by Jay McLean
“Seriously,” I push him away. “I’m not in the mood. Go home. Double check the paper.”
“I’ll get you in the mood.” He tugs me back into his arms. “Come on. Don’t be mad.”
I brace my arms against his chest, keep him at arm’s length. “What happened? You strike out?”
Liam pulls his chin back. His arms relax as he ends his pursuit. “Huh. That’s not like you, Brooke.
“What’s like me?” Pushover? Idiot?
He tilts his head. “I thought you knew you’re the girl I will always come home to.”
I look away. He grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “You know what we have is permanent. You’re mine.”
But you are not mine. Not yet.
Will he ever be? Really?
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But let’s give it a rest tonight.”
He kisses my forehead and smiles a touch too smugly as he nods, like it was his idea all along to cool it for the night. Suddenly I am glad he is heading out to his folks’ condo for spring break. Going to spend time with a mom and dad that I have never been introduced to, though I heard through the rumor mill they were rather smitten by Carrie. She made quite an impression over Christmas. And yet, not enough for Liam to stick with her. Maybe what he said is true. He is waiting for the right time to present me to the world. But what is he afraid of? If anything?
Why I am doing this? What am I getting out of it? He makes my heart flip. Makes my toes curl, but maybe that’s just all in my head. He frustrates me too…
I punch the couch cushion, then crush my nose into its course fullness. The tough fabric pulls me away from any thought of tears.
He hasn’t gone down on me in almost half a year.
I have to face it: He doesn’t give a fuck about me.
******
“Pucker up.” Dex hovers an inch away from my mouth, lipstick unsheathed and poised for application. I tilt my head up obediently and he applies a frosty plum touchup to my lips. “There you go!”
We wait outside a tent-slash-rave, set up for spring breakers. Two of the top ten DJs are already playing inside. I hear the whistles and screams mixing in with the staccato music. It energizes my body so that for a minute--well maybe a half-second--I forget that I disobeyed Liam. I’m right in the heart of the partying crowd. We’re moving back and forth through the line, as the ushers wave us through. This is because of Dex. He seems to make friends instantaneously. Everyone loves him. I look at his long pink rattail extension and can’t help but think of my mom’s college pictures, but I’d never say anything. He’d probably laugh anyway.
Another barrier is lifted as Dex, Rickie and I scoot through. We’re almost at the entrance. I take off my blue, open-toed high heels to shake out the white sand. Now we are standing on concrete. Laser lights escape the white tent’s opening and cast beams upon the palm trees and crashing white tide. The air is a touch brisk--cold enough to make me uncomfortably aware I’m braless. Rickie lent me a gorgeous strapless mini-dress with cobalt blue and hot pink rhinestones.
I watch the lights playing over the translucent canvas as Dex snuggles up to the last usher. I catch him giving the guy deep tongue. Nothing down low about that. When Dex steps back, the man has wood that no jacket can cover up completely. Dex’s smile is broad. “Going to meet up with that club later,” he promises as we finally pass into the tent.
The place is afire with orange and yellow lights and LED fire torches. The music is nearly overwhelming. Within three minutes Dex has gotten us comp drinks from the bar. I down mine and wrestle away any last misgivings.
I feel hot eyes on me. That’s a first. Finally. Maybe contacts really do make a difference. Small wonder Liam insisted I never wear them. But I am wearing them. Errr…I mean one. One contact actually. Mono-vision it’s called. One unaltered eye for (very) near focus, the other equipped with a contact for distance. Combined, mono-vision works but makes me a teensy bit dizzy.
Well, I don’t give a fuck about a little vertigo.
I look better than ever. Dex has transformed me into a goddess. I look gorgeous.
And I am ready to party.
Dex hands me a shot, followed by another, this one florescent yellow. What it is, I can only guess, but I don’t care. I’ve spent twenty-four painful hours in a cramped car, trying to psych myself up for this week. I’ve talked myself into defying Liam--something that was much harder than I realized it would be at first.
Rickie pulls me onto the dance floor. I feel more eyes following us. She comes up close to me and rubs her body against mine. I feel her breasts pass over my ribs and my stomach tightens with uninhibited excitement. Before I know it, her breasts are rubbing mine and her tongue is in my mouth.
Evil Angel pours from her mouth into mine. Taken by surprise, I almost dribble it out. Like that was some sort of invitation, six guys crowd us. Rickie winks at me and raises her hands and turns from me to dance with the guys next to her. I shrug and do the same until one grabs my crotch. Too fast for me, thanks. Already stroking another girl’s ass, he doesn’t seem to mind my shocked stare.
I burn a straight path to the bathroom, grabbing a Lemon Drop from Dex as I pass him. Once in the bathroom, I fan my face. I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. I never knew my eyes were so large. My irises look like gold instead of plain hazel.
Two girls in matching black crop tops that show off the colorful phat tattoo lines on their chests and arms are sharing a mod. “Want a hit?” one asks me. She flicks her long braid over her shoulder.
I hesitate. The vapor smells pretty sweet.
“Relax. It’s fruity,” the other assures me.
I smile then grab the mod, hit the button and inhale. It bubbles as an explosion of thick fruity liquid bursts on the roof of my mouth.
“Plus a little something extra,” the first girl adds with a snort.
I feel my mouth stretch into a ridiculously large grin. “Nice juice.”
“Fucking yeah,” the girl with the braid puts her arm over my shoulder. “This kick’s only found on Port A. Arnold’s mix. Sixty a bottle.”
I nod, act impressed, play along with the Lara Croft twins, not understanding too much, but my head feels pretty good. Just that one kick has brought me up a level and makes me more alert. Ready to party hard. Very hard.
Each girl grabs one of my elbows. “Come meet Arnold.”
“The Arnold?” I ask, giddy, encouraging them. “Wait.” I break away to drink half my Lemon Drop then offer the rest to them. They drain it, then proceed to usher me from the bathroom.
The world is bright. The laser lights are amazing. Wonderful. I feel free and happy. Thoughts of Liam are almost forgotten. Almost.
“Arnold!” Braid girl waves to a skinny, grizzly man in a denim jacket too hot for this weather. There is a whole group of vaping enthusiasts in the far corner of the makeshift bar. I saunter over with the girls, feeling like my movements are as graceful as a ballerina’s. What was that extra “kick” braid girl mentioned…?
I pass into the thick fog of vapor that quickly dissipates but not before a guy welding the Great Hookah of a mod blows water-smoke directly into my path.
“Crap.” I stagger backward, my contact filming over. There is no heat, no pain. But I reflexively rub my eye, forgetting my new glitter nails, and feel the contact tear. Damn it.
Blinking painfully I beg my eyes not to spring wet tears that will run my mascara. With my nail tips I peel the pitiful rubbery sheath off my iris. Destroyed. Beyond, the world is one big blurry blob.
I move my head. I might as well be blind. There is no way I can find my friends like this. Everything is dark and white, orange and yellow. “Dex? Rickie?” I call out.
A hand slides down my arm and grasps my palm. Fingers intertwine with mine. “You okay?”
The voice is pleasant and deep--in sharp contrast with the suddenly jarring music. The hand is large, gentle and warm. His fingers aren’t digging into the back of my hand, aren’t for
cing me to do anything. I feel strangely safe. This freaks me out.
I snatch my hand from his. “I’m fine.”
His fingers gently caress upward against my forearm until they grasp the crook of my elbow. I shiver, a faint tingle awaking my body. “Let’s get you some air. Can you see at all?”
I swallow. Finally, I shake my head. “Hardly.”
This stranger guides me through the throng of dancing, bumping and grinding spring breakers until we are outside in the night air, the music muffled behind us, the sound of revving car engines crackling the air.
“Do you have a contact case?”
“How did you know--?”
“Back up glasses?” Amusement lifts his smooth delivery.
“In my hotel room,” I admit. I nod in what I think is the general direction. “Across the street.” Damn. He might get the wrong idea. Inwardly I shrug, giving up my worries. Isn’t this what I wanted? A taste of something--someone different?
We cross the street. He is as noble as a boy scout guiding an old lady. I give him my room number. He gets me safely to my room and uses my keycard to enter. I think, if he does anything to me, how will I recognize him?
He pulls me into the room. We stop just inside the entrance.
Now what? I wait for lips to bite into mine or a harsh hand to grab my breast. Let’s get this over with.
“Do you remember where you placed your glasses?” he asks patiently.
“Huh?” Oh, glasses. Right. “I think they are in the top drawer.” I squint trying to see what exactly he is doing as he opens the drawer and searches through it. I see a tiny triangle of red cloth ripple over his hands, probably even between his fingers. The red triangle travels upward to his face. I realize that I’ve placed my thongs in the top drawer, too.
“Don’t be a pervert,” I say.
A deep chuckle comes from his direction. “Sorry. Too tempting.” He comes to my side and places the glass case in my hand.
Ready to deride him for his weird fetish and to check his pockets for stolen underwear, I shove my glasses on my nose and glance up at him. I catch my breath.
His body is muscular but broad across the chest. His neck is thick, his chin cleft. Where Liam worships the sun, this guy’s face shows no hint of sunburn. His face is pale but not in an unhealthy way.
He is the opposite of Liam in almost every way.
Everything about him emanates power and intellect--especially his dark eyes. I might have mistaken his intense look for irritation if not for the amused quirk of his lips. “I knew I recognized you.”
“Me?” I practically squeak.
“Yeah.” His smile grows as his eyes travel over my body. “You’re always in a hurry. Head bent down, sprinting from one side of campus to the other.”
My eyes widen. “You go to NXU.”
“Trevor Rankin. Pre-med track.”
“Brooke McMillan. Undecided.”
“You look good tonight, Brooke. Really nice.”
The sincerity in his eyes is unnerving. I blush. “Thanks.”
He leans against the wall, in no hurry to leave. I’m not in a hurry, either. In fact, I’m beginning to like the way he looks at me. As if satisfied with his assessment of me, he pushes away from the wall and grabs the keycard he tossed on the table. He approaches me. My heart begins to race. He raises his hand up to the side of my face and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “There. Perfect.”
His fingertips follow the curve of my jaw and stop at my chin, leaving a tingly trail. He lowers his lip onto mine.
What is this? His lips are soft, warm. No tongue barging into my mouth. No wait…his tongue is in my mouth, entwining seductively with mine. How did he do that? How did I let him?
It feels really good.
His fingers are playing with my hair, smoothing it back. Before I know it, I’m leaning comfortably against the wall, my legs humming with anticipation, my body warm. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my earlobe, his longer fingers caressing the back of my neck and behind my ear. I want to curl up into him somehow. Like he is my favorite cashmere sweater. I grasp the sides of his body and pull him closer. He sighs against my lips.
“That was amazing,” I tell him honestly.
“You are amazing,” he says like he is correcting me. “I wish I could keep you all to myself.”
No. I’m done granting that type of wish. I bit my lip and step to the side.
Undaunted, he grasps my hand. “But you look too pretty to stay locked in a room with just me. Let’s get back.”
I nod, covering my smile by turning toward the door.
*****
“There you are!” Rickie hollers over the music. She gives me a sweaty hug, then turns to the gorgeous guy holding my hand. “Hey, Trevor.”
I dart a look at Trevor and catch an exchange between them. “Hi, Rickie.”
“You know each other?” I practically squeak.
“Yeah,” Rickie shrugs, but there is something mischievous lurking behind her suddenly hooded eyes.
I feel Trevor’s warm lips kiss my forehead. “I’ll get us drinks.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. I doubt he heard me. “How do you know him?” I press Rickie.
“He plays piano in the pit sometimes.” Her smile is dazzling as she looks at me, very pleased. A future doctor and musician for the theater? Oh no, I know that look. Rickie’s had him during one of her bisexual-weekends. I brace for the disappointment. Then I think, what’s to be disappointed about? Maybe she can give me some pointers…
“You know,” she giggles into my ear. “Liam can’t keep you from everyone, no matter how hard he tries.”
“You set this up,” I say, unable to be angry. Trevor’s made me feel things, nice sensations that I want to continue to explore. I feel a sudden tenderness for my cranky housemate. “For me?”
“And for him,” she admits. “He’s been asking about you for a while.”
“So that’s why you were so pushy. You knew Trevor would be here.”
“Yeah,” Rickie says, but her smile slips as she looks past me. “Oh shit. But--But I swear I had no idea he would be here.”
I follow the direction of her eyes and feel the blood drain from my face. Just a few yards away, Liam is staring at us. His expression is ugly. His eyes are burning lasers into mine and his lips are pulled back into a sneer of rage. Terrifying. My first impulse is to run. I do.
Straight for the door and fresh air. Three hops out into the air, I feel Liam’s fingers gouge into my upper arm and snap me backward. I fall, my shoulder hitting his chest. He spins me around.
“What are you doing here?’ he demands.
“Rickie invited me,” I stammer, buying time, knowing what he will accuse me of next.
“You lied to me,” he says.
“I didn’t mean to,” I explain. He looks so angry, I lose my nerve. I pull my arm away from him and cross my arms over my chest. I rub the sore spot his harsh grip has left behind.
“Why are you here?” I counter weakly. “I thought you would be at your condo, with Carrie.”
“I broke up with her,” he says like an accusation at me. The ridiculousness of his position--no, my position--squeezes a bitter laugh from my lips.
“I’m here with Heather.”
“Oh,” My heart sags. Heather. He’s back with his second girlfriend. His second legit girlfriend at college. I was with him longer than all of them put together. But I don’t count.
“Just get away from me, Liam,” I whisper, looking down at my glittery toenails. I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Let me have my space.”
Liam grasps me by the shoulders and gives me a harsh shake. My head snaps back and I focus on his burning irises. “This enough space for you?”
His kiss is harsh, dominating. A punishment. I don’t like it. Yeah. Suddenly, comparing it to Trevor’s gentle strokes, I realize…
I really do not like it.
I push him away from me and wipe
my lips with the back of my hand.
“Liam, what is going on?” a feminine voice says behind us.
I turn around. Heather is standing just beyond the waiting line. I take in her pensive expression. She has no idea who I am. I should introduce myself. Hi, I am the moron sucking and fucking so you don’t have to.
I take a step toward her. From the entrance, where fog and laser light is spewing, Rickie emerges. She seems about to collapse with relief.
“Thank God,” she cries and rushes past Heather.
I take another step but Liam brushes me aside.
“Liam?” Heather says again, her eyes growing larger.
He reaches Heather and hangs an arm over her shoulders, draws her close. “Nothing for you to worry about.” He lowers his voice. “Drunk slut’s been clinging to the group all night. Getting her a taxi.”
“You asshole,” Rickie grinds out, but Liam is already ushering Heather through the door.
“You’re such a good guy,” Heather tells him.
Trevor appears in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the canvas opening.
“No, Heather,” Rickie hollers to the sky in frustration. “He is not a nice guy. He is such a big asshole!!”
With a wary expression on his face, Trevor saunters over and hands me my drink. “What was that about?” he asks, searching my face.
“Nothing.” I take a big gulp.
“Nothing?” Rickie fumes. “He just called Brooke a slut.”
Trevor visibly tenses. A tick appears on his cheek as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. “You okay?” he asks hoarsely.
I shake my head. Laugh uneasily. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
In the next moment, I am pressed against Trevor’s chest, and I almost spill my drink. His arms pull me in tightly, hold me close. I feel safe again; this indescribable relief pours over me like my life has changed for the better.
I should feel lost. I should feel afraid that Liam will never speak to me again. Or that he will destroy my life. But I don’t.
“Fucker,” Rickie hisses a second before Trevor steps away from me.
The brisk air fills the space between us. Liam is right behind us, his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. He looks like he wants to kill someone. I should have known he wasn’t done with punishing me.