by M. E. Carter
She pushes the guy away, then storms off the dance floor and heads straight to the bar. The stiffness of her body tells me she’s still agitated, but in true Lauren fashion, she’s holding her head high.
As she waits for the bartender to notice her, she glances around the room, her eye catching something, and that’s when I see the look on her face again. I don’t see any tears from here, but she looks dejected. And she keeps trying to ignore whatever has her attention but can’t seem to stop from taking quick looks to the same side of the room.
Turning my head to try and figure out what’s going on, it suddenly all makes sense. At a different table is a group of guys. All of them are what I would consider to be pint-sized. All of them are laughing. And all of them are looking right at Lauren as they do it.
My heart pounds as I start to put two and two together. Picking her up on the side of the road this morning, her crying in my car, pushing the guy that’s now laughing with his friends. It all makes sense.
“Son of a bitch,” I huff.
Annika didn’t want to come out tonight for fun. She wanted to help Lauren feel better because some douchebag screwed her over. Unfortunately, I think the douchebag showed up to ruin the good time.
Scanning the room, I see Jaxon and Annika getting way too close on the dance floor for my viewing pleasure. Which also means Annika doesn’t realize her best friend is being harassed by what is probably the entire male gymnastics team. That’s a reasonable assumption to make about a group of unusually short guys all hanging out together. Regardless, I’m not going to sit here and watch this shit go down.
Decision made, I down the rest of my drink, stand up, and walk straight to Lauren. Her expression changes as I approach, probably trying to put a strong front on. It quickly changes to one of confusion when I keep walking, backing her into the bar as I put my arms around her and rest my hands on the smooth wood, caging her in.
It’s quieter over here so there’s no reason to yell in her ear. Still, I want to make a statement to the assholes across the room, so I lean down anyway.
“Is that the dickwad that fucked you over this morning and made you walk home in the cold?” My big body covers hers from their view like I want.
“What?” I hear the confusion in her voice. I’ve never gotten this close to her before, so I know it’s going to take a second for her to catch on to my game.
“The guy you pushed away on the dance floor.”
“You saw that?”
“I did,” I admit. “And it pissed me off. So, tell me, is that the guy?”
She shakes her head, her blonde hair brushing up against my cheek. I think I’ve just found something to put on my very short “like” list—her hair smells like some kind of tea tree oil. The minty kind. I like it.
“But it’s one of the guys over there?”
Lauren stiffens, and I know I’ve assessed this situation out correctly. She doesn’t even have to answer me. Her body language confirms it all.
“Which one?” I growl, halfway hoping she doesn’t tell me. I’m fired up enough, I’m liable to get myself in trouble.
Lauren pushes me back so I can look down on her face. She’s got long lashes. Much longer than I remember. And her blue eyes are looking up at me through them.
Huh. That’s thing number three for my list. If she didn’t have such a hard personality to deal with, I might be able to go for a girl like Lauren. I might even break my one-night rule.
But now isn’t the time to worry about this weird turn of events. She had a rough last night, an even rougher morning, and now those idiots are trying to make her tonight even worse. I’m not having it.
“What are you doing?” she questions softly, the most demure look I’ve ever seen on her face.
“I’m helping you take your power back.”
My words seem to startle her, and I wonder if I’ve read the situation wrong.
“But you don’t even like me.”
I hold her gaze trying to decide how to answer. I thought her knowing that she wasn’t my favorite person wasn’t a big deal. I’m not her favorite person either. But her questioning my motives stings in a way I didn’t expect. Not because I want us to be best friends, but because she doesn’t even trust me enough to trust my intentions. Now isn’t that just a kick in the gut for a guy who prides himself on his integrity and character.
“First of all, I never said that.” Out loud anyway. Semantics. Whatever. “Second, like you or not, I respect you as a woman,” I explain. “That douchebag treated you like dirt this morning and he’s treating you like dirt again. I know guys like him and he gets off on it because it makes him feel good about himself.” Leaning closer, I add, “But it makes you feel like shit. That’s not okay. So, let’s have some fun. Turn the tables on him.”
She cocks her head and narrows her eyes at me. But she’s also sporting the same kind of devious smirk I am. I lift one eyebrow at her in silent question. Finally, she nods once.
Smiling, I grab her hand. “Follow my lead,” I say, guiding her back out to the dance floor.
As much as I hate techno music, I admit it’s easy to find a beat. And Lauren has good rhythm so within seconds we’re moving to the tempo. She’s tiny—easily a foot shorter than me—and it almost feels like I’m surrounding her on all sides. Like she’s completely safe within the concave form of my body.
Putting my hands on her hips, I guide her back toward me more. “Relax,” I say into her ear when she tenses. “He’s watching, so at least pretend you’re enjoying this.”
I feel her laugh as she leans into me. It’s odd how much I enjoy the feel of her small body. I’m trying not to think too hard about it, though. Dancing with Lauren isn’t about lust or feelings. It’s about unraveling some idiot’s campaign to ruin her reputation and focus. I can’t put my finger on the whys of it, but I get this weird feeling that his treatment of her is partly about sabotage. It wouldn’t be the first time a college athlete tried to knock their teammate off their game. I can’t figure out why Lauren failing would benefit him, but I don’t follow her sport. Maybe there’s some co-ed event I know nothing about.
We stay tangled up together for a couple of songs before deciding it’s time for another drink. Like the gentleman I am, I spring for her cocktail and another bottle of water for me. The season is just beginning. I don’t need unnecessary calories.
The table we vacated earlier is miraculously still empty, so we head back that direction. And I just happen to see one of the douchebags walking our way as we do.
“Don’t say a word,” I instruct Lauren quietly. “Trust me on this.”
I sound all caveman and overprotective, but I’ve been stressed lately and could use an outlet. Nothing would make me happier than throwing down with this guy. I won’t because the last thing I need is an ass chewing from Coach or a court date interfering with a game. But I can still push this guy’s buttons and defend myself if he snaps.
Lauren peeks up at me with a question in her eyes before looking over and realizing we’re about to have company. Her expression changes, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s less concerned about what he might do and more interested to see what I might do. Sliding into the booth, I sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. My eyes flick up to the guy who is now just feet from our table, daring him to take this any further.
He does. Just like I knew he would. Guys like him don’t enjoy missing out on something good. And if I’m having a good time with Lauren, then in his mind, I’ve taken his toy. He may as well pee a circle around her. It’s pathetic.
Taking a drink of my water, I keep my eyes trained on his, even as he speaks.
“Enjoying my sloppy seconds?”
Lauren jolts just slightly at the dig. Not enough for this guy to see, but enough for me know she feels like she’s been slapped. I hold myself back from reacting, though. That’s what he wants. I’d rather play with him for a bit, so I finish my drink and slowly lower the bottle to the table
before speaking.
“Seriously, Danny Zuko?” I spout, referring to his black jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket. All he needs is to slick back his hair and he’d be in full on Travolta mode. “What is this, a shitty 70’s movie?” His eyes widen slightly before tugging down the jacket he thought made him look good until now. “You need to show a little more respect for women than they did back in those days.”
His eyes narrow and I know he’s about to spout off again. “She needs to deserve any kind of respect for me to do that. Fucking on a first date doesn’t exactly qualify.”
I throw the meanest glare I can conjure at him, which isn’t hard since I’m already just about done with this conversation. “I’ll let that slide this time because we’re here on our first date and unlike some of us, I’m a gentleman and wouldn’t even consider treating a woman like trash over what she does with her own body. But if you don’t want any trouble, I suggest you go crawling back to your tiny little friends over there and head home.” I gesture toward the table of guys who are no longer laughing. In fact, they all look either mystified by this turn of events or slightly nervous. Except one guy. The redhead seems to be enjoying his friends’ nerves. Not sure what that’s about. I could be reading him wrong. I may have to ask Lauren about it. If she has just one ally, I’d feel better.
“Who’s gonna make me?”
I guess I’ll have to bring my question up later because this prick wants to keep going. Fine by me. I get run over by three hundred some odd pounds of offensive tackle regularly. What’s he gonna do? Head-butt my knee?
Sliding out of the booth, I stand up in front of him making sure I reach my full height, which is at least a dozen inches over him. Drawing on my most intimidating glare, I make sure he knows he doesn’t stand a chance against me. “I don’t care what your opinion is. I like Lauren. And I don’t like the way you’re talking to her or about her.”
The air around us changes to one of nervous anticipation, and I know the other patrons are paying close attention to our conversation. Body language doesn’t lie and mine says if he pushes me, this will be over before the bouncer even knows what happened.
Finally, he takes a step back, tugging down his jacket again. He glances at Lauren once and then back at me, probably not sure how he lost control of the situation so easily.
“This isn’t over,” he threatens, but it falls flat.
An amused chuckle bursts out of me. I shake my head at him, clearly displaying my disappointment with his tired act. “Again, welcome to a new millennium. That Neanderthal shit is boring. Just go home and leave her alone.”
His nostrils flare, but he turns and storms off, signaling to his friends who all follow him out the door.
Sitting back down, I exhale and turn to my fake date. “You okay?”
She’s smiling, but it’s not reaching her eyes. She still looks sad. I hate that.
“Yeah. I feel like West Side Story was about to break out in front of me.” I chuckle, but I’m also acutely aware of how much the humor feels like a classic defense mechanism. “It’s almost flattering to have two men fake fighting over me.”
“That wasn’t fake. And I take it you didn’t know they were going to be here tonight?”
She shakes her head and absentmindedly plays with her straw. “I thought they were going into the city. If I’d known they were going to be in town, I would have put up more resistance when Annika made me get dressed.”
“Ah-ha. I knew something was off with her wanting to go clubbing.”
This time when Lauren smiles, it’s real. “It took me a while to figure it out, too.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us moving to the other side of the booth, or even away from each other. Our thighs are still touching, and I must admit, I don’t hate it.
“But really,” Lauren continues a few minutes later. “Why did you do it?”
“What? Shut that guy down?”
She nods, biting her lip. I’ve never seen her do that. Maybe I haven’t been watching her closely enough, but it could also be because she’s never been this real with me before. Like her guard finally came down just a bit.
I take a breath and think about how to answer without giving too much away. But I also don’t want to insult her by insinuating it wasn’t to help her out. It was. There’s just more to it for me.
“I don’t like guys like that,” I finally decide on, figuring it’s a safe enough answer. “I know you said last night was consensual and all, and I’m not judging you for that.” She looks down at the table, and I nudge her shoulder with mine. “I’m serious. You’re a grown-ass woman. Sleep with who you want.”
Her eyes shift back up to mine, and she nods for me to continue.
“I just think when a guy is trying to get in someone’s pants, he needs to be honest. Tricking someone into something, that’s not cool. It’s not right. It’s unethical, and I’ll call someone out every. Damn. Time.” I slam my finger on the table accentuating each word. I can feel myself getting fired up again, so I opt to take another swig of my drink, then crush the now empty bottle.
Lauren doesn’t say anything, so I look over at her. She’s smiling. The same kind of cocky Lauren smile I’m used to and usually don’t like, but there’s something more genuine behind it this time. Understanding, maybe?
“Sounds like this is personal to you.”
I nod because there’s no sense in lying to her. “I’ve got three little sisters.”
“Let me guess.” She pushes her watered-down beverage away and leans her forearms on the table. “At least one of them isn’t so little anymore, is she?”
“Nope.”
“And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wish the guy she’d gotten involved with had been the one challenging you tonight?”
It appears Lauren is quicker than I give her credit for. I blow out a deep breath and push back the memories. “Probably good it wasn’t him. I’m not sure I would have stopped at just words.”
I get lost in my thoughts of hearing my sister’s cries over the phone when she realized she’d been used and tossed away. We’ve always been close, and I felt so helpless in that moment. It was shortly into my sophomore year and there was nothing I could do to fix it for her. I couldn’t go home and beat the guy’s ass—partially because he was a minor and that wouldn’t look good on my record. Partially because I’m at least half a day’s drive from home. The guilt of not doing more to protect her from the assholes of the world still eats at me. I’d always made sure any of the guys around me knew she was off-limits when I was in high school. I should have known it would take just a year away for them to forget all the threats I promised.
“Hey.” This time Lauren nudges my shoulder. “You know she’s going to be okay, right? We women are stronger than we look. It’s a shitty thing to happen, but it does. All the damn time.”
“None of you should have to deal with shit like that,” I practically growl. I get distracted by our friends who are finally making their way back to the booth. They’ve missed all the drama tonight, too wrapped up in each other. Good for them. They deserve to not have to worry about this mess.
“Of course, we shouldn’t. But welcome to the world of being a woman,” she mutters and then pastes a bright smile on her face when Annika sits down, Jaxon headed toward the bar.
“Hey guys,” Annika yells, ears probably still ringing from how much louder the dance floor is than this corner booth. “Are you having a good time?”
Lauren and I look at each other and smirk, silently communicating our amusement. I’m not sure “good time” is what either of us is thinking right now. But it’s also not horrible hanging out together.
Annika looks back and forth at us. “What? I feel like I missed something.”
Jaxon walks up and drops another bottle of water in front of me before sitting down next to his girl.
“Not sure you missed anything as much as your besties may have just found some common
ground.” Lauren lifts her watered-down glass to toast my plastic bottle. “To the shitty world of womanhood.”
Raising my bottle, I echo, “To the shitty world of womanhood,” and tap our beverages together with a thunk.
SEVEN
Lauren
Reaching forward, I stretch my arms out as far as I can on the floor in front of me and roll my hips until my legs have shifted into a full straddle split. I point my toes for three seconds, then flex my feet all the way, then back to a point. Depending on how I move my feet, different parts of my legs stretch and strain. It’s painful, but in a weird, good way. Like when you wiggle a loose tooth. It hurts, but not bad enough to stop.
Taking a deep breath, I pull myself back into the sitting position, staying in my straddle, but moving my arms in giant circles before leaning to the right and grabbing my toes.
I like the fuzzy socks I’m wearing today. They’re ultra-soft and striped with bold colors. They give me comfort like a fluffy blanket. And they typically stay in my drawer all year until winter. That’s my favorite part. They remind me we’re having a reprieve from the normal Texas humidity and getting a blast of cooler temps. It’ll be short-lived, I know, but I’m not complaining about it while it’s here.
“I heard what happened.”
I look up and see Ellery next to me reaching for her own foot as she stretches. Everyone else is sitting in circles together, chatting and laughing. Probably over whatever antics they were up to this weekend. I don’t normally participate, content to stretch on my own. Not that anyone on the team usually seeks me out. In their eyes, I’m basically a reserve team member. Which is why it’s a surprise to see Ellery sitting next to me.
Reaching for my left foot so she and I are facing each other, I play dumb. “A lot of things happened. Which one are you referring to?” I say it quietly enough no one can hear us. The last thing I want is for her to mention anything about Con and someone to eavesdrop. I’m sure the rumor mill already has enough to talk about after Sunday morning.
Ellery keeps her body folded over but looks around quickly before whispering, “That you slept with Con.”
