s gone. My heart races, until I see up her stumbling up the street with Pink Mohawk.
“Whoa!” I run up to them. “She’s coming with me.”
“I got this, bro.” He wraps his arm around Sophia’s waist. She’s wobbly like a wet noodle. “Come on Sophia, let’s go.”
So much for being my friend. I’ve seen his type before. I recognize that predatory glint in his eye. “No way. I’m taking her home.” I grab his shoulder to stop him.
He shakes off my hand. “Don’t cock-block me, man, look at her.”
Anger sobers me up in an instant. I clench his shoulder hard enough to whip him around this time, and lean down into his face. I’m at least 6 or 7 inches taller than him, with at least 75 pounds on him. I narrow my eyes. “I said, I’m taking her home.”
Suddenly Pink Fauxhawk has somewhere to be. He mutters something about not wanting the bitch anyway and drops Sophia’s waist to slouch up the street, glaring over his shoulder at me the whole time. Sophia falls against me, but I catch her before she hits the pavement.
It’s only two blocks to her place from here, but no way she can walk it. I throw her over my shoulder like she’s a sack of potatoes. Drunk potatoes. Unfortunately, from that angle, she can act like a perverted octopus, slapping my ass with both hands, and trying to get those fingers beneath my belt.
It takes a century, but I finally lug her up three flights of stairs to her apartment. Her roommate helps haul her into bed.
“Goodnight, Sophie.” I pull the sheet over her. “Pleasant dreams.”