Fair Play

by Madison, Dakota

  “How’s my darling daughter?” my mom asks although it sounds more like a rhetorical question so I don’t bother to respond.

  She continues. “I saw Aaron’s mom at a charity luncheon yesterday and she was just wondering how things were going.”

  By things she means my plan to break up Aaron and Rainy.

  “I’m still working on it,” I lie because I haven’t really been working on it very much at all.

  “You know Aaron’s mom and dad will be eternally grateful for any assistance you can provide.” Eternal gratitude is a euphemism for political and/or financial favors when I need them.

  “I know, Mother,” I state as coolly as I can, even though I’m starting to feel that pressure again—like the walls are closing in on me and I can’t breathe.

  “You’re a good girl,” my mom says as a way to reassure me that what I’m doing is in everyone’s best interest. Well, everyone except for Rainy. “Aaron will be lucky to have a wife like you.”

  And that’s when the air completely evacuates me lungs. “I’ve got to go,” I manage to get out as I hang up on my mother and drop the phone on the counter. I slide down onto a kitchen chair and try to catch my breath. I can feel my heart beating a mile a minute and it makes me even more anxious.

  Am I having a heart attack? I’m too young for that, right?

  When I’m finally able to calm myself down and inhale a full breath, all I can think about is getting a hug from Evan because I know he would do anything to make me feel better.

  How stupid is that?

  I obviously can’t think about Evan, even though my thoughts always seem to come back to him.

  I have to keep my mind focused on my mission. Too many people are counting on me and I can’t fuck it up. Can you imagine how screwed I would be if Aaron’s mom and dad were pissed at me and decided to ruin my career? They could squish me like a bug. And I know my parents wouldn’t do anything to stop them. The Donovan’s are too important and my parents care too much about remaining connected to their precious social circle.

  I would be like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Time to up the stakes and get busy breaking up Aaron and Rainy.

  ***

  A few seconds before class ends, I see that Aaron gets a text message and based on his smile, I assume it’s from Rainy. As he hurries out of class, I grab his elbow and try to link mine with his, so we’ll be arm-in-arm as we exit class. It seems like the perfect position for me, especially if Rainy is waiting for him outside.

  Linking elbows with Aaron is something I’ve done a million times and he’s always played along. So when he stops dead in his tracks and jerks his arm from mine, I’m completely startled by the gesture.

  Aaron turns and glares at me. His face holds a combination of disappointment and revulsion. Aaron being disappointed in something I say or do is nothing new but he’s never shown revulsion towards me and it stings.

  “What are you doing?” Aaron asks disgusted. “Aren’t you with Evan now?”

  The words hit me like a slap in the face and I don’t know how to respond. Am I with Evan? Everyone around me, including Evan, seems to think so.

  But I’m supposed to be with Aaron, aren’t I? That’s what our parents think anyway.

  “He’s my friend, Keira,” Aaron spits out. “Don’t fuck around with him.”

  Another slap in the face. Aaron thinks I’m going to break Evan’s heart and he’s right. I may have already.

  When I don’t respond to anything Aaron says, he shakes his head in disgust. “I’m meeting Rainy. I’ll see you later.”

  He turns and heads out the door and I follow him. I’m not sure why. I don’t have anything to say. I’m still in shock from Aaron’s harsh words. He’s never been that way with me before. He’s always let me do or say anything and never pulled away.

  Rainy is waiting for him by a huge oak tree and when he sees her his face lights up. I feel like a voyeur watching them but I can’t pull away. I can just barely make out what they’re saying. They’re so wrapped up in each other that they don’t even see me.

  “Dr. Griffin had to go out of town for a conference,” I hear Rainy say. “She’s so thrilled with my work and the progress we’ve made on the book, she gave me a few days off. And the best news—the publisher accepted our proposal, so I’m one step closer to being a published co-author!”

  Aaron looks at her with such adoration and reverence, the air is nearly knocked out of my lungs. And not because of anything that has to do with either one of them.

  It’s because I’ve seen that look before—on Evan’s face, when he’s looked at me.

  “We’ve got to celebrate,” Aaron says as he picks Rainy up off the ground and swings her around.

  “Should we go to our favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch,” Rainy asks.

  Aaron responds with a grin that is so wide, it looks like it’s straining his face. Could two people be happier? I want to punch both of their faces.

  As the two of them join hands and walk away, I’m immobilized. I can’t stop thinking about how much Aaron’s interaction with Rainy reminds me of the way Evan is with me. It makes me ache all over.

  I realize for the first time that if Aaron treated me the way he treats Rainy, with so much adoration and devotion, I’d probably feel the same way I feel when I’m with Evan—like I want to run—and escape.

  My stomach begins to twist and churn as I realize that I’m utterly and completely broken, maybe beyond repair. Evan loves me and I can’t accept his love. I’ve always blamed it on him not being Aaron. Now I understand that even if Aaron loved me the way he loves Rainy, I’d never be able to accept it.

  Deep down, I don’t feel worthy of being loved so completely, totally and unconditionally.

  “Why’d you run out of class so fast?” I hear a shrill voice behind me.

  I turn to see Roxie standing there with her arms on her hips.

  “I tried to catch up with Aaron,” I say as nonchalantly as possible.

  She raises an eyebrow. “When I was in LA last week, they gave me the green light on a new reality show. I’d love for you to be one of the stars of the opening season. Project Get Aaron would fit right in. All I need is for you to say yes.”

  I think about it for a minute. I’m almost broken beyond repair anyway. Is there a chance that I’ll ever have a normal relationship with a guy who loves me? Probably not. I may as well do what I do best. Play the Queen of Mean and fuck everyone over.

  Besides, my mom and Aaron’s mom are expecting results and far be it for me to disappoint them.

  “I’m in,” I say before I can change my mind. “If I’m going to do this thing, I may as well do it right.”

  Roxie’s face lights up. “We just need to set the date.”

  “Let’s do it at our next study session at my place,” I suggest.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Roxie says and I can already see the wheels spinning in her eyes.

  ***

  After more days of being without Evan than I want to count, my hormones are working overtime I’m so horny. I may explode. I need a little release and my vibrator just isn’t cutting it. I need to spend some time with a real man.

  I debate phoning Evan. I know he would fuck me in a heartbeat but that would probably come at a price. I am not in the mood to cuddle, or deal with his attachment issues (or mine). And I definitely don’t want to have to rip off another Band-Aid.

  I haven’t gotten to know any of the other guys in our class well enough to phone for a booty call. That would probably take another month or so at least.

  Then I remember that well-built bartender I met at the hotel—the one who looked like he boxed in his spare time. He seemed like a fun, no-strings attached kind of guy. I decide to make another trip to the bar to find out if he’d be into going a few rounds with me in the bedroom.

  I decide to wear something a little tighter and sexier than what I was wearing the last time he saw me. Maybe that way he won’
t just think of me as a princess.

  When I arrive at the bar, I’m wearing an extremely low cut white blouse with a black form-fitting mini-skirt and fuck me heels. I’ve got on a little more lipstick than I normally wear and its a few shades darker red than my usual color.

  It’s early so the place is empty, just the way I was hoping it would be. I take a seat at the end of the bar and I can see the bartender’s face light up in recognition.

  “Hey, Princess,” he says as his blazing blue eyes meet my gaze.

  I give him a sexy little half smile.

  “So, where’s your big boyfriend?” he asks.

  “I told you I don’t have a boyfriend,” I correct.

  “Yeah, that’s what you said.”

  He grabs a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the shelf and pours me a glass before I even ask.

  “You remembered my drink,” I say before taking a small sip.

  “You’re hard to forget.” He looks right at me and when our eyes meet, there’s an exchange of electricity that’s so intense my breath catches.

  Any doubts I have about getting laid tonight completely fade away.

  “So what time do you get off?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Are you propositioning me?”

  “Maybe,” I respond coyly.

  “I’m done here in about an hour. I’m not sure about getting off though. That’ll be up to you.”

  “Do you live around here?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I can’t afford to live on this end of town. I’m a Southie.”

  I nod as if I know what being a Southie means but I actually have no idea. I just know that I don’t want to do the dirty deed at my place because I want to be able to fuck and run. If we go to my place, I’ll have to wait for him to leave. What if he wants to stay all night? It could be unbearable.

  “I take it you want to go to my place? Don’t want to bring any strays to the Princess Palace?”

  “Something like that,” I admit.

  “I get it,” he says as he eyes me. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. He’s extremely difficult to read. I always know what’s going on inside of Evan’s head. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve known him so long or if it’s because we’re so much alike. But with this guy, I don’t have a clue.

  He leans his elbow on the bar and I take in his muscular arms. He’s wearing a tight black tee shirt that accentuates his ripped chest and muscle-bound arms. He’s not quite as big as Evan and not quite as tall but he’s close.

  “So what’s your name?” he asks.

  “I like it when you call me Princess,” I reply.

  “You are that,” he chuckles.

  “And what should I call you?” I prod.

  “People call me Loose,” he states.

  “Loose?” The nickname strikes me as odd. “As in loose change?”

  “There’s lots of ways to be loose, Princess.”

  His look says that I’ll be finding out very soon just how loose he is in the bedroom.

  “Want another?” he indicates my drink which is still half full.

  I down the remainder of the glass. “Hit me.”

  He shakes his head. “I like a girl who can drink. Especially the hard stuff. I have a feeling you’ll be pretty loose, too.”

  I haven’t had anything to eat all day and the liquor is hitting me hard. I’ve definitely numbed any pain I had and I’m easing into loose territory.

  Only one other patron comes into the lounge, an older man, maybe in his mid-to-late 50s. He sits at the other end of the bar and orders a beer on tap.

  Loose serves the older man then wipes down the rest of the bar with a wet cloth.

  “Drink up,” he says when he looks at my half full glass. “My replacement will be here any minute.”

  I eye Loose then down the remainder of the drink as he watches.

  “Good girl,” he commends.

  When a petite blonde hurries in and rushes behind the bar, I assume she’s Loose’s replacement.

  I can see Loose whisper something to the blonde then she looks over at me with big wide blue eyes. Loose says something else, which makes her smile but she’s still eyeing me. It makes me wonder if she’s got a thing for him or maybe they’ve been together before.

  “Let’s go,” Loose says as he makes his way around the bar and stands next to my stool.

  If I think Loose will put out an arm to help me, I’m clearly mistaken. He crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s waiting for me to hop down.

  I slide off the bar stool as carefully as I can in my tight skirt and heels. Loose seems to be enjoying watching me struggle because he’s got a smirk on his face.

  “Ready” he says when I’m off the bar stool and on my feet.

  I nod and he takes off. I follow but it’s not easy in my heels because he’s a fast walker.

  I’m falling behind and it isn’t until Loose takes a quick look back at me that he slows down.

  “Nice shoes,” he says obviously making fun of the fact that I can’t keep up with him in six inch stilettos.

  “I’m right over there.” When he points to a cherry red Camaro, I’m not surprised at all.

  I stand at the passenger side door but Loose is no gentleman. Instead of opening the door for me, he gets into his side of the car and waits for me to open mine and get in.

  Without a word, he revs the engine and takes off with a screech of the tires. The guy is tough and has absolutely no class and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into this time.

  “I want to make a stop first,” he says. “Get a drink. Is that okay?”

  Do I have a choice? I shrug.

  “Come on, Princess. You could use another drink or two. You won’t be so uptight.”

  I never considered myself uptight but I’ve never looked at myself from the perspective of someone like him. I might seem uptight to someone whose name is Loose.

  “Whatever,” I say as casually as I can but inside I’m starting to freak out a little. This guy is big. I have no idea where we’re going. I don’t even know his real name. And I agreed to spend the night with him.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  I’m supposed to be an Ivy League graduate. I’m supposed to be smart. But this could be one of my dumbest moves I’ve ever made.

  If I believed in God this is the point at which I would probably start praying.

  Instead, I start to panic. I have a cell phone. I could call someone to pick me up but I have no idea where he’s even taking me other than south. And even that’s just an assumption based on the fact that he called himself a Southie.

  When he finally stops the car, we’re in the middle of a neighborhood that could pass for a war zone. Most of the buildings are boarded up, vacant and covered with graffiti. The street is lined with shattered beer bottles and assorted trash. When we get out of the car, I nearly gag at the odor, which seems to be a cross between urine and rotting garbage.

  I try to discretely place a hand over my mouth and nose to block the stench, which doesn’t seem to bother Loose a bit. Maybe he’s used to it? I don’t know how anyone could get used to a smell that foul.

  I want to get inside as quickly as possible—until I see the place he’s taking me.

  It could be the scariest place I’ve ever seen in my life. I have no idea why the place hasn’t been condemned. Half of it looks like it was damaged in a fire and the other half is shot up with bullet holes. The front windows are barred and the steel door actually has several dents and bullet holes.

  The bouncer standing at the front door looks like a skinhead and I avoid his gaze when we stand next to him.

  “Hey, Loose,” the bouncer says as he gives him a slight nod. “Who’s the bitch?”

  “She’s with me,” he replies.

  The skinhead gives me the once over and shakes his head, confirming what I already know, that I don’t belong here. But he steps aside and I follow Loose into what can only be described as a hellhole.
>
  The inside of the place makes the outside look good. It’s dark, filthy and the walls are stained with what could be blood and feces. The layer of smoke that hangs near the ceiling makes it clear that the Clean Air Act has no bearing in this place. My lungs protest and I actually let out a cough.

  Loose glances back at me and laughs. I’m not sure if he says anything because it’s hard to hear over the music, if you can call it that. It sounds like screaming over a bass beat so heavy it makes my chest rumble.

  As I look around, I realize there are a lot of very scary people in this bar and they are all men. I suddenly feel queasy.

  What the hell am I doing in Hell and how do I get out of here?

  I follow Loose to the back of the bar, where three outlaw biker types are standing. The guys each shake Loose’s hand and then stare at me like I’m from another planet, which I clearly am. Even wearing my most risqué outfit, I still feel like a church girl in this place.

  Rough would be an understatement. This place is terrifying.

  As Loose talks to his friends, I scan the place for any kind of an exit or other means of escape but don’t see any. Not even a fire exit.

  Then I notice a very large, very heavily tattooed guy a few seats down and he’s staring at me. The guy is a mountain of flesh, easily 50 pounds larger than Evan. And his entire body is a mass of tattoos, including his bald head, which is covered with an intricate black tattoo that resembles a raven.

  I try my best to avoid the massive man’s eyes but he won’t take his eyes off me. He’s almost gaping at me. And it frightens me to my core when I realize that if the massive guy wants to do something to me, there’s not a person in the entire bar who would probably be able stop him.

  And I also realize I have never felt so completely vulnerable in my life.

  “These are my roommates,” Loose says finally. He points to the first guy who is decked out in black leather and has a large scar running the entire length of face, from the corner of his eye down to his chin.

  “That’s Scarface.”

  Obviously, I think.

  Loose points to a heavyset guy with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. He’s wearing one of those fancy biker vests that probably signifies he’s in some kind of outlaw biker gang. When the guy grins at me, I can see he’s missing a few of his front teeth.