by Stacey Lewis
My skin suddenly feels stretched too tight. I need to get away from him before I make a complete fool of myself. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I just realized I told Becca I would meet her to go shopping after class. We’re going to the party at Sigma Phi Saturday night.” It’s not a total lie, we are going shopping. We just made plans to go tomorrow afternoon since we both only have morning classes.
Clay starts to laugh. “You’re going to a frat party?” I roll my eyes, but he continues, saying condescendingly, “Kitty Kat, you don’t fit in with frat boys.” This is the Clay I’m used to, the one I’m comfortable with, the one I hate.
I narrow my eyes and stand. “Thanks, asshole.”
“Wait,” he grabs my hand, stopping me from walking off. I could jerk my hand out of his grasp, and I should, but for some reason I wait to see what he says next. I don’t expect an apology, and it’s a good thing because he sure doesn’t give me one. “I just mean that frat guys are assholes and they’re only looking for a good time.”
“Your point?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
He shrugs, “Just that you’re not a good time girl. You give off an I’m a virgin, buy me a house with a white picket fence, two point five kids and a dog vibe. You’re the type of girl those guys run from.”
I’m so offended, I can only stare at him in disbelief. He goes back to his food, clearly expecting me to relax and sit back down, but I want to punch him in his junk. I would, if I wasn’t afraid to touch what I’m sure is a massive case of crotch rot. And to think just a few minutes ago I thought he was attractive. I should be thanking him for reminding me just why I should never allow myself to be even the least bit attracted to him. He’s the worst kind of asshole.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him, leaning in close. “I’m not a virgin. And, you know what? I’m absolutely down for a good time.” He shakes his head, chuckling, and I. See. Red. Without a thought, I pick up my half-empty milkshake and dump it on his head before turning to leave. I look back just before the restaurant door closes to see Clay staring at me, retribution in his eyes, while chocolate milkshake drips down from his hair onto his face. I smile sweetly as I give him a finger wave. I should give him the finger, but I’m classier than that.
Thirteen
It’s Saturday night. One of two frats on campus, Sigma Phi, is having a party. After this week’s drama, I’m more than ready to chug some beer and tap some ass. Not to mention ignore the fact that Kat said she was going. She and Becca were talking about their outfits outside History of Rock yesterday. I had to resort to running through more football plays to stop myself from getting hard when she was describing what she was planning to wear. I know she was doing it for my benefit considering the way she was looking at me out of the corner of her eye as she was speaking.
As I get out of my car, Liam jogs up to me. “Hey, bruh. Ready to party?” His eyes are already glassy and he smells like he took a bath in a keg.
“First, don’t ever call me bruh again.” A few guys on the team use the word, and I hate it every time. Sounds too much like “bra.”
Liam waves off my statement with a, “Whatever.” As we walk up to the house, he asks, “Did you ever call Marcus back about …?”
I groan, not knowing why this is so important to him. “Not yet. I’m heading to the gym tomorrow. I’ll talk to him more about it then.”
“Man, he really wants to talk to you.” I’m not sure if it’s Marcus wanting to talk to me, or Liam wanting a piece of whatever Marcus wants. Hell, I’m pretty sure I know what Marcus wants. I’ve told him “no” more than once. I’m done fighting for him. I only fight when the situation warrants it. I don’t do that shit for fun.
I shove Liam just as we get to the steps, so hard he stumbles off to the side before muttering, “Dick.” Inside, the living room is full of gyrating bodies. The only good thing about these parties is the number of sorority girls wearing almost no clothes, even though it’s January. Perfect example: Meghan comes bouncing up wearing a skirt so short I know I’ll see her ass cheeks when she turns around.
She hands me a red cup full of brown liquid, then puts her hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she leans up to kiss me. “Hey, sexy,” she purrs against my mouth. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my body. Her skin is bare thanks to the men’s button up dress shirt she’s wearing knotted just below her tits. I wonder briefly who it belongs to because it sure as hell isn’t mine, but decide it doesn’t matter. We aren’t a couple, she can do or wear whatever and whoever she wants.
As soon as the words leave her mouth, she shoves her tongue halfway down my throat. All I can do is kiss her back. When she finally pulls away, I want to ask her what I had for dinner because she should damn well know. She moves to my side, sliding her arm around me and prompting me to move my arm up around her shoulders as we walk through the room. I see a bunch of guys from the football team and Max. I start to approach them, but stop when Meghan’s grip on my shirt tightens. I look over at her and raise a brow in silent question.
“Let’s hang with my friends. They’re right over there,” she points to the opposite side of the room.
The hell? “Okay, go spend time with your friends. Find me later, yeah?” There was no way I was hanging out with her friends tonight. I don’t give a living shit about who’s fucking who, who blew who or who broke up with who. And I certainly don’t want to give my opinion on whether a certain girl is a bitch or not.
Her hand grips my shirt tighter when I try to walk away. When I look back at her, she’s sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. “But baby, I thought you wanted to be with me tonight.”
Great. A clingy non-girlfriend is not what I need. I gently pull her fingers open before stepping farther away. “Meg,” I start and watch her eyes fill with tears. Crap. “Look, you’re a sweet girl,” I cringe, hearing the brush off in my voice and knowing she hears it too, “but I’m not in the market for a girlfriend right now. This,” I gesture between us, “is just supposed to be two people having fun.” I grin at her, trying to soften the blow, but it doesn’t work.
Meghan crosses her arms over her ample chest, and I take a second to mourn the loss of them. I know what needs to happen, and I think I’ll miss her tits more than I’ll miss her. One leg slides out to tap against the floor and her eyes narrow into a glare. Fuck. Me. This, right here, is exactly why I don’t like relationships. If she has a problem, she needs to handle that shit not in a room fucking full of people who are all watching avidly as the drama goes down.
Grabbing her by the arm, I pull her down the hallway and through the first door I see. We stand in a bathroom, one that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since school started in August. It smells like a combination of vomit and piss and it makes me want to throw up. This could work to my favor though, because Meg isn’t going to want to stand here for long. I mentally pat myself on the back for my quick thinking. It’s short-lived because when Meghan starts, she’s not talking, she’s shouting.
“I can’t believe you, Clay Mitchell.” I wince at her use of my first and last names. Whenever my mother or Kat use my full name, I know I’m in trouble. “We’ve been sleeping together for close to six months now! I didn’t put in all this time to be treated like I don’t matter. You can fuck me but you can’t be seen with me at a party?”
Okay, wow. There are so many things wrong with what she just said I don’t even know where to start. “Come on, Meg. Don’t try to make this into something it isn’t. You knew when you got involved with me that I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. I didn’t play you or lead you on, so stop being so damn dramatic.”
Yeah, that was the wrong thing to say.
Meghan’s face turns bright red and now she’s fuming. I should have just kept my mouth shut. Why didn’t I learn from the drama between Max and Kat this week? Oh right, because Meghan is just a fuck buddy! She’s not my best friend who I’ve been leading on and tossing aside.
I hold up both hands between us, tryi
ng to decide what to say to calm her down. “Meg,” I clear my throat, “Meggy, you know I care about you.” Her face clears and her eyes light up. Shit. Abort! Abort! Aw Fuck! “What I mean, is you’re a fucking great friend.” And a great fuck friend. “Believe me, if I was in the market for a relationship, you’d be the first girl I’d call. I’m just not in that place right now.” I cringe at the douche level of the words spilling out of my mouth. I’m screwing this up so bad. I should just stop talking now, but I can’t.
Thankfully, Meghan’s shoulders slump and her bottom lip begins to tremble. I shouldn’t be so relieved at the sight, but at least I know she’s not going to slice my balls off with her fingernails now. “I can’t just be your friend with benefits anymore, Clay,” she whispers dejectedly. “I want more than that.”
How did I miss this? How did I not see she had developed feelings for me? A tear trails down her cheek, and even though I shouldn’t, I pull her close and wrap my arms around her. She lays her head on my shoulder and starts to cry as her arms wrap around my neck. She’s soaking my shirt with her tears, and jerk that I am, I hope she doesn’t cry long. If she gets mascara or snot on my shirt, it’s going to kill my chances of hooking up with anyone else tonight. Yeah, I know, I’m a dick.
She cries softly for just a few minutes before lifting her head and dropping her arms back to her sides. I pull my own out from around her and reach around to grab a tissue. She dabs at her eyes before blowing her nose delicately—I didn’t know that was possible, but it’s the only word I know of that fits the way she just did it. I sneak a look in the mirror at my shirt. It’s not the first time I thank every god I can think of for waterproof mascara. My shirt is a little damp, but that’s the only evidence of Meg’s cryfest. I put my arm around her shoulders and tug her into my side for one more quick hug before pulling open the door so she can walk through. Meg stops, causing me to almost run into her. When I see why, I curse my luck, because who’s standing just outside the door, hand raised to knock? Fucking Kat.
Fourteen
I take a step back when Meghan and Clay open the bathroom door. My first thought is Ew, bathroom sex, but then I see her red, puffy eyes and the streaks on her cheeks. Clay’s eyes are looking everywhere but at me, and since he’s avoiding me, I can’t resist antagonizing him after Meghan squeezes past Becca and me.
“Damn, Clay. Sex with you is making the ladies cry now?” I smirk up at him, but when his eyes finally land on me, I regret saying anything. I thought he was just avoiding meeting my eyes because he was caught having sexy time in the bathroom. That’s not it, though. I don’t know what’s going on, but he looks almost as miserable as Meghan did.
I open my mouth to apologize, though I don’t know why I’m feeling bad for doing exactly what he would do to me. He holds up a hand, effectively shutting me up before he walks away. I’m left staring after him as he heads for the keg across the hall in the kitchen. He grabs a drink, and after chugging it quickly, picks up one of many shot glasses sitting on the counter and slams that back too. Clay disappears soon after that, and Becca leads me over to grab a drink. Drinking isn’t my thing, but I feel off after the non-interaction with Clay, so I accept the lukewarm beer and take a tentative sip.
“Ew.” I push the cup back towards Becca. “This stuff is nasty. Why would anyone drink it?”
She laughs, shaking her head, and refusing to take the liquid back. “Trust me, after you’ve had enough, the taste won’t matter.”
That might be true, but I don’t know how I’m going to get past the awful smell and taste to get to the point where I don’t care anymore. Becca suggests holding my nose and drinking as fast as I can, so I try that. It still isn’t great, but at least I can’t smell it anymore. When the cup is empty, she hands me a new one, then grabs me by the hand and leads me out to the back porch. Thankfully, it’s not as crowded. Inside, the smell of sweaty bodies and a myriad of different perfumes and colognes permeates the air. The music is muted out here, which makes it easier to talk.
“What do you think the deal was with Clay and that girl?” Becca asks, staring through the sliding glass door leading into the living room. I can’t see what she’s looking at since my back is to the door, but I can guess. Clay’s a douchebag, but he’s a hot douchebag. Just because I don’t want anything to do with him—or his junk—doesn’t mean no one else does.
Trying to appear nonchalant, I shrug one shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe he told her about the herpes he passed on to her.”
Becca chokes on her drink at my explanation. “Herpes? You’ve got to be kidding—“ her words are cut off when his voice intrudes.
“Kitty Kat does have quite the sense of humor,” he says sarcastically.
This time, I’m the one who chokes on the nasty beer. I spin around to see him leaning against the open sliding door, one hand hanging loosely where he grips the top of the frame. “Oh shit.” My mind is so muddled that’s the only reply I can get out. Why didn’t Becca tell me he was close?
“I don’t get why you’re so hung up on my sex life, Kat. Are you just jealous? You wish you were Meg? Is that it?” I gape at him as he lets go of the door frame to walk over to me. He stands so close our chests are almost touching. His lips brush my ear when he says in a low voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, “I’ve told you before, baby. That can be arranged.” I sway toward him involuntarily, and he grips my upper arms to steady me.
My vision is fuzzy when I look up at him, but I can still see the smirk on his face when he releases me. “Come find me later. I’ll do all those things you wish Max would.”
The mention of Max’s name is like ice water being dumped on my head. I stumble back from him, my palms tingling with the need to hit him, but I keep my cool. There’s no way in hell I’m going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth,” I grit out, watching as his eyes light up. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“Aw, but Kitty Kat, didn’t you tell me that you were ‘down for a good time’ just the other day?” My face burns when he reminds me of what I said at Ruby’s, but he continues before I can come up with a response. “I don’t see you proving that statement.”
He’s daring me to react, to do something he thinks I won’t, and I’m just drunk enough to accept his challenge. This time, I’m the one to step forward, to invade his personal space. “Don’t worry, Clayton. I’m not the one who will be going home alone tonight.” He grins at me, then steps aside, gesturing for me to walk into the house.
I hold my head high as I walk past him. This time, I’m the one dragging Becca behind me. The interior of the house is full of guys, both hot and decidedly not, but I know for this to work, the hotter, the better. If I pick up a guy who isn’t better looking than Clay, he’ll never let me hear the end of it. I chance one look back to see him watching me warily. Huh. I wonder if he’s regretting taunting me. The thought makes me brave. I chug the now-warm drink in my hand for more liquid courage as I walk through the room looking for my victim.
There’s a group of guys standing just to the side of the keg in the kitchen bumping fists and discussing some sport. I don’t pay much attention because all of them are good looking. Maybe not Clay’s level of hot, but they’ll do with their muscular chests, big arms, and thick thighs. They’re every girl’s wet dream. The type of guy you read about in books––the bad boys who end up having a heart of gold when they meet the “right” girl. Okay, I might be just a little drunk.
The first one to turn and face me reminds me a little bit of Clay. He’s got dark hair that flops over his forehead and blue eyes that roam my body in a way that makes me feel almost dirty. I know he’s imagining all the things he’d like to do to me, and if I hadn’t had three glasses of beer tonight, there’s no way I’d approach him. Becca goes straight for one of his friends, but then he speaks to me, and I forget all about her.
“Hello beautiful,” he says in a
deep voice, smiling down at me from where he stands at least five or six inches taller. I wonder fleetingly if he’s a basketball player. With his height, not being on the team would be a tragedy.
I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn’t help. I’m thinking all these random thoughts that don’t matter, but I can’t seem to stop. I go from muscles, to height, to wondering how it would feel if he put his arms around me. It’s been so long since someone held me like this. Not since prom senior year, right after my two-pump date collapsed on the bed next to me. I didn’t even have enough time to work up a sweat … it was that fast.
I’ve been in my head so long, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome is looking at me like I’m a psycho chick, one who’s about to offer to have his babies or drop to my knees right here in the kitchen and offer my services. Well, maybe not those opposite sides of the spectrum. I’m sure he’d say no to the babies but yes to the blowjob. Instead of responding to his hello, I gather all the fake courage sloshing uncomfortably in my stomach and stand on my tiptoes to slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down to me.
As soon as our lips touch, he takes over the kiss, thrusting his tongue in my mouth and wrapping his strong arms around me. I melt into him, enjoying the attention, and reveling in the fact that he’s kissing me back. He presses into me, right there in front of his friends, and I can feel his erection lengthening against me. What am I doing? My brain is foggy, but not so foggy I don’t realize making out with some random dude is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. I don’t even know his name. For all I know, he’s the type of guy who will pump twice and be done, or he’s taken so many steroids my pinky is bigger than his appendage. Okay, that’s probably not the case considering I can feel it, and it doesn’t feel tiny. But still, I digress.
I start to pull away from him, and he hauls me back against him, not releasing my mouth. He thinks this is part of the game. I put both hands on his chest to try to push him away, but he’s much stronger. I don’t think he even notices my movements. Panic starts to set in. What am I going to do now? Do I kick him? Bite the tongue that is currently exploring the roof of my mouth? I just. Don’t. Know.
