by M. A. Grant
‘I was thinking tequila.’
Bleaugh. Tequila. The piss of the angry worm gods. ‘I love tequila. Don’t you, Tom?’
His brow is lightly furrowed, but he nods. ‘It’s been a while since I had any of quality.’
‘The selection here is fantastic,’ Robin assures him.
‘Tequila shots it is,’ Tom says happily.
‘Shots?’ Robin tilts her head and sticks out her huge boobs. ‘Oh, really? I had no idea you were so brave.’ Her eyes alight on me and her smile is all teeth. ‘Or so experienced.’
If Satan had a theme song, it’d be playing right now.
Oh, screw this.
I smile sweetly back at her and draw on every impress your drink date article I’ve ever read. ‘The only good shot is a body shot.’
Her eyebrow raises a little. Have I won?
‘Why not,’ she agrees, oozing fake appreciation for my suggestion. ‘We only get one time to celebrate something like this.’
No! She was supposed to cave!
‘See you over at our booth in a minute,’ she says as she sashays away.
Tom looks like he saw a nudie mag centrefold for the first time—equal parts goofy amazement and recognition of biological imperatives. He eagerly leans down and kisses my cheek. ‘I’ll go get everyone.’
He abandons me to go gather our group. My hands are only shaking a little bit as I pull out my phone and desperately type body shots with small boobs.
Google, don’t fail me now.
***
My phone buzzes a little after ten. I glance at it. Felipe texted me. Hopefully he doesn’t want me to cover his evening shift tomorrow; I’m already going in for Tommy in the morning.
His message isn’t what I expect. You and Catherine at home?
Huh. That’s weird.
I pause my movie and text back, Why?
A minute passes. Two. And a video comes through.
I’m dragging on my jeans and boots, stumbling around the hall as I try to type one-handed, Where?
***
Tom’s tongue is a little too slimy on my neck. At least his kiss as he takes the lime from my lips is pretty good. Our little group cheers him and he holds up his closed fists in triumph.
I fake a happy cheer and try to laugh as he hugs me. The magazines are full of shit. Body shots are no fun for the girl. Well, especially if the girl has tiny boobs and has to tuck the shot glass into her bra. But at least Robin’s backed off and Tom’s getting into our date. Even if the feel of Tom’s lips on mine doesn’t rock my world, I am beginning to think he might be into me. Unlike Dally—
Tom is ripped back from me. My gut pitches when I see my enraged saviour.
Did the mere thought of that name actually conjure him?
Tom doesn’t know what hits him. Too bad I do.
‘What are you doing?’ I demand as Dally shakes out his fist and glares down at Tom’s moaning form.
If I didn’t know him, I might be scared of Dally in this moment. He’s a towering pillar of tattooed fury, tank top showcasing his bunched muscles, stained jeans stretched taut over thick thighs. I’m opening my mouth to protest again when he pins me with a glare that could melt flesh from bone.
I shut my mouth.
Dally grabs my elbow and hauls me toward the exit. I snag my purse from my chair and call an apology to the bartender and my group as I’m dragged away. The only shining moment of this debacle is the utter shock on Robin’s face. Yeah, bitch, he’s mine. Too bad that confidence doesn’t extend outside the bar.
As soon as we hit the sidewalk, Dally lights into me. ‘Jesus, Cat, what the fuck were you thinking?’
His motorcycle is by the curb and he heaves me onto the seat. I accept the helmet he holds out without making a peep. I’m not sure whether what I’m feeling is disappointment or relief. Maybe it’s just tequila.
Dally paces, short, angry bursts of movement. ‘If I didn’t have the bike …the traffic was absolute shit getting here …’
‘How did you know I was here?’ I ask.
His lips are a hard line as he pulls out his phone. ‘Felipe texted to say you were here. I didn’t believe him since you said you were just going out to dinner.’
‘What convinced you Felipe wasn’t lying?’
He does something and holds up his phone. I wince as the video plays.
He won’t let me escape it. ‘Take a good look, brown eyes. That would be you doing body shots with the dick who’s lying on the floor in there.’
‘It really wasn’t as cool as the movies make it look,’ I mumble as I take his phone and examine the evidence more closely. Wait, do I really do that weird chicken head bob every time Tom gets close to my boobs?
Dally looks heavenward, raising his hands in supplication. ‘I don’t have the strength to deal with this crap,’ he complains.
‘Are you talking to God?’
He looks back at me, furious. ‘Would praying keep you from doing stupid shit? Because if it would, I’ll become the frigging pope.’
‘I don’t think popes can have tattoos. And as for it stopping me, it probably wouldn’t.’
I’m pissing him off more. He closes his eyes, clasping his hands in front of his face, and takes a slow breath. I delicately slide his phone back into his pocket. His hands are trembling. When he finally looks up at me, a frisson of apprehension skitters down my spine. His eyes are cool, calculating, controlled fury under a veneer of civility.
‘You are not going to give this up, are you?’ he asks me quietly.
I shake my head, running my finger back and forth over the seam where the visor fits into the helmet.
His next question is even softer, his voice so low I wonder if he actually asked it. ‘Why?’
I drop my eyes from his and inspect his leather work boots. They aren’t even laced up. He wasn’t lying about how quickly he got here.
‘Cat—’
I bite my lower lip. My buzz is fading and all I’m left with is a growing sense of shame.
Dally sighs and runs a hand over his mussed hair. His knuckles are bleeding, split from the punch he threw. His hair falls over his forehead with a softness that only comes after he’s showered and let it air dry. I think I like it more this way than when he slicks it back. It makes him look younger.
‘Put on your helmet,’ he orders. He gets onto the bike in front of me, sliding his own helmet into place. The bike starts with a familiar throaty purr. He glances back to make sure I’m situated. When I wrap my arms around his waist he gives a curt nod.
Dally is looking at the traffic when Tom comes out of the bar. His lip is split and he’s angry and worried and more than a little drunk. Looking at him, I find I have more regrets than I could set a number to.
‘Hey!’ Tom hollers at Dally.
My arms tighten around Dally’s waist and he shifts his attention back to the bar.
Tom takes a few steps closer, but it’s clear he’s not brave enough for a direct challenge. ‘What are you doing, Cat? Who is this asshole?’
I wince. ‘This is Dallas. My brother’s best friend.’
Tom’s eyes go wide. I may not be able to see it, but I’m positive Dally is smiling under his helmet. He lifts his extended middle finger at Tom. Then he’s whipping the bike out onto the road, the acceleration smooth as he speeds us down the darkened streets.
We end up at the pier. The boardwalk is quiet, lights starting to shut off. We pull off our helmets. Dally hops off the bike to turn around, sitting so he’s facing me.
‘Why, brown eyes?’ he asks again.
I’ve got no excuses to avoid answering now. But it’s going to sound so stupid …
His hands are warm on my knees, heating my skin through my jeans. ‘Give it up, Cat.’
I look up at that, frustrated. ‘That’s what I’m trying to do, you jerk.’
Dally’s smirk proves I took the bait. I roll my eyes in acknowledgement of his victory and cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m gra
duating in a few days. And I’m still a virgin.’
‘So?’
‘So, it’s embarrassing. I don’t want to be a virgin.’
He’s amused. ‘Being a virgin isn’t a disease, you twit.’
I growl in frustration. Why is this so hard to explain? ‘Isn’t it enough to say I don’t want to be one anymore?’
A dark eyebrow raises. ‘No.’
‘You are making me so angry,’ I fume. ‘You don’t get it.’
I try to stuff the helmet over my head, but his hands are off my knees and he’s preventing me from achieving my goal. ‘Take me home,’ I sputter as we fight over the helmet.
‘Dammit, Cat, you haven’t explained anything. Just—’ He wins the battle and holds the helmet out of reach. ‘Just give me a second, okay?’
I glare at him, but he doesn’t fold. He never does.
‘One second, that’s all I want.’
‘Argh! Fine, you smug jerk!’
He cocks his head to the side and examines me. I don’t really like it. He’s too quiet, too thoughtful. Finally he breaks that horrible silence. ‘What do you really want out of this, brown eyes? Are you looking for your Prince Charming? Your happily ever after?’
‘No. I mean …’ I shake my head, realising his question is actually valid. ‘No. I’m not. I’m curious. I’m tired of hearing all my friends gush about their hook-ups while I nod and pretend I have a clue what they’re talking about.’
Dally doesn’t comment and a tiny shred of hope flares to life.
‘I’m tired of feeling like I’m missing out on something. Something that could be really good.’
He chuckles at that. ‘You want something good? Now I’m really glad I punched that fucker. He would have ruined it for you.’
‘I asked you first,’ I blurt out, immediately regretting that I reminded him.
His expression sharpens, eyes flicking over my face with some unnamed intent. ‘Yeah, you did.’
‘And when you said no, I figured it couldn’t be that hard to find someone else.’
‘Ouch. Didn’t think I was so replaceable.’
It hurts to admit it. ‘You’re not.’
My words hang between us and I really wish he’d let me have the damn helmet so I can hide my face.
‘I just want to feel normal, Dally. After everything that’s happened, I really want to be normal,’ I mumble. ‘And maybe this would help.’
I immediately regret sharing that. I may allow myself to be unfiltered around Dally, but I’ve always been careful to not let any of those deeper problems seep out. He was around to watch me grieve my parents and his stoicism is part of what helped me pull my own act together. To say this now is a slap in the face to the guy who put his own life on hold to make sure I had a chance at growing up as normally as possible. My humiliation must be transparent because he hands the helmet back without another word.
I’m busy putting it on when he says, ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’
I fumble and rip the helmet off, scalp stinging when I take some of my hair with it. ‘What?’
He’s off the bike, getting back on the right way, looking out at the ocean, avoiding eye contact. ‘I said I’ll do it.’
I want to say something, thank him, but he looks over his shoulder, brow furrowed. ‘Not tonight.’
‘Fine.’
‘Before you graduate though. I promise.’
‘Oh, Dally—’ I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his back, squeezing tightly. ‘Thank you!’
He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Yeah. No thanking me. That makes it weird.’
I release him. ‘Right. Sorry.’
He fully turns to me now and points, deadly serious. ‘Your brother does not find out. Ever.’
‘Okay! Jake doesn’t find out.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘I wouldn’t tell him about my first time anyway. Eww.’
Dally shakes his head. ‘Put on your helmet, Cat. I’m working again tomorrow and after this cluster it is guaranteed to be the longest shift of my life.’
‘I am so sorry. But I swear you won’t regret this,’ I assure him as I slip back into the helmet.
I’m pretty sure it’s not only my imagination when he mutters, ‘Somehow I doubt that.’
Day 3 — Mid-Morning
Dally’s long gone at work when I finally drag myself out of bed. My head aches, my mouth tastes like I’ve been sucking on a shoe all night, and I’m pretty sure I’m part vampire due to my photosensitivity. Thank God I only had two shots of tequila on top of the wine. Any more and I think I’d be a goner.
I stumble my way to the kitchen, focused on getting a glass of water and some aspirin. Dally’s left out a glass and a pill bottle along with the note, ‘Hit start on microwave. OJ in fridge. Call me when you feel human.’
I punch the start button, fill the glass with water, and down the aspirin. When the microwave beeps, I open it and am immediately overwhelmed with the morning-after’s best scent: eggs and grease and cheese.
The breakfast burrito Dally left for me and a glass of OJ goes a long way to making me feel better. I take a long shower, throw on a pair of shorts and the well-worn shirt Dally brought back for me from his high school theme park grad night. Life can’t get much better as I curl up on the sofa with my laptop and phone.
Dally doesn’t answer my call; it might be a busy morning at the shop though. ‘Hey,’ I say to his voice mail, ‘thanks for the hangover cure. And … you know … for everything else last night.’ I grimace. ‘That sounded dirty. I didn’t mean it to.’ Why is this going so wrong? ‘Umm … call when you can.’
I toss my phone to the other end of the couch, eyeing it with disgust. I will not go all gooey or awkward just because Dally finally agreed to help me. Nothing has changed. Except that soon I’ll get to see his penis. Thinking of that makes me go all warm—
Okay Cat, refocus. It’s time to get ready for your big night.
Tonight or tomorrow? If I put it off, he might chicken out. Can’t have that. Tonight. Definitely tonight.
A quick review sets out my plan for the day. Step one: wash sheets. I return to my room, drag the linens to the laundry room, and start the wash. Step two: plan a romantic dinner. An Internet search gives me several recipes that are not only classy, but quick to cook. I add a grocery list to my phone. Step three: cute underwear.
Hmm … It only takes me five minutes of digging through my drawer to discover I don’t own anything that could really be considered ‘sexy’ or ‘alluring.’ I finally pull out my cutest pair of undies and nicest bra, setting them to the side as a back-up in case I can’t find anything when I go out shopping today.
Step four: mood lighting. I select my favourite candles and arrange them artfully around my bed. I light them and step back to admire my work. They only need a few adjustments, which I make before blowing them out.
And finally, step five: sex stuff.
An hour’s worth of browsing and careful note taking gives me a decent list of every first timer’s needs. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to find a vibrating penis ring—whatever that is—at the local drugstore. This will require a field trip.
The nearest adult store is only fifteen minutes away and has received several positive reviews according to Yelp. I scan over my list one last time and try calling Dally again. Voicemail.
‘I’m going shopping really fast. I’ll have my phone on though.’
It’s difficult to decide which trip to make first. I’m sitting in the Camaro, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel when Maya calls.
‘Hi,’ she chirps. ‘I’m here to be the annoying, nosy friend who lied about not wanting all the gory details.’
‘No gory details. Sorry.’
‘What?’
‘My v-card is still safely tucked behind my driver’s licence.’
‘What happened?’
‘Let’s see … Tom and I went to Lou’s and hung out with some of his friends. Robin the douchette was there
. Somehow I convinced Tom that doing tequila body shots off me was a good idea. We were just starting to get somewhere when Dally showed up, punched Tom in the face, and dragged me out.’
‘No way—’
‘Yes way. I guess one of his buddies from work was at the bar and sent him a video of me.’
Maya’s laughing so hard I’m sure there are tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Oh my God, Catherine. Your love life sucks. You can’t make this stuff up!’
I let her enjoy herself for a moment before clearing my throat. ‘Maya, while I enjoy listening to you mock my inability to get laid, I wasn’t done.’
‘What could you possibly tell me to improve on that story?’
‘Dally said yes.’
Crickets. Big, fat, successful crickets who are leading the Hallelujah chorus.
‘He—he said yes?’ she repeats in amazement.
‘He did.’
‘Dallas said yes?’
‘Mhmm.’
The Hallelujah chorus blasts to the heavens.
I love how she determines the next most important question. ‘When?’
‘I’m shooting for tonight.’
‘Do you need my help?’
I look over at my purse. My list is inside, a secret, hidden treasure trove of carnal delights. ‘Nope. I’ve got it all covered. But I’ve got to go to the store. You know, one of the adult ones.’
‘You do?’ She sounds concerned. ‘What is he planning on doing to you?’
‘Oh, he hasn’t planned anything. But there’s a few things I want to pick up.’
‘Cat, you might want to check with him—’
‘I’ve got to hurry before he gets back,’ I quickly interrupt, starting Old Blue. ‘So I’ll talk to you later about how it all goes, ’kay? Bye!’
I hang up and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. My phone starts ringing. Maya. I send her to voicemail. I’m starting to pull out of the driveway when my phone rings again.
‘Oh, for the love of Pete,’ I gripe. I send her voicemail again, but also mute my phone. There. Now there won’t be any interruptions.
Torn between my two shopping choices, I decide to start with the groceries. There’s no way I’m going to leave my adult store purchases waiting in the car, even if I hide them under the extra beach towel I brought and threw in the back seat for that reason alone.