James: A College Girl Romance

by Sheila Grace

I edged past her and walked down the hall to Vicki’s room. Club music was thumping from her computer, and Vicki immediately jumped up from where she had been doing her makeup and squeaked at me.

  “You look great!” she said.

  “You, too!”

  When she saw the makeup bag I was carrying, her eyes widened.

  “No offense, Cass, but that’s not your normal drugstore crap. Where’d you get it?”

  I shrugged.

  “Impulse purchase at the mall on the way back from work.”

  This, of course, was a total lie, but it was better than admitting that I had briefly entered into a money-for-not-quite-sex arrangement with some guy I had met while working at a strip club I was never going to tell anyone about. Vick dragged me over to her desk, and I took my place at her desk chair as she began unscrewing the lids on various powders.

  “Just don’t go too crazy, okay?” I smiled.

  “You worry too much.”

  I smirked and then closed my eyes as she advanced on me with a brush.

  “So, where are we going tonight?” I asked.

  “I was thinking The Junction,” she responded casually.

  Of course. The same club where she had met Justin. It was a meat market, but the music was usually pretty decent. It was a half hour away, smack in the middle of the state capital, which meant parking was terrible.

  “Okay. I’ll drive,” I said, knowing I wasn’t going to drink.

  “You’re the best, Cass.”

  I smiled, but it wasn’t pure altruism on my part. The last thing I needed right now was to be anything less than sober in a club full horny jackasses. Besides, Vicki was the one who had just gone through a break-up. My thing—whatever it had been—with James McDevitt hadn’t been a relationship; it had been a mistake. Within a few minutes, Vicki released me. When I opened my eyes, she held up a compact.

  “You look awesome, if I do say so myself. I love that top, by the way.”

  I looked down at the turquoise halter top. Another style selection courtesy of James McDevitt.

  “Thanks. Are you all set?” I asked as I patted my pockets for my cash, ID, and lip gloss.

  “Hells yes! Let’s go out and find some guys!” Vicki squeaked.

  I smiled. Oh, yeah. This was going to be a long night.

  By the time we got through the line and into the club, the ground floor was packed. Pink and purple lights flashed from the ceiling, and music seemed to permeate every inch of the venue.

  “You want a drink?” Vicki screamed over the music.

  “Water!”

  I didn’t drink—at all—if I was the one driving. I had seen too many accidents and DUIs on the stretch of freeway between Fantasy Land and school. Agreeing to be some rich guy’s plaything for the summer was one thing. Killing someone in an accident because I couldn’t abstain from drinking for one night was one risk I wasn’t willing to take.

  I watched Vicki disappear into the crush of people waiting at the bar, which was situated between a row of booths along one wall and the downstairs dance floor. Scanning for an empty table, I walked the length of the bar. No luck. Just as I was about to walk the perimeter of the dance floor, a hand grabbed mine. Someone’s mouth brushed my ear.

  “Buy you a drink?” a male voice roared.

  I pulled away and looked at the guy who was still holding my hand.

  “No thanks.”

  He didn’t let go.

  “Why not, sweetie?”

  Sweetie? Yuck. I hated the ones who couldn’t take the hint.

  “I’m DD tonight …”

  He laughed like I had said something hilarious, and I thought, Fuck it. Why the hell did I need to explain myself? I yanked my arm out of his grip and tried to disappear into the crowd. I made a few more passes around the bar before I finally found Vicki talking to some guy.

  Come on, Vick, I pleaded silently, don’t leave me here alone.

  My silent plea was answered when she turned and waved. She came over and handed me a cup with water.

  “Free drinks,” she laughed.

  Great. With my luck, some guy was going to be following her around all night hoping to get laid. And no sooner had I thought it, a guy with the spray tan and side-part sidled up to Vicki and put his arm around her waist.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asked her like I wasn’t standing right there.

  “That’s Cassie,” Vicki giggled.

  He stuck out his hand.

  “Max.”

  I shook his hand reluctantly just as someone’s arm slipped around my waist.

  “Who are these two lovely ladies?”

  I looked over and saw another guy who looked like he had been pulled right out of a reality show where all the guys thought they were hot shit. Guys who thought they looked like James McDevitt and had egos to match. I looked down at my phone, praying for a text from James. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “This is Vicki, and this is Cassie,” Max said—if Max was even his real name.

  The other guy held out his hand.

  “I’m Mark.”

  “Cass.”

  I shook his hand and pulled away as fast as possible. Vicki could do whatever she wanted, but I was not going to hook up with some random guy just because she wanted to do a rebound tour. When Mark leaned toward me, I got a whiff of Cosmos and cigarettes.

  “You want another vodka?” he asked hopefully.

  “No thanks.”

  Taking a sip of water, I looked around the club. Then I turned back to Vicki, who was giggling at something Max was saying.

  “Vick! I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  She nodded and turned back to Max. The bathrooms were at the back of the club, so I chugged my water and found the trash can closest to the bar before diving back into the crowd and slowly making my way to the back. With any luck, slimy guy number two would take off and find some easier prey.

  I hadn’t been lying, though. By the time I reached the bathroom, I really had to go, thanks to the ice water. I used the bathroom, reapplied my lip gloss, checked my phone again, and then walked back into the club. Of course, Mark was waiting right outside the women’s bathroom.

  “I thought that was just a line for a second,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  “Nope. I really had to use the bathroom,” I said, smiling thinly.

  “You wanna dance?” he yelled as he pointed toward the dance floor. “Your friend and my buddy are already out there.”

  “I don’t really dance,” I offered lamely.

  “Come on,” he said as he pretended to salsa toward me.

  Finally, I caved and nodded. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor. Vicki was so going to owe me for tonight. This club was just about the last place on Earth I wanted to be right now. I wanted to be at my new apartment, eating a pint of chocolate ice cream, and trying to decide why I couldn’t stop thinking about James McDevitt. Besides, if my chances of meeting a normal guy had been less than zero at Fantasy Land, then they were exactly zero in this place.

  The dance floor was so crowded that dancing wasn’t really a possibility, which was fine. Like I had told my former—psycho—boss at Fantasy Land, I really couldn’t dance. I looked over at Vicki, who already had a new drink in her hand. At least she was having a great time. She gave me a thumbs-up sign with her free hand.

  I looked back at the Mark guy, who was clearly trying to put on his sexiest expression, which looked more like he was constipated. Just as long as he didn’t think I was going to hook up with him, then I was fine. When the next song started, I smiled and began dancing more enthusiastically.

  Obviously taking my sudden change in mood for something that had to do with him, my dance partner grabbed my waist and spun me around so that he was behind me. His hands latched tightly onto my hips, and before I could pull away, he started grinding against me.

  Really? I was done. No more. I could only go so far for Vicki. If she drank too
much, I’d hold her hair back while she puked—but I wasn’t hooking up with this jackass.

  I tried to break free of his grip and then shook my head when I couldn’t get loose. He just ground himself even more against my ass. My only consolation was that I was wearing pants and not the schoolgirl outfit from Fantasy Land. I shuddered at the thought.

  A second later, he abruptly released me, and I glanced behind me. Mark was staring up at someone. When I looked past him, my jaw dropped at the sight of James McDevitt, who was sporting a five o’clock shadow and towering over my dance partner. James stepped around him and held out his hand. I blinked, took his hand, and let him lead me off the dance floor.

  He walked straight to the VIP section in the back. After gesturing for me to slide into a booth, he sat across from me. I looked around nervously, waiting for someone to come kick us out. Then a server arrived with a lowball filled with amber liquid and a flute of champagne.

  “How the hell did you know I was here?” I demanded.

  “I had Irving put a GPS tracker on your phone,” James said calmly, causing my jaw to drop—again. “There I was sitting in the airport waiting for a flight to Hong Kong when I saw you had arrived at the sleaziest club within a fifty-mile radius of your university. It’s a ten-minute drive from the airport to here.”

  I stared at him.

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  He shook his head.

  “What the hell?” I snapped. “Earlier today you couldn’t wait to drop me off and get rid of—”

  “That was your decision, not mine, lovely. I merely acquiesced without a fight if I remember correctly.”

  He reached over and picked up the lowball as I continued staring stupidly at him.

  “But you said your father—”

  “Was the Devil himself?” James finished before sipping the amber-colored alcohol. “I did. And he has all of your information, which means I’ve already put you at risk.”

  I frowned at him.

  “So what? Why the hell should I care that your father knows you pick up women at strip clubs?”

  “Because my father is a man who can make your life a living hell if it suits him.”

  I swallowed.

  “And your solution is to track my every movement?”

  “One of my solutions.”

  “What about all your other strippers slash cocktail waitresses? Do they get the same level of protection?”

  His expression darkened, making my pulse race. As I tried convincing myself that I wasn’t secretly happy he was here, I took out my phone and started scrolling through the apps, half of which I never used. On the third page, I found an inconspicuous app called TrakMe. That sneaky bastard. Matt Irving had seemed so harmless. Cute and harmless. I shook my head again.

  “Hey!”

  We both looked toward the other side of the velvet rope separating the VIP section from the rest of the club. Mark, my suitor from earlier—who had obviously had a couple of shots of liquid courage since I had left him on the dance floor—was pointing at me.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you say you had a boyfriend? I bought you a drink!”

  I was half tempted to argue with him—because he hadn’t bought me shit. Then I remembered that I didn’t owe him anything, even if he had bought me a drink. He was just some asshole who had thought he was going to score an easy hookup because my friend was on the rebound.

  “Stupid bitch!” he wailed.

  James made an inconspicuous hand gesture, and suddenly a burly security guard grabbed the guy under his armpits and started hauling him toward the exit. James looked back at me and shook his head.

  “Was that the usual type you attract?”

  “The crazy loser type? Yeah. Pretty much.”

  Until James McDevitt. He was crazy, but there was no question that he was hotter than hell. He gestured to the glass of champagne, and I shook my head.

  “I can’t. I have to take Vicki home.”

  “Drink up. I’ll take you both home.”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you insane? I can’t leave my car downtown!”

  “I’ll have it brought back to your place.”

  “You have an answer to everything, don’t you?” I asked with a reluctant smile.

  Chapter 10: James

  Generally speaking, I did have an answer to everything. This girl, though—she put me on edge, and I was exceedingly glad I had told Irving to put the tracking app on her phone.

  She attracted trouble like no other—I was proof of that.

  I sat back and contemplated the shitty whisky in front of me. Cass picked up her champagne flute and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled, making me laugh. The alcohol selection here was divided into two groups: shit and shittier.

  Something across the bar suddenly caught her attention, and she jumped up. A second later, she had ducked under the velvet rope and was halfway to the bar before I could catch her. I followed, wondering what sort of trouble she could be sniffing out now.

  By the time I found her, she had her arms around a crying girl with big blue eyes, spectacularly large tits, and a decidedly average face. The girl with the enormous rack was struggling to escape Cass’s grip as two guys a couple of feet away stood nose to nose. More accurately, they would have been nose to nose, if the second guy hadn’t been under five-six.

  The short guy, though, was juicing, no doubt about it. Bulging muscles and veins popping from his arms. Plus, he had that crazy fucking look about him, like he was spoiling for a fight every second of the day. Anabolic steroids would do that to a person.

  The place was packed with people, and security hadn’t figured out they had an imminent problem on their hands. I grabbed Cass around the waist and yanked her backward just as shorty-the-juicer pulled his arm back, catching Cass’s compatriot at the shoulder with his elbow before punching the guy in front of him.

  After that, it was a fucking melee. I managed to scoop up the dazed girl and throw her over my shoulder as I kept my other arm around Cass. Once we reached the street, I set down Cass’s friend’s, whose caterwauling took center stage over the music blaring from inside the club. People spilled out around us, scattering like cockroaches into the night.

  “Vicki! What did you do?” Cass demanded.

  The other girl stopped bawling long enough to stumble a few feet away to puke in the gutter. When Cass rushed over and steadied her, I took the handkerchief from my pocket. Cass smiled wearily as I handed it to her.

  “I-I texted Justin. I didn’t think he would show up. Th-then he was right there when that guy was buying me another drink.”

  “Come on. We’ve gotta get you home,” Cass told her.

  When Cass began pulling her in the opposite direction, I grabbed her hand and whistled at the valet, who recognized me, thanks to the tip I had given him when I had left my car. Seconds later, four security guards burst out of the club carrying the ’roid-addled douchebag. As soon as they dumped him on the curb, he jumped up and saw us at the corner.

  “Vicki! You fucking cunt!”

  He started charging toward us just as the Tesla turned the corner. Cass saw him and froze.

  “Oh my god.”

  “Get in the car. Now!” I ordered.

  The valet left the driver’s door open, and Cass jerked open the back door and pushed her friend in. As soon as Cass was in the passenger seat, I spun around and kicked out, using the juicer’s momentum to send him crashing to the ground. Within seconds, I was behind the wheel, pulling away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, I watched the ape get up run out in the middle of the street.

  “Are you okay?” Cass asked quietly.

  “If that’s the company you keep? Then, no.”

  The girl in the backseat had passed out against the window. I turned to Cass.

  “That was her boyfriend?” I asked icily.

  “Her ex-boyfriend—I hope.”

  “You do realize he’s on steroids, don’t you?”

&nb
sp; Cass was quiet for several seconds as she absorbed this information.

  “Is that why …”

  “He’s built like a gorilla and has a nasty face?” I finished after she trailed off.

  She laughed a little and then stopped.

  “You really think he’s on steroids?” she asked.

  I didn’t think so; I knew it. Bad skin, worse temper, and bulk a guy like him couldn’t put on given eight hours a day in the gym? Classic hallmarks of steroid use.

  “Your friend has poor taste in romantic partners.”

  Cass looked over at me with a wry expression.

  “Ya think?” She glanced in the backseat at her unconscious friend. “And she gives me grief for not having slept with anyone.”

  And thank you, Ms. Flynn, for reminding me how badly I want to fuck you.

  As soon as I hit the freeway, I pressed on the accelerator, absolutely fucking grateful for the technology that allowed this car to silently eat up asphalt without a drop of fossil fuel. I made a mental note to buy more stock.

  “I should really stay with her tonight and make sure she’s okay,” Cass murmured.

  “Absolutely not.”

  She spun toward me.

  “You have less than no right to tell me—”

  “I am not leaving you at that girl’s apartment to wait for her ’roided up boyfriend to knock down the door and leave you as collateral damage. In fact, if you ever think about going to that girl’s apartment unaccompanied, I will—”

  “You’ll what?” Cass snapped.

  “Your judgment can’t be so poor that you think it’s acceptable to put yourself in danger like that again.”

  Yet here she was with me. When I looked over at her, Cass had wilted into the seat.

  “He’s a psychopath, but I can’t leave her alone,” she said with less force.

  “I’ll take care of it. Take my phone and send a text to Irving telling him to reach out to Blake. See if he can arrange for him to meet us at your friend’s apartment. What’s her address?”

  “What? Why? Who is this guy?”

  “A friend who owes me a favor.”

  She picked up my phone and looked over at me.

  “Are you going to give me your pass code?”