by Shey Stahl
“Goddamn it, Caleb!” Jacey yells, throwing the dirty towel at me. It hits my shoulder and falls to the ground. “Knock it off!”
I smile at the guy, winking, my busted lip dripping blood. “Now who’s the bitch?”
Someone grabs my shoulder from behind, and I know who it is. “All right, man. That’s enough.”
It’s Owen. He’s always breaking up fights.
Running the back of my hand over my mouth, I don’t back up nor do I let the bottle go. Instead, I press harder into his throat until the glass punctures through the skin just a touch.
Owen tries again. “Dude, stop!”
Unfortunately, I can’t.
“Get out of here, Ryan!” Jacey’s manager yells at me. He’s not serious. I get kicked out of this bar all the time and never leave. But it’s enough to snap me out of it.
Taking a step back, I let the bottle fall to the ground, crashing around us.
Jerking my shoulders up, I shake away from Owen’s grip on my arms now. “Get off me.”
Abercrombie scrambles around, feet sliding against the concrete as he holds his hand to his bleeding neck. He wipes his hand over the blood and then stares at me. “You crazy son of a bitch! You could have killed me!”
I laugh and shake my head. “Oh please, it’s a flesh wound. You’re fine.”
My eyes shift to Jacey and then away; she’s pissed and so is her manager.
Owen steps in front of me again, stares at me, trying to make sense of what just happened. “What the fuck?”
I smile again, winking at my friend as I’m walking away. “Just having a conversation.”
“Conversation?” He snorts, following me back to the booth as I examine my bloody knuckles. I really should have paid attention when I broke the beer bottle. Cut the shit out of my hand doing it. “Is that what you call breaking a guy’s jaw?”
“Yeah.”
He laughs. “Thought so.”
Radiant Extension
The Fire has transferred ignition heat to adjacent materials across open space.
Do responsible twenty-six-year-old hotel managers go out on Christmas Eve?
Am I considered responsible? I don’t even have a place to live right now.
As far as I’m concerned, I am responsible. I graduated from UW and landed a job with the most successful hotel in Seattle. Never mind the fact my dad owns the hotel. I’m good at my job. It’s just everything else in life that sucks.
Tucked in the corner of the bar on the far side of the dance floor contemplating my responsibility and feeling like the oldest one in the bar, I’m people watching and judging the choice of attire for most of the women.
This part of the night is why I enjoy going out with Scarlet. We’re the perfect pair. We balance each other out, and I know if I was ever to murder someone, she’d bury the body, no questions asked. I know this from experience too. Not the murdering part, but the volunteering to hide the body. On the way here she offered to “take care” of Judah.
By that, she means calling her cousin Salvador and telling him to do it. I’ve never asked, but I think he’s like a hit man or something. Anyway, you’d be surprised to know I declined the generous offer. I mean, first of all, I don’t want anything to do with her cousin because he’s scary as fuck and two, I don’t think I have it in me to order a hit on someone.
Back to my point. Scarlet is my Thelma.
I think I’m Louise. Mostly because I tend to think things through and Scarlet is usually the one flirting with disaster.
I met Scarlet my first year at UW. We were roommates and instantly hit it off. I even got her a job at the hotel and then she dropped out our sophomore year, but we remained friends.
She’s also my favorite drinking buddy because I never have to tell her what I want. She automatically knows my drink of choice. Bay Breeze.
“Christ almighty,” Scarlet gasps, bumping in my shoulder as she hands the drink. “That guy is a badass.”
“Which one?” My already drunk stare scans the bar, my eyes eventually landing on the bar where there are in fact two guys fighting. Or I should say one is fighting, the other is trying to defend himself or maybe trying to run away. I can’t tell.
“There’re always fights at this bar,” I tell her, focusing on the dance floor and people watching. It’s been my experience that you encounter the most bizarre people in any public place.
Remember when I said there was one boyfriend I wanted to think I was dead?
His name was David. Last name doesn’t matter. I met him in a library. Another place to people watch.
I knew in the beginning I should have ran away from David but I was fifteen and didn’t know any better. He’d paint my toes, watch Beverly Hills 90210 with me and drank chocolate milk all the fucking time. He’d tell me I was beautiful fifty times a day and licked my armpits.
Do you like how I snuck that in there? He did too.
We were in the middle of having sex, I know, fifteen is a little young but focus on the fact that the dude licked my goddamn armpits.
So where am I going with this?
You can people watch all you want, even get in a relationship with them but in the end, you never really know people. They’re always going to keep some thoughts to themselves. Unless of course you’re Tom and you have no filter. I know he says whatever he’s thinking because nobody in their right mind would say some of the things that come out of his mouth.
I’m not sure I ever knew Judah. Sure, I lived with him, but you hear about that kind of shit all the time. The show Snapped? Perfect fucking example of people being crooked fucks. You think you know them and then one day you come home to them dismembering a body in the kitchen sink and storing brains in the freezer next to the pizza rolls. Or fucking the neighbor. Same difference in my book.
Guess who’s at the bar tonight?
Judah “Neighbor Fucking” Prince. And he’s dirty dancing with a chick wearing leather pants. Who can pull off leather pants anymore?
That girl. Clearly.
Of all the nights I have to run into him, it’s the night after he kicked me out. Or the next night . . . whatever.
All I know is I do not want to see him with her or any other slut he might pick up tonight.
I watch them dance and immediately regret it. Who the hell is that girl? An exotic dancer?
I’m thinking Judah knows I’m here when his eyes find mine in the low-lit bar. The air changes around me, his stare on mine is damn near suffocating. I watch them for a moment and think to myself, Good God, are they fucking?
Knowing Judah, they might be. He once fucked me in the grocery store. Okay, let’s rephrase that. He stuck it in just because I told him he couldn’t do it without getting caught. So next to the smoked sausages in the meat section—ironic, I know—he slipped it inside, thrusted once, maybe three times and then pulled out. Keep in mind I was wearing a dress and he was wearing sweat pants. Easy access on both parts.
Anyway, Judah’s talented in being discrete. Too bad when he was fucking the neighbor he didn’t have the decency to be discrete about it. Whatever. He’s a tool, but the thing is, them dancing like they are, isn’t discrete. Judah wants me to see him with her like this and I can’t figure out why because he kicked me out. He broke up with me.
So why are his eyes trained on mine as the girl twerking on his dick grinds against him?
I want to look away. I want to break the hold he has on me when Scarlet nudges my ribs. “Stop that.”
“What?” I’m still staring at him.
To make her point clear, she steps in front of me blocking my view and gives me a pointed “what the fuck?” stare. “Staring at Judah.”
Oh. That.
Nervously, I gather my long brown curls over one shoulder. “I’m not,” I lie. Remember? I’m awful at it, and she knows. “I’m trying to read that sign.”
Scarlet glances over her shoulder quickly and sees there’s no sign. “What sign?”
Shrug
ging, I down my drink in hand and leave the glass on a nearby table. “Let’s get another drink.” I grab her by the arm and steer her toward the bar before she can say anymore.
“You should make him jealous.”
I sigh, annoyed she’s saying this. Mostly because I’ve already thought of that and quickly threw the idea away. “I’m not a fifteen anymore. I don’t need to go around making my ex jealous.” But despite my words, my eyes betray me and sneak back to Judah, who now has his tongue down her throat, probably showing her what his tongue ring feels like.
Goddamn it. I know where this leads me, and I hate it. Why can’t I be like a normal girl and sit and eat ice cream and cry out my broken heart? Oh, right. I did that last night by myself, and he wasn’t in front of me. Now here he is, and I need to make him see he hasn’t gotten to me, right?
My voice is timid when I ask, “What did you have in mind?”
There’s nothing wrong with seeing what she has in mind, right? Scarlet always has good ideas. It’s part of the reason she’s my best friend.
She points across the bar to a booth in the corner. “Ask that guy to dance.”
I lean into the bar trying to appear relaxed when I’m not. My heart is racing a million miles per hour and I think I might throw up.
“What guy?”
“That guy. You need to go up to him and have sex with him.” Scarlet points to the one with the busted lip and bloody knuckles. The one who just caused a bar fight and hasn’t been kicked out. “That’s who you need to forget about Judah.”
“That guy?” I point at him, which I shouldn’t because what if he takes offense to it and beats me up too? Luckily his back is to me and he doesn’t see me pointing at him. I take the drink she ordered for me, my lips searching for the small black straw. “You make this sound so easy.”
She nods, giving me a gentle shove. “It is easy. Now go.”
“One problem.”
“And that is?”
I stare at her, completely dumbfounded that she thinks this is the answer and in the same sense, actually hoping she’s right because goddamn, he’s hot! “I can’t just go up to him and say let’s have sex.”
“Sure you can. Any man would jump at the chance of having sex with you.”
Bashfully, I twirl a piece of my long dark hair as a man next to Scarlet smiles and sets his chin on her shoulder, winking at me. “Is she offering?”
What a creep.
My cheeks blaze, and I’m just about to tell him hell to the no when Scar slaps the man’s cheek. “Mind your business.”
While she pushes him away, I sneak a peek over at the brawling hottie in the booth. He seems . . . unstable?
No. Judah’s unstable. This guy . . . he’s untouchable. You know, the badass type no one fucks with. The mysterious-looking motherfuckers you spend half your time looking at and wondering what the hell they’re thinking and the other half knowing you really don’t want to know the answer to that question.
“And that guy just basically beat the shit out of that other guy.” I’m trying to reason with her and talk my way out of this, two things I’m never good at with Scar. “Do you really think I need to be with him? How will he be any different from Judah?”
Scarlet sighs, as if having to explain this to me is like having to clean up after a bachelor party in the penthouse. “I’m not saying marry the guy. I’m saying fuck him. That’s all. Or at the very least dance with him where Judah can see.”
And then she shakes her head and does that thing where she gives me a sincere apologetic look. The one parents give their kids when they realize they’re beautiful because they’re dumb as a fucking rock. It’s similar to looking at Tom. You feel sorry for him because he’s that dumb, but then again, his looks make up for it, so it’s okay he can’t do basic math, and I doubt he can read. He once put on his time card for the date, his birthday. He does this weekly, so I know it wasn’t just a one-time thing.
Scarlet draws in an exaggerated breath and purses her lips. “I’m sorry, Mila. Judah is a pussy. That guy—” She points right at the bar brawling bad boy. “That dude would fuck him up.”
Scarlet’s right. Judah may have a mean glare, black eyes and covered in tattoos, but it’s all show. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
But this guy . . . he’d probably tell his grandmother to fuck off and mean it.
And then again, do I really need to get involved with a guy who goes around beating up people in bars?
Probably not.
Does this stop me from following Scarlet over there?
Nope.
Scarlet takes another few steps toward their booth, but I stop walking and pause. I’m waiting for my conscience to knock some sense into me and tell me to go home.
Unfortunately for me, the bitch has absolutely nothing to say.
For a quick moment, I examine the guy who was fighting moments ago and is now seated in the booth like nothing happened.
I mentioned he’s hot, I’ll say it again, but he’s mostly tough. He’s definitely different that Judah. While he appears to have his forearms covered in tattoos, he doesn’t have that same mean glare Judah has 90 percent of the time. Our eyes find one another, briefly and he seems . . . approachable now. Or maybe he’s one of those guys with a warm smile who fucks you over the minute he knows he can.
Despite my internal battle, I walk across the bar with Scarlet with the promise to myself of nothing more than tonight.
We’re going to make Judah jealous, maybe give my vagina a Christmas present, and run the other way. No relationship.
“Do you have a plan?” I whisper to Scarlet before we’re in front of them.
She shrugs. “No, but we have tits for that. They’re magical. When you don’t know what else to say, stick your tits in his face.”
“I’m not wearing a bra,” I blurt out.
“Even better.”
This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been summoned to seduce a guy. And probably not the last. The realization is sobering. Actually, it’s depressing as shit.
Within a foot of the booth, I realize how big this guy is. Not like huge but he’s definitely got some muscle mass on Judah. His dark gray shirt stretches over his broad chest nicely, and my eyes wander to his black hat. His eyes are a lighter color than Judah’s, but I can’t tell in this lighting if they’re blue or green.
Though our eyes meet again, he’s talking to the guy seated across from him.
It’s a second later, and we do make solid eye contact, and he stops talking to his friend. He’s looking directly at me. Not Scarlet. And I see stars and unicorn glitter.
Just kidding.
Nothing spectacular happens at all because then he’s staring at my tits.
See? They’re magical as Scarlet says.
Or maybe it’s because I’m not wearing a bra. That’s the problem with coming out on a whim. My bra wasn’t clean, and now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs.
Before I say anything to the guy, I glance at his hands, the bloody knuckles and the way they’re wrapped around a glass with amber colored liquor in it. Call me crazy, but you know, the bar fighter was turning me on already, and I hadn’t even heard him talk yet. I always pick the bad ones. Not that I want to snag the bad boy. It’s nothing like that. It’s more like me wanting someone to pull my hair, and fucking mean it. Bad boys are the only ones who can deliver.
“Hey,” Scarlet says, her voice warm and honey sweet. She sits down like she’s old friends with these guys. Only she doesn’t sit beside them, she sits on the guy across from the bar brawler’s lap.
“Hey, yourself,” he says to Scarlet, but there’s a grin on his face.
Can’t say the same for the brawler. He’s glaring.
His eyes, the glare, it’s no wonder no one has approached him since he basically busted a guy’s jaw for no apparent reason. His mere presence here is intimidating but leave it to Scarlet and me to find the darkest motherfuc
ker to make Judah jealous.
From one prick to the next, as my mother always said.
“I’m Scarlet . . . and you are?” She stares at the lighter-haired one wearing a dark blue hoodie, waiting for an answer.
“Owen.” He nods across the table. “That’s Caleb.”
Caleb? That’s a cute name, and it’s not even close to Judah. Perfect. And I can totally picture the name falling from my lips in the heat of the moment.
Here’s some information about Scarlet in any social situation. Scarlet can basically put herself in any group of people and get them talking. She’s gifted like that. Which is why I hate that she won’t move over to customer service in the hotel and sticks with cleaning rooms.
Unless I’m at work and need to, I can’t start conversations to save my ass, but I suppose this is why I’m friends with Scar, right?
Precisely.
“Are you guys police officers?” Scarlet asks, motioning a bartender over with a flick of her wrist as I stand there like an idiot refusing to do the same and sit down.
Owen laughs after Scarlet gives them her drink order, tossing his head back in amusement. “No. Definitely not brass. We’re America’s heroes.”
I still haven’t sat down. My hearts in my throat and I can feel my eyebrows getting hot. As if seducing men is her calling in life, Scarlet’s hands move over his shoulders and then she gives me a side-eye, like I’m supposed to do the same thing to Caleb. She looks at Owen again. “Military?”
Watching Scarlet with this guy totally reminds me of middle school when I was slow dancing with Kevin Kirk while intently watching the actions of the cooler, more popular Emma Lane and what she was doing with her boyfriend. I couldn’t even tell you what song was playing that night, all I knew was whatever Emma Lane did, I did to Kevin Kirk.
Lucky him.
“Military?” Owen repeats, staring at Caleb, eyebrows drawn together, and then he glances up at Scarlet, straight-faced, as if he can’t stomach for her to get it wrong again. “No. We’re firefighters.” And then he adds, “We run into a burning building when everyone else runs out.”