by LK Collins
“What I have on.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know, jeans and a T-shirt. What does it matter?”
“I left all my dressy clothes in the spare closet at Leo’s.”
“Your body will look great in anything, where are we even going?” His comment sends a tiny flutter of heat through my stomach.
“Wherever your truck is, right?”
“Uhhhh, yeah right,” he agrees, and I turn back to my clothing selection, eventually deciding on a pair of tight skinny jeans, a silky green top, and a pair of flats.
After I’m all dressed, I walk back out into the living room, and Parks glances at me and then does a double take, scanning up and down my body, making my stomach flip by the way he’s looking at me.
“Are the shoes okay? The only heels I have are red.”
“Yeah! Yes . . . you . . . you look really good!”
“Thank you,” I tell him and grab a beer from the fridge.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to O’Malley’s or something?” he asks.
“Sure, whatever. Is that where your car is?”
“Uhhh . . .” He fidgets with the valet ticket in his hand, and I wait for him to say something. But he doesn’t.
“Have you remembered where you left your truck yet?” I finally ask, ’cause he’s acting fuckin’ strange.
“Don’t talk shit, okay.”
“Come on; it’s me you’re talking to.”
“I . . . I left it at The Paper Lion.”
“Shut up! The strip club?” He nods, and . . . holy fuck, Parks was at a strip club last night, I never would’ve imagined him for that sort of guy. Plus, what about Mallory? “What else are you keeping from me? Tell me, please!”
“Nothing!” he mumbles.
“Does Mallory know?”
“Yeah,” he quickly answers and grabs my beer from my hand, takes a swig of it, and then stares off a little awkwardly.
“I thought you were too hung over to drink?”
“I am, but I have a feeling I’m gonna need a few drinks tonight.”
“So, does that mean we’re going to the strip club?”
“Fuck, I guess so.”
“Yay!” I clap excitedly, and the smile doesn’t leave my face until we pull up to The Paper Lion.
Parks pays the taxi driver, and then we both get out of the car. The music is blaring from the inside of the club, and my stomach is twisting and turning over itself. I love strip clubs, but for some reason, I never go, and I’ve never been to one with Parks.
“I’m excited,” I tell him, but he doesn’t seem the same. “Aren’t you? You might see Cocoa here tonight,” I joke with him and bump his shoulder as he glares down at me, giving me the “that’s not funny” look, so I stop. I’m such a lightweight the one beer already has me buzzing and rambling.
The bouncer stops us at the door, looking intently between the two of us. “IDs?” he asks in his deep voice, and I have no clue why bouncers are always so big and scary. We hand them over, and he studies them like we are trying to cross the border or something before saying, “Cover is twenty dollars a head, pay Darla when you enter.”
“Thanks, man,” Parks tells him, and we go inside. Darla is older and has smoked way too many cigarettes in her life. Her lips have more wrinkles than a crumpled piece of tinfoil.
“Forty dollars, love,” she says as Parks takes out his wallet. “You guys need any ones?”
Parks looks at me, and I give him a pleading smile, he tosses a couple more twenties down and then hands me a stack of singles. I fold them and place them in my small clutch as we head toward another door that leads to the club.
My adrenaline is pumping through my veins, but he stops me before we can enter, putting his hand on the wall as he talks into my ear, the day-old scruff on his face brushing up against my cheek.
“Fallon, the guys in here are assholes, so will you do me one favor?”
“What?” I look to him, fully expecting to get the big brother speech.
“Act like we’re dating, so I don’t have to deal with any drunk assholes. You’re not gonna find your dream guy here, trust me.”
I do trust him, and to show him, I take his hand into mine and open the flimsy black door. The music hits me like a wave from the ocean, surrounding my entire body and as we move, I spot a girl selling drinks.
“You want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
He orders for each of us and passes me mine. With my drink in my hand, I take in the room and try to find an open table. I can feel eyes on us, and work hard to ignore them. My stomach stirs, not liking the attention one bit. He’s right; the men are like vultures waiting to swoop down on their next prey.
We look at all the different types of girls who are dancing. “Do you see Cocoa?” I ask him.
“No, I told you, I don’t remember her.”
“Did you like her?” I let out a small laugh at the incredulous look he gives me.
“I don’t think so.”
Then I forget all about Cocoa and any other question I have. He’s being so strange tonight. I decide to walk us to the closest open table I see. He pulls my chair out for me, which is a gesture that looks completely out of place in a strip club, and the blonde on the pole winks at us. We both watch her slide down the bar upside down and only holding on with one hand. When she gently lays her back flat on the dance floor, she smoothly flips over and crawls toward us like a cat down on all fours.
I open my purse and grab a stack of ones before setting them down in front of Parks. He shakes his head, but it’s too late, the blonde vixen pulls his face into her breasts. I chuckle, watching her do this to him, and my laugh brings her attention from Parks to me. She grabs ahold of the back of my chair and humps the dance floor, her body matching the beat of the music. Parks takes a twenty out from his wallet and tucks it into the side of her panties.
The money motivates her, and she slithers on top of my lap. Her huge tits are in my face while she knots her fingers into the base of my hair, grinding her pussy against me. “What’s your name?” she asks me, dry humping me.
“Fallon,” I tell her, and she says, “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then you won’t mind if I do this?” She reaches over and touches his thigh as she continues to move to the music, grinding her hips against mine. I look down at her hand as she gets closer and closer to the center of his pants, and I find myself very turned on. As she rubs him, she licks my neck then takes my hand and places it on Parks’ leg.
It’s not an overly sexual kind of touch, but still, my eyes get wide, and I fight the urge to pull my hand away. But she wouldn’t let me if I tried. She kisses the bottom of my chin, holding my head in place as she moves my hand higher up his thigh to his hard cock. My heart is racing, alcohol coursing through me as I focus on the stark black ceiling. Parks is huge beneath my fingers, and I find myself squeezing my thighs together.
Then the song comes to an end, and the girl whispers in my ear, “He wasn’t hard when I touched him. He must like you.”
I swallow as she backs away, leaving me confused. The idea that it was my touch that made Parks hard doesn’t make sense. She takes the ones I left and scoots them to the center of the platform before moving to another guy across from us.
I sit frozen, a bit mortified and a whole lot turned on. That is until I realize I’m still cupping his dick. God, I don’t know what to do or say. I yank my hand away but can’t shake the vivacity that is coursing through my body.
Eight
Parks
I’m fucked! I’m fucked! I’m fucked! I repeat to myself as we drive home from the strip club.
“So . . . are we gonna talk about what happened, or are we going to act like it was nothing and just keep ignoring one another?”
“What is there to talk about?” I fake ignorance, which she doesn’t buy.
“Uh, that I felt up
my best friend and now things are fucking awkward between us.”
“It’s no big deal, Fallon. Would you just forget about it?”
“I can’t.” She slurs the words, obviously drunk.
“Well, you need to forget about it.”
“How? I held your fucking cock in my hand and—”
“And that’s it.” I cut her off, loving my cock and her hand in the same sentence more than I realized.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re so hung?”
“Fallon!” I laugh at her and shake my head as we park back at my place.
“What? That isn’t something I would keep a secret.”
“From my best friend, it is,” I tell her and turn the truck off.
She rolls her eyes, and I nod toward the condo. I just need to get her to bed. To her bed—without me—and hope she forgets about all this by the morning.
“I’m sorry I got so drunk and grabbed your very large cock.” I help her out of the vehicle and up to the door, and she wobbles the whole time.
“It’s fine, thanks for the compliment.” I grin.
“I’m such a fuckin’ lightweight.”
“Yeah, you are.” I laugh again and walk her to her room. She yawns and falls backward against the bed. Her silk shirt rides up exposing her stomach and my cock twitches looking at her like this. Jesus, she is so gorgeous. I can’t help but think about earlier as I stare for a little too long.
“Night,” I tell her and turn off the light.
“Hey, can you bring me a water?” she hollers after me.
Shit, I was so close.
I grab a bottle from the refrigerator, and when I get back, she’s sliding her jeans off. I can’t stop myself from watching.
Is she trying to kill me?
Her pink lace panties are so fucking hot; I want to pull them off with my teeth. She bends to get her foot unhooked from the bottom of her pant leg, and I have to turn.
“Here’s your water.” It’s the best I can come up with as I hold my hand out for her to take the bottle from me. When she does, I stride from the room, looking down at my frustrated dick, which is screaming at me to release the built-up tension.
“Night, Parks.” Her voice is the last thing I hear before closing my bedroom door behind me.
I didn’t sleep for shit last night, I even jerked off to see if that would help relieve the residual tension, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. In fact, jerking off got me so hot for Fallon that I had to leave and go for a midnight run.
I ran for what felt like hours to clear my mind as I searched for the answers to my dilemma, but still found nothing. I always keep coming back to the same thing. How the risk of telling her how I really feel is not going to be worth the reward, because I won’t give in, no matter how much my body wants me to . . . I just can’t.
I respect Fallon too much and depend on her in so many ways. There is nothing that would make me risk that. Even if it were the best thing in the world for both of us, there is still that risk that we wouldn’t be a good match, and I’d fucking lose her.
Pulling up to the beach I find the spot that I’m meeting my old neighbor AKA the infamous Mallory at to take her engagement photos. I really still hate coming here, the water reminds me of Meg. I put my truck in park and grab my camera bag, knowing I have to push forward.
Getting out, it’s a warm Seattle evening. The sun is just about to set, and the skyline will set up for an epic photo shoot.
But before I can scope the area, they pull up.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mallory asks as she gets out of her car. I feel bad for keeping the lie up as long as I have. Neither she nor Gail, her fiancée, know about this crazy web I’ve spun. When Mallory lived next door to me years ago, way before Gail, we hooked up one drunken night. She was one of the girls I tried to get into, but just couldn’t. Fallon met her once, and I introduced her as my girlfriend, which was short lived. I think Mallory thought it ended there. However, for me it unfortunately didn’t, I’ve kept the lie up for far too long.
“Yes, it is,” I respond and walk over to give her a hug and shake Gail’s hand. Looking at the smile on their faces, I couldn’t be happier for these two. “How are you both doing today?” I ask.
“Good, thanks for doing this.”
“Of course,” I respond and direct them down to the beach. “You guys ready? The sun is gonna set fast.” We all head down to the water, and I keep my fears of the water hidden. Almost as soon as our toes hit the sand, I start posing them and taking shot after shot of Mallory and Gail. They seem so happy and in love, which makes it easy to photograph them and easy to keep myself focused on the task at hand, not the vivid screams from Meg that are plaguing me in the back of my mind.
After about an hour of shooting different pictures all over the beach, I think we have what we need.
“We got some good shots,” I tell them.
“Great, I can’t wait to see them,” Mallory says.
“I’ll email you some proofs later.”
The ladies head off, and I get into my truck, checking my phone before I drive off. There are a few missed calls from Fallon and one voice mail. As I check her message, the sheer panic in her tone rings through my ears.
Shit, how could this be happening to her?
Nine
Fallon
My head is pounding, the remnants of last night’s alcohol are still coursing through my veins, and every once in a while, I swear I can feel Parks against my palm.
Holy fuck!
How could I touch him like that? What is wrong with me? He must’ve been mortified. He probably hates me. I’m gonna need to move out and find a new place to live, ASAP. And if Mallory finds out, she’ll kill me. I can’t believe I did what I did; it makes me no better than Leo. God, I hate myself right now.
With nothing else to do but sit around and beat myself up, like I have been all day, I move from the bedroom to the living room and flip on the television while I wait for Parks to get home. He wasn’t here this morning when I got up, which I’m pretty sure just threw some fuel on my anxiety about what happened last night. The silence in the house isn’t helping, either.
After aimlessly flipping through the channels, I pull out my phone, and I scroll through my Facebook feed, and when I see a status update from Leo, I become sick.
I couldn’t be happier than to be marrying this girl—Isabella Black.
And the status is followed by a picture of Leo and some girl and not the one I caught him with, either. He has his chin on her shoulder and his arms all around her. Her crooked short blonde hair looks like she let a four-year-old cut it.
Anxiety mixed with a fit of rage consumes me. Jesus Christ, how many women were there?
Was our entire relationship a lie?
I click on her name and it pulls up her profile, there are pictures of him and her all over the place that date back as far as three months.
Jesus Christ! How did I not see these?
I start to hyperventilate. The walls around me might as well be actually crumbling. Why are so many things going wrong all at once? Searching for air, I struggle to draw deep breaths, which just spikes my panic more. Dialing Parks, his phone rings, and rings, but he doesn’t answer. I call him over and over, knowing if I could only get through, he’d make me feel so much better. Just like everything else recently, I have no luck with that, either.
Finally, I leave him a message. “Parks, oh fuck! Where are you?” I sob, and my panting breaths turn erratic. “Call me. Please. Or . . . or come home. Leo’s getting fucking married!”
I don’t know how long I sit, but I know I haven’t moved since I hung up.
“Fallon!” Parks says, his voice is an echo through the despair that is my life. He forces me to sit up, but I can’t take my eyes off the small strand of carpet that I’ve been staring at for hours now. I know everything about this one single thread. Hell, I know more about the single piece of thread than I did my own boyfriend.
<
br /> “Look at me,” he orders and grabs my chin, gently forcing my eyes to connect with his.
“Am I that appalling?” I utter. He huffs, as if my question is obscene, but is it really?
“No. You’re amazing and beautiful. Leo is an asshole for not cherishing you.”
“How did I not know there were others? How many more are there? Because the girl he’s marrying isn’t the same girl I caught him with.”
“He didn’t want you to know,” he says and pulls me into a tight embrace, holding my body closely against his, and as I cling to him, I find comfort in the closeness. He doesn’t say another word; I think he’s just as lost for words as I am. My stomach churns as I imagine the deceit, what sort of sick person could do that?
Suddenly, that seems like the most important question I have ever asked. It burns and wiggles its way into me, consuming all of my focus. The need to know is so overwhelming that I reach for my phone, desperate to call Leo and scream at him until he gives me an answer.
It’s Parks’ hand on my wrist that stops me.
“Don’t let him get to you like this.”
“How can you even say that?” I snarl at him, so angry I could scream at the top of my lungs.
“Because it won’t make a difference or change what’s done.”
I hate it that he’s right all the time.
Ten
Parks
“You want another beer?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
All we’ve done is watch trash television and chill. I’d hoped getting her drunk would help her to feel better, but all it’s done is make her quieter. So going out on a whim, I grab a bottle of tequila from the freezer and look her straight in the face as I shake it in the air.
“Oh . . . give it to me,” she says.
I pass it over to her and laugh, watching her chug it like a boss without even bothering with shot glasses. Taking two pens and a pad of sticky notes from my kitchen drawer I take the seat next to her. “Wanna play Straight Face?”
