He shrugged. “Easy.”
She held in a growl. Not another one. What was going on with the male population? Why did they care if she was a virgin or experienced, if she went home with one guy or forty? She felt like she’d been transported into the twelfth century, when men expected their women to be pure and untouched, like women were put on this earth to be wholly devoted to them.
“Yeah, well you’re a fucking idiot.” Shayler backed up and tossed her hair behind her, wanting him to get a good look at what he was missing. “And FYI, tucking your dick to the side doesn’t make it look any bigger. We all know you’re working with a four incher.”
She spun on her heels and stalked back to the bar, demanding two more Long Islands as she plopped onto a stool. When the drinks arrived, Shayler drank until her stomach was bloated and her head was swimming.
Screw assholes like that, she thought. If he didn’t want to go out with her, then it was his loss. She finished the second glass and slammed it on the table. There were thousands of people on campus, she’d find another before the night was over.
Chapter Four
It’d seemed like a good idea for Shayler to venture to Skeeter’s. And when Vivian and Gigi had declared they weren’t leaving the club, it’d seemed like an even better idea for her to go by herself. Now that she sat there, though, completely trashed and alone with nothing better to do than watch the people around her who might actually get laid? She was miserable.
The bartender, an uptight chick with a tiny stud in her nose and big, fluffy hoodie that hid any semblance of curves, slid her a glass of water. Shayler only knew it was water because she took a sip, expecting the burn of vodka, only to find that it rolled around in her mouth smoothly and soothed her scratchy throat. Bitch. Shayler glared at her and, in doing so, lost her balance and nearly toppled off her stool.
She gripped the edge of her seat and held herself in place, hoping the ceiling would stop spinning soon. Shayler blinked twice, but the walls continued to dance around her. After a shake of her head, she made a mental note that sudden movement didn’t help the rumbling in her belly.
“How much have you had tonight?” the bartender asked.
Shayler frowned, trying to count the drinks without falling. “Two vodka, two tequilas, three Long Islands, and rum and coke.”
“Good grief.” The bartender shook her head, her pink and purple hair fluttering around her shoulders. “I gotta cut you off.”
“I already ordered another,” Shayler pouted, resting her head on the cool surface, unafraid of the splintery wood for once.
Tonight, everyone sucked. Was it their mission to piss her off? If she were her Aunt Linda’s Chihuahua, Rocky, she’d start peeing on all of them. God, how many shoes had he ruined the summer Shayler had babysat him and forgot to give him his treats? Her thoughts drifted to the brown beast, so consumed by them that she almost missed the five-dollar bill that was next to her arm.
“Go home,” the bartender said.
But Shayler didn’t follow orders. Shayler made her own rules. Shayler … really needed to stop thinking about herself in the third person. She sighed and felt a bit of drool drip down the corner of her mouth. What was her problem? She was so gross. Sleeping on a bar? Was she a middle-aged man going through a divorce?
She hopped down from her stool, latching onto the counter at the last second as the people around her seemed to dip down. The walls stretched, the floors shifted. Shayler groaned, wishing Rebecca was there to take her home.
Her stomach swished as she took a step away from the support and reached for her phone. She tried to poke at the right app, tried to put in the right info, but she was tired. And nauseous.
The alcohol she’d consumed rose in her throat, threatening to douse the entire bar and its patrons. Shayler made a run for the bathrooms, her phone flying from her hand in the haste. It didn’t matter. She was going to burst.
Shoving her way to the bathroom with one hand over her mouth, Shayler kicked a stall open and dropped to her knees in time to hit the bowl with her vomit. She hacked as it burned her throat, threatening to choke her.
Usually, during the vomit period of the night, Shayler had company. Either Rebecca would rub circles on her back and fetch her lukewarm water, or she’d know that there was a guy on the other side of the door waiting for her. She’d never felt hollow before when she’d barfed, and it was almost more uncomfortable than the action of throwing up.
Almost.
Another round exited her stomach as her body punished her for being so greedy with her liquor. Shayler coughed and sputtered as she fought to get it all out as quickly as possible. Her head was light, dizzy, but the back of her skull ached from the pressure. She used her elbows to rest on the toilet and wondered how clean the floors were. If she fell asleep there, would anyone know?
Her stomach settled, and voices rose from the hall outside of the bathroom. Shayler closed her eyes, unsure whether she was eavesdropping or falling asleep.
“—can’t leave my shift, or else I would,” said a female with a raspy voice. If Shayler had to guess, she’d say it was the bartender.
“Don’t worry about it, Ruby. I got it,” a second voice said, this one was manly and deep.
“Thanks. I’ll put up a sign and keep the men’s room open. It’s end of the night at least, no one will care.”
“Okay.”
The door to the bathroom squeaked open, stopping as suddenly as it started. Shayler lifted her head curiously before realizing what a bad idea that was. She lied back down again.
“Remember, I know where you work.”
The man chuckled, and the door squeaked once more. Shayler scooted further into the stall. There was a guy in the girls’ room, that much she could register. But she couldn’t do more than hope her limbs were hidden enough. She glanced down at the six-inch heels that poked out of the open stall’s door.
It wasn’t like she had the energy to really move or close the door, so she stayed put, waiting for the footsteps to stop. When they did, Shayler saw a pair of blue tennis shoes beside her heels. Weird choice for a bar. Her gaze drifted up to catch a glimpse of his face, and her stomach rolled again.
“Not you.”
“Hey.” The nerd from the night before kneeled beside her, his hands working their way around her curls so he could pull them away from her face.
She swatted him away. “Why are you here?”
“I study here, remember?”
Shayler glared at the man who’d started all this. Well, not this as in the vomit, but this as in her horrible night. He’d been the first to make her feel like dirt, to call her easy. What was he doing at the bar again, and how had she not spotted him?
“I mean, why are you in the bathroom?” She had to strain to speak properly, and there was a croak in the back of her throat when she talked that sounded like she’d thrown up a litter of frogs instead of a liter of liquor.
“Ruby wanted to make sure you were okay. She was afraid you were pretty messed up, and—”
“Who’s Ruby? Can’t she come in here instead?”
He laughed. “The bartender, and she couldn’t leave her post.”
Shayler scooted upward, leaning against the wall of the stall. He stayed kneeling in front of her.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You can’t even focus on my face. How much did you have to drink?”
“None of your business.” Shayler scrunched her nose. “Shoo.”
“I told Ruby I’d help you. Is your stomach any better?”
Shayler ignored the question, knowing round three could start at any second. “This is your fault, you know.”
He quirked a brow, the smile on his face dimming to a grin. “What’s my fault?”
“You casted some sort of curse on the male species, and now no one wants to fuck me.”
She waited for him to gasp or frown or appear offended. Hell, her best friend would’ve fainted if she’d heard Shayler say
something like that to a stranger. Instead, he chuckled, and the sound went straight to her thighs.
“I can promise you that I didn’t.”
“Then why am I striking out?”
“If you’re always this charming, I can’t imagine why.”
If Shayler weren’t so drunk that standing up seemed like a real obstacle, she would’ve stomped away—or at least stomped on his stupid sneakers. But all she could do was stick her tongue out.
“I was perfectly charming.”
“Maybe they just didn’t want to … you know.”
Shayler snorted. “Please, six bros standing around in tight shirts at a club? All they wanted was a warm place to shove it.”
This time, he flinched. “I don’t know then.”
“He called me easy, too. A friend of yours?” She eyed him but couldn’t imagine him belonging to such a cocky group of guys.
“I’ve probably never even spoken to them before.”
“And what’s the problem with being easy, anyway?” Anger flooded her veins, allowing her the energy to sit up on her own. “So what if I like sex? News-fucking-flash, it feels good. Anyone who’s had an actual orgasm knows that. So why am I being judged for it? Were they Catholic or something? Doubtful. But still, if there’s a God, are you telling me he would look down on that sort of pleasure? Like the big man upstairs wants an uptight human race? Guys can go and get some stank on it whenever they want, but when it’s me, it’s a problem? When it’s me, I’m classified as easy?” She took a big gulp of air, wondering if this was how Rebecca always felt after one of her notorious rambles.
He seemed to consider her words. “Do you really want to discuss religion in a bathroom stall?”
“Worse things have happened here.”
“Um, while we’re on the topic, I’m sorry for calling you … that. It was a horrible way to phrase how I felt at the time, but I’ve got all these paper—”
“How were you feeling?”
“Huh?”
“At the time? Describe it.” She was challenging him, not believing that he actually meant to use a different word. He was just taking pity on her now that she was weak and vulnerable. Or he’d decided that he did want into her pants after all.
“I’m old fashioned. Long-term relationships and all that. I don’t do affairs.”
“You sound like a grandfather.”
He laughed again. “I’m twenty-three, not ninety-three. I just think sex is something meaningful.”
“Ugh. You’re probably one of those schmucks that calls it ‘making love,’ right?”
He flashed a set of perfectly whitened teeth. “Yes. I’m one of those schmucks.”
She rolled her eyes and felt a jolt in her abdomen. Ding ding ding, round three. She buckled over the toilet, letting the remaining contents of her stomach pour out of her. He moved behind her, tucking her hair in her shirt as he began rubbing circles on her back. It was enough to force the vomit out faster.
Once the toilet was flushed and Shayler had wiped her mouth with flimsy toilet paper, she looked at the man who probably referred to himself as her savior. “I should ask your name now, right?”
“It’s David. David McPherson.”
“Lovely to meet you, David,” she managed dryly. Of course he had the sort of name that belonged on some cow-shaped mailbox in front of a white picket fence. “Shayler Thompson.”
“I remember, Shayler.”
She blinked, coming to her senses for the first time since she’d had that last Long Island. “Thanks for the help, but I had it under control. Just for future reference, if Ruby ever asks again.”
“What, you mean you’re used to that?” David nodded to the toilet, disbelief and disgust written plainly on his face.
“I’m a junior in college. Duh.”
“Isn’t that really, really unhealthy?”
Shayler jumped to her feet, using the wall for support as opposed to the hand he offered her. She teetered on her heels for a moment. “No offense, but you’re at a bar at one in the morning, so I don’t think you can talk about unhealthy. What were you doing tonight, studying again?”
“No. Not quite.”
“Oh my God, you were.” Shayler cackled, watching as his neck reddened.
“I have a new—”
“Roommate. I can remember things too.” Shayler smirked. “But here? You come here to study?”
“Laugh at me all you want. I’m not the one who just threw up for thirty minutes and has to walk in those ridiculous heels.”
“Ridiculous?” She glanced at her shoes. “These are hot.”
He stared at them for a few seconds before moving his gaze up the length of her body, meeting her eyes. “They’re impractical.”
“Are not. I can walk fine.”
She took a step to prove it when her heel caught on some missing grout. Using her hands to shield her face and brace herself, she waited for the explosion of pain. It didn’t come.
An arm wrapped around her waist, and Shayler fell into David’s chest. It was much harder than she originally gave him credit for. She looked up, losing herself in his cloudy eyes. He didn’t break the eye contact, and a chill ran up her spine. Before Shayler could do something totally stupid, like tilt her head and go in for a kiss, he moved away and brushed his jeans off.
She held in a sigh. “Are you gonna move out of the way so I can call for a ride?” It was for the best that they didn’t kiss. Her breath had to reek, and she needed to get to bed soon if she was going to sleep off the impending hangover before it hit.
“Oh, right.” He reached behind him but didn’t pull the door open, instead handing her a phone. Her phone.
“Crap. I forgot about it.” She grabbed the thin rectangle that held her entire world and cradled it to her chest. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He stood there awkwardly, with his hands shoved in his pockets as if he expected something.
“You need a tip?”
“Huh? No. I’m… You need a ride, right?”
Shayler pushed her hair behind her ear and turned on a sink, deciding to clean off a bit of her bad night now. “No thanks. I’ll Uber.”
“You sure?”
She turned her head. “Positive.”
“All right.” He rubbed a hand on his chin, where there was still a healthy amount of five o’clock shadow that begged Shayler to rub against it. She cursed herself for the thought. “I’ll see you around.”
As the door shut behind him, Shayler took in her reflection. She looked every bit as awful as she felt. “Yeah, or not.”
Chapter Five
Now that she was nearly twenty-one, Shayler Thompson was basically an expert on brushing things off and not letting petty shit get to her. That sticks and stones rhyme was like her theme song at this point, and she knew that hurtful words were just some irrelevant idiot’s opinion.
In third grade, during a rehearsal for her school’s talent show, a boy had called her an ugly dodo bird. Had that stopped her from going on stage, a stuffed snake coiled around her neck, as she shook her ass to Britney Spears music? No. And a week later, Luke had asked her to be his girlfriend, not that she’d ever accepted such an offer from a kid with a bowl cut.
In eighth grade, when Lillian had called her a slutty leprechaun, Shayler had retaliated by wearing a green tube top and passing out chocolate coins. Before she’d been sent home for dress code, she’d been the most popular girl in the school.
So why was she still annoyed? Last night, a fucking Saturday night, she’d pretended to have plans with her best friend to avoid going out, and she was still cooped up in her room today. Shayler hadn’t even made it out to hit the Sunday brunch buffet at Sushi Maxx, and no one did breakfast sushi like them.
She pulled her comforter over her head, hoping to block the bright rays of afternoon sunshine that assaulted her through the window. The whole situation was aggravating, and then that pissed her off more because Shayler never, ever let men get to her.
If they said something bad, so what? She was using them for one reason, and it seemed fair that some of them would object. But the insults always came after sex, not before. Not used as means for rejection.
With a rough groan, Shayler grabbed a water from the crack between her bed and nightstand and chugged. She finished it and capped the bottle, tossing it back into the crevice as her phone began to blare its generic ringtone. Hoping it wasn’t her mom trying to make casual small talk, Shayler removed the covers and snatched her phone from under her pillow.
“What?” she answered, keeping her eyes closed.
“Oh, so you are alive.”
“Hi, Becca.”
“I appreciate you picking up the phone after I tried texting you all day yesterday. I was afraid something was wrong!”
Shayler shrugged out of her old pajama shirt, sniffed it, and threw it on her desk. “If something was wrong, you’d see it on the news.”
“That’s not funny. You were supposed to meet Ansley last night, and she said you hadn’t gone out, and Shayler Thompson does not miss a Saturday night of debauchery. I thought you’d been kidnapped or killed or buried in some ditch off the highway, and what if I never knew? How would I find the suspect? What if he came for me next, just to cover his bases? And then our parents would attend our funerals together, but of course the caskets would be empty because we’re still just past the Georgia border with worms eating our rotting corpses.”
Before Shayler could laugh at her neurotic best friend, she heard a muffled whisper in the background. “Are you with Derek?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Seriously, you can’t be this uptight after you have sex.”
“I-I… I didn’t.”
“I bet you’re not even wearing clothes right now, you dirty whore.”
“Th-that’s not why I’m calling.”
“If he’s still got a boner, I’m hanging up.”
“Shayler!”
“All right, all right.” Shayler sighed before shimmying into a tank top. “I’m sorry for not texting you back. I’ve just been in a crappy mood.”
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