Very Bad Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  My breath whooshed out, imagining him showing this picture to Mila or Sebastian or Leo. I leaned my head back against the car seat, concentrating on breathing evenly, praying they wouldn’t notice my freak out.

  After a few minutes, we arrived at Emma’s, and Sebastian dropped us at the door and went in search of decent parking for his car.

  On the stone steps of the porch, Mila and I were greeted by a blue-and-orange banner that said Briarcrest Academy Senior Class Rocks! We smirked at each other and opened the ornate glass doors and walked into a madhouse. Music blared, bodies gyrated, and alcohol flowed freely. Several couples kissed and groped each other around the room, and if the gossip was right, then some would end up in the bedrooms upstairs. It was a known fact that Emma’s parents were notoriously lenient, even staying in a hotel so she could host parties. Just another reason she was popular.

  Cuba waved us over when we walked in, so Mila and I headed his way. He was sitting on a couch with a girl in his lap that I recognized from the dance team. I cocked a smile at him and raised my brows at his date. He shrugged his shoulders in a way that had meh written all over it. Huh. Did that mean they weren’t together?

  One of Mila’s friends stopped her, but I kept going. Sex was on my mind, and Cuba was in my sights. First, I had to get this flirting thing down. It had come easily with Leo, but with Cuba it required work.

  I reached the couch and plopped down beside him as gracefully as I could in my dress. He grinned and dance girl studied me from her perch. She had short blonde hair with streaks of pink, which made me think she liked to have fun. Her brown eyes looked a bit glazed as if she’d had a few drinks already. But the one thing that really caught my eye was the football jersey she had on. And if I had to make a guess, I’d say it was Cuba’s. Damn.

  “There she is,” he said, running his golden eyes over my dress. “Are you ready to party?”

  “Are you?” I replied, subtly checking out his well-defined arms in his tight designer shirt. He saw my gaze though and lifted his arm and flexed, showing me his ripped muscles. He gave me a suggestive look. “Anything else you wanna see? I’ve been told I look good naked.”

  I blinked, feeling confused. Dance girl was right there.

  Dance girl looked away, her expression seeming unconcerned with Cuba’s attentions.

  A waiter walked by with a tray of shooters. Glad for the distraction, I grabbed two, dance girl grabbed two, and Cuba took the whole tray. We chuckled as the waiter took one look at Cuba’s girth and backed away.

  I smiled and took the tray from him, sitting it in my lap. “Just what the doctor ordered,” I said, counting out twenty-one lemon drop shots in my head. “That’s seven a piece, guys,” I told them, dividing them out on the tray. The tart scent of lemons hit me as I took five of mine, one after the other, shuddering after each one.

  “Yeah!” I called out, tossing the last empty glass to the floor, smiling as they clinked together. These were way better than the vodka.

  “Whoa,” dance girl squealed. “You’re nothing like I thought.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pleased.

  As she took a shot, I checked out dance girl some more.

  I made eye contact. “Hi. I don’t think we know each other? I’m Nora Blakely, sometimes referred to as the smartest kid at BA, although I’m not. That particular crown belongs to Drew Mansfield, the jerk that dumped me last year . . . but I digress . . . who are you?”

  She smiled. “I’m Bridget. And I know who you are. I voted for you last year for class president. I can’t stand Emma Eason, and you seemed nice. Cuba says you’re pretty cool,” she said, tossing one back.

  I grinned widely. “You’re not part of the Emma fan club?”

  She laughed hard, like I’d just told the best joke ever. “Nope. She fucked my boyfriend freshman year, so yeah, I can’t stand her. I’m only here for the free booze and for Cuba, of course.”

  My eyes went back and forth between them, trying to figure out if they were friends or lovers. She was sitting in his lap, looking all cozy. Yet, he was staring at me like I was his favorite dessert. I sighed. I wanted them to be friends, like I was with Sebastian; I wanted Cuba to be mine tonight.

  “Bridget is a pretty name,” I commented, while Cuba leaned back and seemed to watch our bonding with bemusement. “So, let me ask you: how do you spell Bridget? Do you use a fancy spelling, like the French version, B-r-i-d-g-e-t-t-e? Please, tell me you don’t. If you do that’s fine, but I met this one girl tonight. She’s Tiffani-with-an-i, and she’s dating this guy I know and she’s a . . . well, I haven’t exactly decided what she is yet, but I will.”

  “No, silly, I spell it the regular way,” she slurred, slapping me on the arm, like we were friends already.

  She took another shot and let out a big belch. I laughed, fascinated by her carefree spirit. I bet Bridget had a ton of happy stories.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she asked, snickering into her glass.

  “Have we ever had a class together?” I asked, curious about her.

  “Please. I barely pass the classes I have now, and you’re in like all the AP courses, so no,” she said, giggling, which didn’t make much sense, but I guess when you’re drunk, everything’s funny.

  “How many have you had?” I said, giggling along with her.

  She never answered; she leaned her head back on Cuba’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Bridget, without the fancy spelling, was out.

  “She’s had way too many,” Cuba told me, easing his arm around her so she wouldn’t slip off.

  “Are you with her?” I asked, the alcohol making my tongue loose.

  “Yeah,” he shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. If you want me, I’m yours.”

  What? But, but what about Bridget I wanted to yell at him! She’s his girl tonight and a potential new friend to me. And wasn’t she wearing his jersey? Yes, yes, and yes. I sighed with disappointment. “No thanks,” I said and stood up, weaving from the quick movement.

  “Wait a minute, Nora,” he said, easing Bridget from his lap and propping her up against the other side of the couch. He grasped my hand and pulled me back down until I was pressed tight against his side. And it wasn’t unpleasant. His body was hard and muscled from playing football and he smelled delicious, the spicy scent of his cologne teasing my nose. He took my leg and pulled it up onto his, until I was facing and half-way straddling him. If anyone looked, they would have seen my underwear. I didn’t stop him.

  “I want you tonight,” he said, rubbing my exposed thigh, his nose running up my neck. “Bridget and I aren’t exclusive, and she doesn’t mind sharing . . . or watching if you want.”

  “I see.” No, I didn’t. Not really.

  I suddenly felt hot and sticky, and my head had started to hurt a little, maybe because my woozy brain was having a hard time processing his words. Why had I killed all those shots? “Cuba, I’m afraid you’ll need to tell it to me straight, because it’s possible I’m hallucinating here. Are you suggesting you actually be with us both . . . like a threesome?” I said, whispering out the last part.

  He chuckled at my lowered voice. “Tonight it could just be me and you. Maybe if she sobers up, we’ll invite Bridget?”

  I spent several seconds in a daze, looking him over, absorbing his unruly black hair, the caramel complexion, and those beautiful eyes. And somewhere in the middle of gazing into his eyes, I imagined I saw a similar sadness in his, much like my own reflected back at me. Who was this guy? Maybe he had dark secrets, too? The kind that could destroy him if anyone found out?

  I separated my eyes from his, thinking about his naughty suggestion. A truly bad girl would jump at the chance to be with a guy and a girl at the same time. It was just an extra body, right? I squinted at him, my brain analyzing how it would work, trying to picture whose arm would go here and whose leg would go there. Who got to have sex first? What would the extra person do while the other two were busy? Maybe do a critique?

  It
was a lot to think about.

  And Cuba. No doubt about it, he was incredibly handsome. Even though he had a giant-ass ego, I sincerely liked him. But was it enough to be with someone who wanted another person to join in?

  Why was I waffling? Isn’t this what I wanted? To destroy perfect Nora?

  “Let’s go find an empty room,” he said in a husky voice, his thumb rubbing little circles over and over on my bare shoulder. “You won’t regret it, babe,” he whispered, the yellow of his gaze mesmerizing me, reminding me of a calico cat I’d had once.

  I’d loved that cat.

  You know, everyone has a little voice inside them that whispers advice, and my internal whisperer-person, whom I pictured as a cooler me in black leather pants and riding a Harley, was letting me have it. Sometimes I get distracted and don’t heed that voice. But now, I listened to that tough bitch on the motorcycle. I listened to my gut.

  I sighed regretfully. “I will never share my man.”

  He gave me a smoldering look, unfazed. “Is that so?”

  “I want all the attention,” I said softly, not able to resist brushing his hair off his face. He caught my hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed my palm. He took my index finger, put it in his mouth, and sucked. I shivered. He wasn’t Leo, and he didn’t make my heart race, but he was extremely easy to look at.

  But, it didn’t feel right sitting on him and gazing into his eyes when I’d been kissing Leo just a couple of hours ago.

  I wanted to want Cuba. And it pissed me off that I didn’t.

  “Nora!” Sebastian said from across the room, interrupting my thoughts and stomping over to us. He glared at me sprawled out on Cuba and then at all the empty shooter glasses scattered on the floor. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. Like he was the boss of me.

  “Here I am.”

  “So, I see,” he said, scowling at Cuba. He stuck out his hand to help me up. “Come on, let’s head outside to the pool and get some air.”

  I ignored his hand and picked up another shot from the tray and tossed it down. I got up and looked back at Cuba. “Someday, I’m going to be first.”

  He shrugged like he’d already forgotten me. “If you change your mind, babe, let me know.”

  Sebastian and I walked toward the patio door, and he tried to take my elbow, but I snatched it back. “What’s your deal?” I slurred.

  “Cuba was hitting on you, and I didn’t like it.”

  “Why? I thought he was your friend?”

  “You are, too. Look, he has a bad reputation when it comes to girls. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Sebastian. Just a good time. And, I don’t need a guard dog,” I said in a huff.

  Outside, I heard someone yelling my name and turned to see a group of senior girls I knew from the yearbook staff. Not seeing Emma or April in their vicinity, I left a sullen Sebastian standing there and walked over.

  I joined their group and in fake-girl fashion, they proceeded to tell me how fabulous my hair was and how they adored my dress and shoes. When in reality, they probably thought my dress was hideous and my hair trashy. Every Parkie girl grows up knowing that if you want to fit in, you gotta smile and lie your ass off. Yet the alcohol must have kicked in, because I half-way believed what they said.

  One of them asked, “Why did you go off at registration?”

  “Oh, you know, I just wanted to be a rebel and rock the system a little,” I replied, pumping my fist in the air. Total lie.

  “Well, it made an impression on someone in particular,” she said, cutting her glance toward a group of guys. When I looked confused, she elaborated by whispering to me, “Matt Dawson. I heard him asking around if you were coming tonight.”

  I looked back at the guys and, sure enough, BA’s quarterback was staring at me with open admiration as he sauntered in our direction.

  “Did he and Emma break up?”

  “Yep, right after you told Emma about April which was hilarious, by the way. She wants him back, of course, I mean, who wouldn’t. He is the quarterback.”

  Matt strolled with confidence over to us like the player he was, and the closer he got, I could see why all the girls chased him. With those velvety brown eyes and sexy grin, he was a heartbreaker.

  “Hey, Nora, you wanna dance?” he said, putting his arm around me. The smell of sweat and alcohol assailed my nose and the word no was on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered Leo and how he had Tiffany.

  “Sure. Come on,” I said, inviting the other girls out with us, not quite ready to be alone with him. I’d just walked away from Cuba. Was I ready to jump right back in?

  The DJ was playing some old school Beastie Boys, and we danced on the makeshift dance floor Emma had set up, complete with blinking strobe lights and colored twinkling lights hanging from the trees that surrounded the pool. We stayed out there for almost an hour dancing, and Matt never took his hooded eyes off me. It verged on creepy.

  When a slow song finally came on, he grabbed my hips and pulled me close. I wrapped my arms around his neck and saw Sebastian staring at me while he danced with a girl from BA. I forgot my earlier irritation and gave him a cocky grin, waiting on his leer, but he didn’t tease back. He looked at me hard, like he was mad, and then twirled his partner around until his back was to me.

  What the hell? Did both of the Tate boys need meds for their mercurial moods?

  “Sebastian says you’re in a band with him? Girls in bands are hot,” Matt said in my ear, steering me away from the dance floor and over to a grove of trees near the side of the house. I tried to lead him back to the dance floor, but he stumbled and crushed my toes. I gave in and let him lead.

  “Um, I’m not actually in the band. There’s a friend in the band I’m helping learn some new music. That’s all,” I told him absently, looking around the deserted yard, pissed at myself for letting him maneuver me out here. “Hey, don’t you think we should go back to the patio. I can barely hear the music out here.”

  He grinned. “I’ll sing for you,” he said and started moaning the words to Marvin Gaye’s song “Let’s Get It On” in my ear. Seriously. Matt was lame.

  I rolled my eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you mad at me for ratting on you about April?”

  “No,” he murmured, leaning down to lick a spot near my ear. I stiffened and shifted, trying to avoid him.

  The song ended, and I was almost twitching with the need to get away from him. Not only was he coming on too strong, but he reeked of beer.

  “Let’s stay here,” he demanded, pushing me up against a tree, making me feel claustrophobic.

  “I need another drink first,” I squeaked out, jerking back from him and breathing heavily. A prickle of fear rippled over my body.

  He captured my arm and pulled me back, pinning me tighter against the tree. He rocked his hips into mine and leaned down to kiss my neck as I struggled to slide away, but he’d locked his arms, holding me hostage.

  “Let me go,” I wheezed, fighting against his restraint, but I wasn’t strong enough. I’d never been strong enough. I twisted in his arms, the effort making me pant. Dark and vicious memories filtered into my head, reminding me how I’d given in before. How no one would ever love me if they knew.

  I would die before I let new memories in.

  He grinned, ignoring me. “Chill out. I know your type. All nice and quiet, but freaky underneath that up-tight exterior.” He tried to kiss me on the lips, but I spun my face away, and he laughed. “You wanna play hard to get?” he murmured, his hand reaching up to hold my face still.

  I spat in his face and glared at him, welcoming the fury that now coursed through my body, overtaking the fear and refusing to let this happen to me.

  He blinked and reached up to wipe away the spit, giving me just enough room to raise my leg and knee him hard in the crotch. He yelped out and collapsed to the ground with his legs bent up around his wa
ist.

  “What the hell, Nora?” he gasped out. “I wasn’t gonna do anything! I was just playing around!”

  My entire body shook. My hands, my arms, my legs, and even my face felt like it was vibrating. I wanted to jump on his prone body and tear him to bits; I wanted to take my fists and slam them down over and over against his face; I wanted to make him hurt like I’d been hurt so many times. Instead, I bent over, closed my eyes and dragged in deep gulps of air.

  He moaned and sat up, peering up at me with rage. I didn’t care. My rage was bigger than his. “If you ever come near me again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me? I’m not afraid of you,” I bit out.

  I’d faced worse evil than quarterback Matt Dawson.

  I left him there and ran for the patio, anxious to leave this house that reminded me too much of my own. I found Mila by the pool, surrounded by friends. I tried to explain why I was ready to go without saying too much when she announced, “Trouble at two o’clock. Evil bitch and copycat cohort arriving in three, two, one . . . annnd . . .they’re here.”

  Emma and April planted themselves in front of me. Shit. When would this night be over?

  Getting straight to it, Emma pointed her finger in my face. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you dancing with my boyfriend?”

  I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “No one wants your boyfriend but you. Oh, and April here,” I smirked.

  “You broke us up, skank! You lied about him and April. Matt and I have been together for years, and no freak-of-nature brainiac is going to take him away from me,” she snapped.

  I shook my head in disgust. I never wanted to be near Matt Dawson again. I just wanted to leave this fucked-up party and never come back to this house.

  “What? Nothing to say to me, Nora?” Emma said and nudged April, “Look, the bee girl is out of words.”

  Something about Emma truly frightened me. Always had. Maybe that was part of the reason I’d always let her push me around. And as I stared at her, I realized why. She reminded me of Mother with her skillful sarcasm and scathing cut-downs. Both of them were snakes, cold-blooded and masters at spotting weaknesses in opponents, which they’d use to plan nasty attacks.