Girl Crush

by Stephie Walls

  “I don’t know what it is with the women my sister picks. Not a damn one of you has your shit together,” he muttered under his breath.

  I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in his opinion of me, but I didn’t fight the free ride inside. He took me down the same hall toward Beck’s room, but stopped at the first door and set me on the bed.

  “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

  I wondered if he could possibly communicate in any fewer syllables. Grunting like a caveman was even less attractive than the asshole demeanor he’d presented in the driveway the night I’d met him. I’d seen him a total of three times, and each one, a different personality had reared its head. I giggled as I thought of each one having a different name. I decided this was Brutus. Collier was the pretentious asshole in the driveway. And West was the nice guy who’d been worried about his twin. If there were many more, I wouldn’t be able to keep them straight.

  He returned moments later and threw a T-shirt and pair of boxers my direction. “Beck’s door’s locked, and I refuse to interrupt anything that might be going on in there. These will work. There’s a bathroom.” He pointed to the door in the corner. “I’ll get you up in the morning to take you to your car.”

  Suddenly, I felt like a child who’d been chastised. My voice was soft and meek when I said, “Okay. Thank you.”

  Without another word, he closed the door to the bedroom and left me to myself. I needed sleep, but there was no way I was crawling into someone else’s bed, even alone, covered in bar funk. After a quick shower, I curled up into the most fantastic cocoon of slumber imaginable.

  I’d just shut my eyes when the knock on the door came, and Brutus was back. “We need to go. Get up.” There was no way it was morning already, but sure enough, the sun shone through the blinds I hadn’t closed, and apparently, Beck’s brother wasn’t much of a morning person.

  I groaned my frustration when I tossed the blankets back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, and nausea took over. I barely made it to the bathroom to empty what was left of my stomach into the commode. Clutching the cool porcelain with my bare hands, it took everything I had not to press my face against the rim. Today was shaping up to be miserable.

  “Giselle, move it. I’ll be in the car.”

  Jesus. He’d given me like two minutes. I hadn’t even peed yet. Throwing up had taken precedence, but now I was afraid if I didn’t get out to the driveway, he’d leave, and I’d be stranded. I stood too quickly and the ground moved beneath me. I opted to rinse out my mouth instead of changing and grabbed my clothes to race to the front door.

  Jackass wasn’t kidding. The Porsche hummed in the driveway. I slid in the passenger side, instantly feeling better with my ass on the soft leather. “Wanna switch seats?”

  “Like hell. Buckle up. You’re gonna make me late.”

  My face scrunched up in displeasure. “Grumpy,” I muttered the word more to myself.

  “Yeah, I’m a tad irritated. I got less than five hours of sleep and get to take my sister’s used piece of ass back to her car because she was too drunk to drive. Great way to start the day.”

  I swung my head in his direction just as he took a sharp curve. The inertia or gravitational force—or hell, it could have just been the rays of sunshine—sent my stomach into my throat, and before I could ask him to pull over, I’d vomited in his lap and all over his gorgeous car. The smell of sour alcohol and stomach acid was rancid, but the glower he gave me was worse. I swiped my forearm across my mouth, stunned, and waiting for him to respond.

  We were still moving when he finally acknowledged he sat covered in puke. “Please tell me you live nearby.”

  The man was literally sitting in a pool of my vomit. I had no idea where it had all come from. I’d emptied my stomach at his house. Tears formed with embarrassment, but when I tried to give him my address, he just pointed to the GPS screen. When we arrived at my house, he carefully pulled himself out of the seat, trying to keep as much of it on him as he could to keep it from the black leather interior.

  Humiliation didn’t begin to sum up the thoughts running through my head.

  I got out at the same time he did and heard the splatter hit the pavement.

  “Where’s your hose?”

  I ran to the side of the house, each step sending a jarring pain searing through my skull, and the queasiness returned full force. My mouth filled with saliva, and I hunched over with my hands on my knees to dry heave as he made his way toward me. To my surprise, he didn’t turn on the water to clean himself off but took my hair in one hand and rubbed circles on my back with the other. When my stomach finally gave up its hope for a coupe, I stood and unraveled enough of the hose to be of use and turned on the spigot. I turned to offer him the water to find his shirt off and his tan chest on display for the world to see.

  In any other scenario, even the most devout of lesbians would have swooned—or at least stopped to admire the attraction—but the funk radiating off his clothes took precedence over his beauty. He took the hose and began to spray the chunks off his T-shirt and then held it out for me to hold. I watched as he unbuttoned his shorts and then slid them off, laying them flat on the ground. I wasn’t sure if West, Collier, or Brutus stood next to my house in nothing but his boxers, and I didn’t want to find out if there was a personality I hadn’t met.

  “Do you have a plastic bag or something I can put these in?” He indicated the wet clothing lying on my grass.

  I snatched them up and proceeded toward the front door. It dawned on me, I still didn’t have my car, which meant Collier would have another stop to make before returning home. I grabbed a beach bag from my closet and hoped he didn’t comment on the fact it was bright pink with my initials monogrammed on the front. Whether he liked it or not, the plastic liner would keep the bag from being ruined and contain the clothes. I hurried off to the laundry room for supplies to clean up the mess I’d left in his car and raced by without acknowledging him.

  A sigh of relief rushed from my mouth when I swung the driver’s side door open and only found remnants of my presence on the steering wheel. I sprayed the paper towels with an all-natural cleaner, grateful it wouldn’t damage the leather, and wiped off any evidence I’d been in the vehicle. The orange scent I sprayed masked the smell that lingered, and then I turned abruptly into a wall of Collier West. My nose was mere inches from his pecs, which I assumed would normally smell like the shirt and boxers he’d given me last night, but today, he wasn’t so fresh. With a step back, I grinned at the bright pink bag in his hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Collier.”

  “Can you get a ride to your car? I need to go home and shower and have somewhere to be in less than an hour.” The tone of his voice had shifted back to the West who’d been worried about his sister’s broken heart.

  “Yeah. Sure. Let me know if I need to have the car cleaned.”

  He gave me a quick nod, and I stepped aside so he could get into the vehicle. There was no goodbye or forgiveness granted. The door clipped my hip when he closed it. He was gone, and I was standing in my driveway in his boxers and T-shirt, my clothes in a pile in the floorboard of the Porsche.

  “You’re a cunty-whore, Veronica.”

  “You’re just mad because you puked in some hot guy’s car.”

  “First of all, I never said he was hot. Secondly, you totally glazed over the fact I had my first orgasm with a woman.”

  “You didn’t have to say he was hot, everything you said screamed it loud and clear. And the orgasm doesn’t count if you’re staring at said guy when it happens.”

  “It totally fucking counts. My bajingo came to life on her thigh with her hands on my body.”

  “You were in a public place, Giselle…and fully clothed. Instead of worrying about Roxie, why don’t we focus on Brutus.”

  Figured she’d picked up on his personality disorder—I was known for choosing that trait in men—and not the fact I’d enjoyed an evening with a member of
the same sex, gotten sweaty and drunk, danced the night away, and then jizzed in my panties. “Whatever. When you were twelve and experimenting with Donna Darnicks, I didn’t tell you it didn’t count.” I huffed and crossed my arms under my breasts.

  I’d called in sick since I couldn’t get to work without calling a cab, and couldn’t pay for a cab because my purse—along with my clothes—were held hostage by the stinky Porsche. I assumed my cell phone was also somewhere in that mess, but thankfully, I was old-school and had been unwilling to give up my landline in case of emergencies. I thought it would be a natural disaster—although I could argue this was just that.

  “Not the same, at all.” She flipped through the latest edition of Vogue, barely bothering to humor me. Thankfully, or maybe not so much, Veronica had come over after work.

  “It certainly is. A girl has to crawl before she can walk.”

  “Sounds like you were crawling last night...but my mouth was on bare skin with Donna Darnicks.”

  “My mouth was on Roxie’s skin.” It had been—as I stared into Collier’s eyes and hit my peak, my teeth dug into her exposed shoulder.

  “Biting her while staring at a guy isn’t the equivalent of a breast in the mouth.” Her nonchalance irritated me.

  “Donna Darnicks didn’t have any breasts when we were twelve, which is why she let you go that far to begin with.”

  “Still an erogenous zone. Call me when you have your first vagina encounter. Or hell, I’ll entertain this when you get fingered by a girl.”

  “God, Ronnie, you act like I should be slutting it up.”

  Her long fingers closed the magazine she hadn’t really been reading. And her face was masked with a devious grin. “You should be…with Collier. When are you going to stop acting like you’re Cuntzilla on the prowl and go back to what you know?”

  My tone changed. I hadn’t been able to articulate my point, because in Ronnie’s mind, until I ate the pink truffle, nothing I did counted. “I really liked her, V. Roxie was a ton of fun to hang out with.”

  “Yeah. Beck was too until she showed you her goods. Being heterosexual isn’t the end of the world, Gizzy. It’s just who you are.”

  “You’ll see.”

  She dismissed my feelings as quickly as she’d negated my experience. “Look, I’m still on Trish’s shit list so I can’t stay out. Do you want me to take you to get your car?”

  We rode in silence, and when I got out of the car, she leaned over before I closed the door. “Sorry, Gizzy. If you like this girl, then go out with her again. Just make sure you don’t hurt her in the process.”

  “Bye, V.”

  With my spare key in hand, I got into the Camaro and breathed a sigh of relief to see my cell phone sitting in my cup holder and not in the floorboard of Collier’s 911. I’d felt like I was missing a limb without it and had no idea when I’d get my stuff back from Collier. Sadly, I had determined I’d rather cancel my credit cards and buy a new purse than face him again.

  Something about the purr of the engine always relaxed me instantly, and this time was no different. Music filled the air as I cleared out emails and listened to voice messages. There were multiple texts from Ronnie last night, and then Beck and Roxie today. I shot Roxie a reply telling her how much I enjoyed our date, and we made plans to hang out this weekend. And just before I pulled out, I called Beck, who was bored and lying out by her brother’s pool in what remained of the sun.

  “Come over.” Whining didn’t sound good on anyone but me.

  I assumed she had no idea I’d been there last night, or that I’d puked in her brother’s car this morning, but I couldn’t risk a run-in. “I’m just going to go home. I was out late and need to get some sleep. I can’t miss work again tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah, how’d your date go?”

  When I began to tell her the details, she stopped me twice, trying to persuade me once more to stop by and give her the lowdown then. “I don’t think your brother really likes it when I show up, Beck.”

  “Who cares? He’s not here. He had some business shindig in the city. He told me he wouldn’t be home until late. So I think it’s safe to say that would not be six o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “I don’t have a suit.”

  “You can borrow one of mine. I’ll see you in ten.” She hung up before I could voice any further objection, and I turned my car toward the West mansion.

  Beck met me at the front door with a pitiful excuse for a swimsuit in hand. She led me to the first bedroom downstairs, the same one I’d stayed in last night, to change. I hadn’t expected her to flop down onto the bed that someone had made since I was last here, while I stripped, but I figured this would be good practice for the real thing. My shirt came over my head, and I shimmied out of my shorts and panties. When I dropped my bra on the pile at my feet, she sat straight up. I might be thirty-nine, but I worked hard to keep my body in the shape of a twenty-five-year-old. Other than wine, I didn’t partake of any indulgences—including carbs. And I ran every morning…well, except this morning because I was otherwise preoccupied, but any other morning, I didn’t go anywhere until I logged five miles on the pavement.

  “Damn, Giselle.”

  She had a girlfriend, and I didn’t need her to elaborate. There was a difference in women who were naturally slender, which Beck was, and women like me who worked out to stay that way. Where all Beck’s angles were rounder, softer, my muscles were defined, not like a body builder, but like a runner. I looked lean, not skinny, and I was proud of it.

  The swimsuit covered the necessary bits, but not by much. Although I had to admit, I loved it and wished we were heading out to the beach where it could be appreciated. The white fabric made my tan appear darker, and the cheeky bottoms showed just enough of my rear end to be tasteful but hot.

  Beck slapped my bare ass when I bent over to pick up my clothes and fold them neatly in a pile on the bed. I gave her a teasing grin, but it was all in good fun. She wasn’t trying to sleep with me, and I wasn’t looking for anything other than sun.

  Somewhere around seven, the daylight started to hide behind the horizon, and the air cooled. My stomach growled for the first time since the incident this morning, and I finally felt human enough to eat. Vitamin D had amazing healing properties. Lying next to the pool, Beck pulled out her phone and ordered food, and asked them to bring it around to the back when they got here.

  “They’re not going to do that.”

  “Trust me. Delivery driver pulls up out front and sees this house…they walk around back because they know they’ll get a hefty tip.”

  “Oh, shit. Beck, I don’t have my purse with me.”

  She shrugged one shoulder and dropped her unnecessary sunglasses back onto her nose before leaning back. “I charged it to Collier’s credit card anyhow.”

  “What?” Even the birds stopped chirping when they heard my shrill cry. “No. Beck, you can’t charge stuff to your brother’s credit card. That’s insane.”

  She blew me off with a wave of the hand. “I do it all the time. He doesn’t know the difference.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. He seemed the type to itemize every bill with matching receipts. There was no point in arguing. Collier had my purse, I had no cash, and Beck had already ordered. I decided to throw caution to the wind. He wouldn’t be here to see me, so he wouldn’t know I’d been the one she fed. Beck could deal with the fallout on her own.

  That was until a furious Collier stomped out onto the patio. I saw Beck’s face before I saw him. My back was to him, and I was standing on the edge of the pool about to jump in when his voice roared around me. “For the love of God, Beck. Stop using my fucking credit cards to entertain your girlfriends. And tell them to stop parking in the fucking driveway. They can use the pad on the side of the house.”

  My ass had been on full display, my long, brown hair cascading down my back. I wanted to be shocked by his tone, but this was exactly what I’d tried to avoid when Beck promised me he wouldn’
t be there. When I turned to see his face, Collier had on the remains of a tuxedo I would bet my left breast had been tailored specifically for him. His hands roosted on his hips, the jacket draped over his bent arm, and the bowtie hung undone around his neck. My mouth gaped open at the sight. Thankfully, no drool dribbled out during the interaction.

  When he realized who I was, his sneer turned into a smirk, and his eyes scanned the length of me before settling back on the top that did little to cover my pebbled nipples. Before I could even say hello, Beck started barking back at her brother.

  “Stop being such a cheap ass. It was only dinner, and Giselle is just a friend.”

  “Friend, my ass. She’s out making twat sandwiches as fast as she can eat them, just like you are.”

  The gape in my jaw went from dumbfounded to disillusioned—I hadn’t had a single tangy treat. But all this guy knew was I’d shown up when his sister was half dressed the first night we’d met, then he’d seen me hump Roxie’s leg like a damn dog last night.

  “No one’s eating twat sandwiches, including you. Jesus, you need to get laid. Maybe if you spent half as much time looking for someone to enjoy life with instead of ways to make more money than you can spend, you wouldn’t be such a miserable old miser.”

  I had not a clue what to do here. Standing stock-still between the twins, they shouted over me, each insult more painful than the last. I didn’t have siblings, so I had no idea if this was normal, but I was uncomfortable as all hell. Slowly, I backed away from the pool and managed to make my way around Collier without either of them stopping to take a breath.

  Just before I took a step through the French doors back into the house to make my getaway, Beck screamed at her brother, “Way to go, asshat. The best thing that could happen to you just witnessed your ability to go from appealing to appalling in thirty seconds flat.”