Off Her Rockers (Loving All Wrong #3.5)

by S. Ann Cole

  Thus, it took Danni and me a helluva long time to locate this never-heard-of club. Once we did, though, we understood why it was so top-secret.

  Exclusive, top-shot, celebrity hot-spot—some of the impressions we got once inside. Xena was already there with a VIP booth booked, and she all but pounced on me when she saw me, her arms squeezing the life out of me.

  “Oh my God, I missed you so much, it’s not even funny!”

  Stepping back, she held me at arms-length, frowning.

  “What?”

  “You look…different,” she said. “Fresh. New. Happy.”

  With a small smile, I shrugged.

  She studied me further, and I didn’t miss the sad dent in her excited expression. She asked, “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Happy.”

  Ha. Happy? Haha. I’m miserable. Mis-ser-able! Smile wide and fake as acrylic nails, I replied, “Don’t I look it?”

  Danni, who knew well and good I was lying off my ass, stepped in before Xena could push further. “Did we come here to get high off our tight little butts, or hug and giggle like sorority sisters?”

  Gaze shifting over my shoulder to Danni, Xena grinned and shoved me aside. She leaped full body at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. “Oh, my hot, sexy gay lover! Kiss me! Squeeze my tits.”

  Danni stumbled back a little from her attack, and we both laughed. I’d never seen her like that before, so free and playful.

  “Whoa there,” laughed Danni. “What’s gotten into you? You just got out of jail or something?”

  “Something like that,” she said. “Yeah.”

  “Well, in that case, let’s get this party crackalacking!”

  That we did. We drank, danced, and had fun like we never had before. Though I stopped drinking after two glasses of champagne, dreading another hangover in the morning, but Xena kept going, and Danni even popped an ecstasy pill.

  Despite the club being packed with celebrities of every kind, I hadn’t been searching for any familiar faces, so I was a little surprised when Dustin Latimore, one of Lion T’mar’s signed artists, popped up in our section, smile glowing white under the psychedelic light.

  His long, lean body curled over the metal bars of our VIP booth, resting the full length of his torso along the top edge of the seat I was ensconced in. “I thought that was you!” he yelled over the music. “In a dark club packed with hot babes, I made you out from yards away. You’re something special, Alina.”

  Twisting and craning my neck to look up at him, I made a face, fighting back a smile. “You. You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Give up? Last time we spoke, you told me to get permission. So, I got permission.”

  “And what did Lion say?”

  Dustin’s grin was miles wide. “He said ‘go for it’?”

  My eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “Lion said that?”

  “I might not sell Diamonds or bring in Grammies like Saskia Day, but I still sell platinum’s. ‘Course he respects me.”

  I was stilling gaping at him, unable to believe he actually did that. No one went into Lion’s Den with bullshit like permission to date a girl. My intention was to scare him off when I posed that challenge a few months back at a basketball event at Ninety Miles Villa Gymnasium. I didn’t think he would actually do it.

  And Lion telling this tool to “go for it”? Must be his way of getting back at me for buying out of his contract.

  “So…” Dustin dragged, amused by shock. “Now that I’ve held up my end of the bargain, you need to hold up yours.”

  “W-what?” What end of what bargain?

  “Dance with me.”

  Oh. Not a terrible request. I could give him a dance for his efforts. The guy went into the Lion’s Den, after all.

  Swinging my gaze from Dustin and into the booth to check Xena and Danni’s status, I found them both watching us—well, Xena was glaring. Not sure what her deal was.

  I twisted back to Dustin. Dancing wouldn’t hurt. Besides, I was single and he was hot, in all his inked up mocha skin, hazel eyes, and long, groomed locks glory. Why not dance? What would be my reason for denying him? None. Because I was, free and disengaged.

  “Lift me over.”

  His eyes widened a fraction as though he never expected me to agree to a dance. He glanced down at the bars then back at me. “Lift you over…here?”

  “Are you a wild man or what? Because I like my men wil—”

  Long, brawny arms were around my torso and lifting me over the bars before I could finish my taunt. A giggle filled my mouth instead, as I went over and crashed into his chest.

  He held me to him, my feet dangling off the ground as my body positioned higher than his did so that I was looking down at him and him up at me.

  “You feel…wow…you feel good,” I muttered in sheer surprise at how warm, hard, and protective his body felt. I never imagined anyone but Xavier could feel like this. Safe.

  Now this made me eager to dance with Dustin. To see what other surprises he had in store. To see if he might be the one to fill the hole that’s been blasted through my soul by Xavier.

  Allowing my body to slide down the front of his until I settled on my feet, he said, “I should have known.”

  “You should have known what?”

  “That it would’ve taken little to no time for you to have me bending to your will.”

  What? There went my hope of him filling the hole. I made a face. “That’s kinda cheesy.”

  “Maybe. But it’s true.”

  I rolled my eyes. Laughing, he grabbed my hand and we ran off to the dance floor like high schoolers.

  We danced. We laughed. We lip-sang.

  Dustin, of course, was a skilled and acclaimed dancer, so I was no match, but I kept up. My leggings and thigh-high boots allowed me free reign to dance as wild as I wanted without flashing someone my crotch. So I danced until my hair was sticking to my skin.

  I danced.

  “I haven’t danced like this in, like, never,” I confessed to Dustin, sweeping a damp lock of hair from my face, while still moving as if I had a Duracell battery inside me.

  He shook his head. “If you haven’t been dancing, then you haven’t been living, sweet thing.”

  I mulled that over as I worked my hips. Someone who’s truly content sings, and hums, and twirls, even when there’s no music playing because there’s joy in their heart. But do we have to wait for happiness to sing more often? Dance more often? Laugh a little harder, louder?

  Why not do it regardless of our circumstances and make ourselves happy? Even if it’s just for the four-minute duration of a favorite song.

  “Are you happy with your life?” I blurted.

  Dustin slowed his movements, scanning my face. After a moment, he took my hand and tugged me off the dance floor, through the crowd, down to the first floor, and direct to a colorful little fast food bar at the back of the club. I hadn’t realized there was a fast-food bar inside the club. Yep, this club was the bomb.

  Inside, a handful of sweaty, exhausted patrons were stuffing their faces with greasy food and chatting boisterously. Once the automatic glass doors closed behind us, the strident music of the club stifled down to a barely audible muffle. Soundproof walls.

  Heading to the order counter, we snagged two bar stools. Air conditioning blasted inside the small space, but it wasn’t cooling me down fast enough, so I scooped my hair up off my neck and tied it into a messy knot atop my head.

  Dustin stared at me as I did this. “Why do I dig you so much? You aren’t even my type. I don’t do whites. Especially skinny whites. What’s it about you?”

  I laughed. “You tell me. You’re the one who went into Lion’s Den for me.”

  A server came over just then and Dustin ordered, “We’ll have two big, fat, happy cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes. Large.” He tilted his head to me, waiting for an objection. When he didn’t get one from me, he gave the serve
r a conclusive nod.

  Heck no, I didn’t have an objection. I could taste those burgers already and they weren’t even prepared yet. Having a fast-food bar inside a night club was genius. After all that dancing and sweating and alcohol imbibing, this was just what patrons needed. Big, fat, happy burgers.

  Once the server left to prepare our food, Dustin swiveled to me. “Now, to answer your question: Yes. Yes, I am happy. And not because I’m wealthy and famous. I made a decision long before I had anything at all to my name that I would be happy no matter what direction life threw me in.

  “Many might disagree, but I believe happiness is a choice. You can choose to let your mind and emotions control you, or you can be the one in charge. It’s really simple. Alotta people just don’t practice it. They make a list of what they want out of life, and they tell themselves that unless they have everything on that list, they can never be happy. Me? All I need is oxygen and a beating heart, and everything else will work itself out. And even if it doesn’t, I’m still choosing to be happy.”

  I wasn’t sure what I expected when I asked him that question, but that answer wasn’t it. At least, not from him. Some tattooed rapper who I very wrongly assumed didn’t care much about anything but tits, ass, and booze.

  “How do you do it?” I asked, sincerely wanting to know how to keep that perspective in a world of more sorrow than bliss.

  He shrugged. “Mama was a churchgoer. And she had this verse or something that she would quote each morning over breakfast that goes something like, ‘keep your mind thinking about whatever is true, whatever is respected, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever can be loved, whatever is honest, whatever is admirable, and whatever is well thought of. If there is anything good and worth giving thanks for, think about these things’. Mama lived by it, I live by it, and everyone in my family lives by it. So we were happy even when we had nothing.”

  Now, if I were interested in knowing Dustin Latimore, I would ask why he employed the past tense instead of the present tense regarding his mother, but I didn’t, as I figured it would send the wrong message. Dustin was fun, cool, easy, and I liked that I didn’t have to think too hard—or at all—around him. But I knew I wasn’t interested like that, as much as I wanted to get over Xavier. Best to keep personal questions out of the conversation

  “So that’s it? That’s all it takes to be happy?”

  He laughed. “Well, it’s worked for me. Trained my mind to focus only on the good and try not to sweat the bad. To think of lovely things, beautiful things. Thinking the opposite of these things will have you dwelling on the bad shit, throw you into depression and sadness and pitiful woe-is-me moods. Like I said, it’s a choice. All up to you. You’d be surprised how choosing the things you think about can improve your mental health.”

  Just then, two trays of milkshakes and cheese burgers slid in front us.

  As Dustin paid the server, I picked up my burger without grace and bit into it. Eyes closing, I savored the juicy beef, slightly burned, and blended with crispy onions, melted cheese, pickles, and mayonnaise. When was the last time I had a burger? Not months, but years. Not since I had Jacob. I’d been denying myself heaven!

  “Ohmergerdsogood!” I mumbled through a stuffed mouth.

  Dustin chuckled, biting into his own burger. “That’s the taste of happiness, sweet thing,” he said with a mouth full of burger, a piece of crispy onion peeking from the side of his mouth.

  I picked up my milkshake and took a long, chilling pull, and then I pointed the cup at him. “You, my friend, should have been a rocker, not a rapper.”

  He eyed me under his lashes. “I should have?”

  “Yeah. I mean, rappers are usually loud, obnoxious dickholes, but you’re awesome, dude. You got that rocker vibe. How are you single?”

  He gestured a hand down the length of his body. “’Cause women don’t know how to appreciate all this.” He then patted the front pocket of his jeans outlining his wallet. “They appreciate all this instead.”

  Shrugging, I took another juicy bite of my burger. “Their loss, my gain.”

  He studied me for a few beats, then averted his eyes and took a pull of his milkshake. “Rocker or rapper, if life ever throws me a badass girl like you, ain’t no one can tell me I ain’t a rock star. ‘Cause then and only then will I know I’ve overcome the world.” He picked up a French fry and started to bring it to his mouth, but then he paused midway and pointed at me with it. “Tell me that was cheesy and I’ll spank you with this French fry.”

  Because I was indeed about to tell him that was cheesy as all hell, I burst out laughing, but what I also got from that statement, was that he knew. Maybe it was my open, comfortable breeziness with him that gave it away—because any man who’s been around the “girls block” more than once knows that if a woman isn’t all tongue-tied and nervous around him in those first few dates, then she isn’t into him like she should be. Too comfortable in the beginning is never a good sign—but he figured it out that I wasn’t interested in him like that, and he was okay with it.

  That made me “dig” him even more.

  Setting my half-eaten burger down, I leaned over and smothered an oily kiss on his scruffy cheek.

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  We laughed.

  I lost track of time.

  For what felt like five minutes to us, Dustin and I had been in the fast food bar chatting and joking around before we decided to exchange numbers, part with a hug and rejoin our respective party mates.

  When I reentered the club and noticed how much the crowd had dwindled, I realized we had to have been in the back for an exorbitant amount of time.

  When I finally worked my way back up to our VIP booth, Xena and Danni were missing, and so was my purse.

  After a few minutes of me waiting around in confusion, a curvy, Hispanic, gum-popping cocktail waitress appeared, holding my purse in one hand and the bill in the other.

  “The tall blonde paid me a hun’ned to hang onto this for ya.”

  Taking my purse and the bill from her, I asked, “They left?”

  She blew a huge bubble from her gum and nodded.

  Seriously? They left me?

  Withdrawing my AmEx from my purse, I threw a cursory glance at the bill and started handing them back to the waitress, but then yanked my hand back and did a double take of the bill.

  I could actually feel my eye sockets stretching at the total. Alright, I get it, this club was top-of-the-line A-class, but, surely, no amount of alcohol consumed by three bodies could cost that much.

  At the bottom of the bill, was a scribbled sentence in Xena’s unmistakable handwriting, “Happy Selfish Bitch Day, bitch!”

  “W-why is the bill so high?”

  Displaying impatience, the waitress fixed a hand on her hip. “Blondie told the Deejay to announce that everyone in the club had a drink on her. She said to give ya the bill.”

  I bit my lip and nodded. Of course, this had to be Xena’s doing, and seeing as I was absent, Danni had had no choice but to play along. Was my leaving to dance with Dustin an act of selfishness? Was making a new friend and barking out genuine laughs an act of selfishness? I was confused. No matter how hard I tried not to be selfish, I kept failing.

  Sighing, I thrust my card to the cocktail waitress again and waited for her return. Xena crossed the line with that stunt…What if I couldn’t afford a bill like that? What would’ve happened then?

  After collecting my receipt, I headed out, wondering if I should have called Mel. I’d had two glasses of champagne earlier, but I felt as sober as a saint. Possibly because of the burger and milkshake.

  Pretty positive I was sober enough to drive. As my Louboutins click-clacked into the parking lot, I wondered how Xena and Danni got home. Danni had ridden with me to the club, and Xena must’ve had someone drop her there because she didn’t own a car. She had a morbid and irrational fear of driving so she didn’t drive, ever.

  As I ne
ared my car, I pressed the unlock button on the key fob and the taillights flashed in harmony with the arrogant unlocking sound.

  “Davi’s absence hurt you so bad back then that you forgot what it’s like to screw one man at a time?” came a familiar voice from out of the shadows, full of sneer and bitterness.

  Shoulders going up in defense, I stopped walking, heart ricocheting in my chest.

  That voice. It had spoken to me many, many times. In light and in darkness. Under the sheets and under the showerhead. In whispers and in growls of pleasure. In moments of fear and in moments of complete bliss. But never had it spoken to me with utter disgust dripping from each word.

  I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath, and, as if no one had spoken, I continued to eat up the distance to my car, albeit little faster this time.

  When I arrived at my car, however, I realized that opening the driver’s door meant I’d be facing the direction of the talking shadow.

  Don’t look across there, I warned myself. Just duck your head, dip into the convertible, and speed it out of there. Whatever you do, do not loo—

  I looked.

  And there he was. Tall and beautiful and magnificent and…drunk. Partially shadowed by the darkness, he was leaning against someone’s Jeep with a Grey Goose in one hand, the other hanging loose at his side.

  In a white liquor-stained T-shirt and dusty biker boots, he looked as though he just rolled out of bed or something. Drunk.

  “Thought—” He hiccupped. “Thought the reason you cheated on me was ‘cause you loved your Davi so much you just couldn’t help it. Thought it was ‘cause of history and the kid and all that shit. But—” Hiccup. “…see now that it wasn’t. Just another fame-hungry whore tryna hit all the big names.”

  Ignore him. Ignore him. He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean it.

  I opened the car door.

  “On to sucking black dicks so fast, eh? Mine wasn’t big enough for you?”

  Black dicks? He had to be talking about Dustin. How did he know about Dustin? Had he been inside the club? Dressed like that, he couldn’t have been.