by S. J. Bishop
I grabbed my keys and got in my car, heading for the stadium as fast as I could without getting a ticket. Then again, fuck the ticket, I thought, and slammed down hard on the accelerator.
10
Lars
"Are you coming, man? We're all heading down to Toad's Tavern." Phil was waiting by the locker room exit.
"No, man. You go ahead. I'm meeting someone here."
Phil grinned at me. "A girl?"
I grinned back. "As far as I know."
"Well, make sure you give it to her real good, for me. It's been too long since I got laid. Almost a full forty-eight hours."
I threw a towel at him, and he walked off, laughing.
Clarissa had texted me during break and asked if she could see me tonight instead of tomorrow. Of course I'd said yes. I figured that the sooner I fucked her again, the sooner I could get her out of my system. Then it would be easier for me to concentrate.
"Hi, Lars," a woman's voice said. I sat up on the bench and saw Clarissa's friend from dinner standing there.
"Madeline?" I asked. I looked around the locker room. We were alone. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
"I wanted to see you," she said, walking toward me. She was wearing a mini dress with hooker heels that made her almost as tall as me. There was little doubt as to how she had gotten in. The security guards would have taken one look at her and assumed one of us had bought and paid for her company. I had no idea how she could walk in those heels as they clacked across the floor. Her legs were as smooth as satin. My heart started to pound.
"Madeline," I said. She wouldn't take her eyes off me. "I'm expecting someone."
"I know. Me."
I stared blankly at her. "You?"
"I got your number from Clarissa's phone. I hope you don't mind my little deception."
I looked at the text I'd received from Clarissa and suddenly realized that it wasn't Clarissa's number. It had simply said, This is Clarissa. I want to see you. Where are you?
"I'm not interested," I told her. She paused, and I saw a shadow of doubt flash across her face.
"Is it Clarissa?" she asked. "Is she your girlfriend?"
"What? No! I don't do girlfriends."
"Good," she said, resuming her walk. Her porcelain skin stretched toward me, luring me in like a siren's call. "Then you should have no problem doing me."
"I just...I can't."
"Why can't you?" she whispered. She reached out with fingers as light as cotton and touched the mass between my legs. I couldn't stop the blood from surging forward down there.
"You don't waste time, do you?" I asked her, fighting my desire. Suddenly, I wondered what I was fighting it for. She wasn't as hot as Clarissa, but she was still hot. Besides, maybe if I fucked her, I could get Clarissa out of my system for good. Thinking about her all the time was only dragging down my playing.
I pulled Madeline to me and wrapped my arms around her. She was wearing one of those dresses with a completely open back, showing off her skin, which was milky white and smooth as satin.
When she pressed her lips to mine, I tasted grapefruit and rose-scented candles. Her lips were soft, and I focused on them rather than Clarissa's face. I brushed my tongue along them, tasting her, before grabbing her ass and running my hands up her thighs.
"What the fuck!" Clarissa's voice rang loudly across the locker room. I felt Madeline tense in my arms, and we both turned at the same time to see Clarissa standing there, her jaw open. Her eyes blazed with anger.
"Clarissa," I said, forgetting Madeline completely.
"Fuck you, Lars. Don't ever speak to me again. Either of you." Then she turned and ran from the locker room.
11
Clarissa
Clarissa
What the fuck was Madeline doing with her tongue down Lars' throat? I rushed from the locker room back to the parking lot I'd just come from. Lars was an asshole. I should've known that. He was a man. All men were assholes. When they saw a pretty girl, all they could do was think with their dicks. But Madeline...I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so betrayed. She knew damned well who Lars was, and she knew damned well that I liked him. At least a little.
I stumbled over my feet as I raced for the car and went sprawling over the pavement.
"Clarissa!" Lars was running after me.
"Piss off, Lars," I said, shaking him off as he tried to help me up.
"Would you please just listen to me for a second?"
"No!" I got my feet moving again and dug into my purse for my keys.
"Dammit! Listen! I'm sorry you saw that." He said it quickly, as if any form of atonement was a hurdle for him to jump over.
I stopped and stared at him. "What kind of shit apology is that?" I demanded.
His face flushed a little as I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You know, I don't think I did anything wrong here. Not really." My eyes widened as he continued talking, spewing forth his idiocy. "It's not like we're engaged."
I laughed, unable to believe his egotism or stupidity or whatever it was that had made his brain shrink to the size of a peanut.
"I just caught you fucking Madeline!" I screamed. "My best friend! You and I have a date tomorrow night. Could you seriously not have waited twenty-four hours to spread your seed?"
My cheeks reddened when I realized what I'd just implied with my statement.
"I mean, not that you were gonna get to fuck me," I said feebly, taking my eyes off his body and moving away from him. I didn't want to look at the hard, undulating muscles pulsating beneath the soft cotton of his shirt as it stretched over his skin. Why was he wearing such a thin shirt anyway? I could see the definition of his chest as he breathed in and out. In...the hard planes of his chest rose up into solid stone mountain peaks; out...the muscles descended back into him, leaving ripples of brawny flesh hiding just under the thin fabric of his shirt.
"First of all, I wasn't fucking her. I was kissing her. There's quite a difference there, wouldn't you say?"
"Not a big enough one."
I realized that I had stopped searching for my keys. Lars was hypnotizing me with his eyes and the even rhythm of his breath. Why did he have to look so good when he was angry? God, how was I supposed to think straight when he was walking toward me with that look in his eyes? I tried to focus on my anger, but it kept getting laid aside, forgotten, as he stepped nearer to me, his sun-kissed skin shining in the sunlight.
"Clarissa," he said, his strong hands reaching for my delicate ones.
I tried to turn away, but he pulled me back.
"Clarissa, I'm sorry if I hurt you. You're right. That was a shit thing to do. I should never have touched your friend."
"Damn right!" I yelled, still trying to be angry with him. But somehow, his hands had found their way to the small of my back. They were pressing against it now, running long, thick fingers under my shirt and over my spine. When had he started to touch me? I couldn't shake my head clear. The world around me was fading fast, and all I could see was Lars. His face. His eyes. His mouth. His tongue slid out between his luscious, pink lips and moistened them with enough wetness to leave a sheen. I couldn't take anymore. I crushed my lips against his, sticking my tongue deep into the back of his throat, making it my mission to tickle his tonsils.
He kissed me back with moist lips and a hard passion that I could feel rising up from deep within his core. We pressed our bodies together. Arms wrapped around each other. Our lips burned and tangled together in a slow tango that made my heart beat wildly in my chest. My panties grew moist as Lars slipped his fingers under my waistband.
Suddenly, there was a cough. I opened my eyes and looked over to see Madeline standing in the shadows, watching us. I wasn't sure whether she was trying to hide or if she just wanted to get a good look. Maybe this was some sort of sick joke to her. Lars didn't even notice her until I pushed him away. Of course not. He was a man. And an idiot.
"What's wrong?" he asked, looking bewi
ldered.
"Are you serious? Are you really this dumb? Tell me you at least made it through elementary school."
His lips thinned as I pulled back, unrelenting in my verbal assault. Seeing Madeline standing there had reignited my anger. No amount of lust could put out the fire raging within me now. If anything, it only made the anger worse.
"You might as well fuck her," I spat at Lars, "because you're never touching me again. And you!" I screamed, turning now on Madeline, but there were no words I could think of to express the betrayal I felt in my heart. "Go fuck yourself!" I said, deciding that sometimes a simple, declarative statement was enough. "Stay away from me, both of you."
Then I turned my back on them. Lars reached out and grabbed my wrist. His grip wasn't hard, and I knew he didn't mean anything by it other than wanting to stop me, but in my already fragile state, it was the last straw. I spun around and slapped him. Hard. It was instinctual, and for a moment, the shock registered across both our faces. Then it was gone and I was in my car, closing the door and successfully holding back the tears until I was safely out of their sight.
12
Lars
I watched Clarissa speed out of the parking lot, pissed as all hell but without a clear direction on who, exactly, to be pissed at. I was mad at her. I was mad at myself. I was mad at Madeline. Anger wasn't exactly new to me, and I wasn't known for handling my temper well. Clarissa's attacks on my intelligence still stung. They'd hit a little too close to home. I'd barely made it through school and had never even considered college. I wasn't exactly college material. Most guys from Vinegar Hill weren't.
I spun on Madeline, who stood there in her heels and mini dress looking like she'd just come from work at a strip club.
"What the hell did you come down here for anyway?" I spat.
"I wanted to see you," she said, batting her long lashes uncertainly in my direction.
This chick made no sense to me. She'd been checking me out during dinner at Coach's but hadn't talked to me since that night. I played back that dinner in my mind. Had I said or done anything to lead her on? Hell no. I’d still been trying to get into Clarissa's panties again, and I'd been desperate to get her alone that night. Madeline had been no more than a bug in my eye, if that.
I couldn't hold back the laugh bubbling up from deep inside me. None of this was funny. I didn't know why I was laughing, except that the whole thing suddenly seemed like some daytime soap opera. Did they still have those on TV?
"You wanted to see me?" I scoffed at Madeline, using her own words against her. If Tony were here, he'd probably tell me to go over there and give her what she wants. If Ash were here, he'd tell me to watch myself. I couldn't have them both. Right now though, I wasn't sure I wanted either one.
"In my experience, Madeline, friends don't try to fuck their best friends' boyfriends. Where I come from, a person could get shot messing around like that."
"Oh please," Madeline said. "Don't act all hurt. You're far from Clarissa's boyfriend."
Oh shit.
Had I just used the "B" word talking about me and Clarissa? Boyfriend? Fuck that. No way. Not after one screw in a dark alley. Even if it was the best sex of my life. Suddenly a soft breeze blew over my skin, warm for January, and I couldn't help comparing it to the feel of Clarissa's breath on my neck as she'd kissed it while I'd moved inside her. I shook my head, clearing it. This was all getting way too complicated.
"Look, let's just forget this," I told Madeline, wanting to get out of here now myself. I was glad my keys were in my pocket so I wouldn't have to go back into the stadium.
"What do you mean forget it?" Madeline asked. Her eyes looked like those of an escaped mental patient, and her legs wobbled unsteadily as she moved toward me. She got to me fast and flung her arms around my neck. I pulled them off and pushed her away.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"Nothing. I came down here for something, and I'm just determined to get it, that's all."
Suddenly, Madeline's problem crystallized before me. "You're jealous," I said, bewildered. I didn't know what Madeline had to be jealous about. She wasn't as hot as Clarissa, but she was still plenty good looking.
"Goddammit!" she shouted. "I'm not jealous. I want you to fuck me! Now!" She pounded her fist against her thigh like a child throwing a tantrum.
"You're so jealous you can't see straight, can you?" I said, my accusation making her cheeks burn. "I don't know what it is, but you've got it bad."
She laughed, pacing back and forth. "Whatever, Lars."
"Whatever yourself. Get out of here. I've got no use for you. I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."
My words must have hit her harder than I'd intended. Suddenly, her fists were flying through the air as she tried to punch me. I stepped out of her way just as her fist flew toward my jaw. She tripped and fell, smacking her face into the pavement. I heard a loud crack, and when she looked up at me, her nose was bleeding.
"Are you okay?" I asked, not wanting to touch her but also unable to stop myself from helping an injured woman.
"Get off me, you asshole," she spat when I tried to help her up. She stood up on her own, glaring at me with hatred in her eyes as I let go and threw my hands into the air. I'd had enough of this. I headed toward my motorcycle, leaving her standing alone in an empty parking lot.
"Fuck you, Lars!" she screamed as my engine roared to life. I shouldn't have been able to make out her final words over the roar of the engine, but she was as loud as a chainsaw. Her words were clear and carried through the air with precision. "I'll get even with you for this, Lars, if it's the last thing I do!"
13
Clarissa
It was a new day. I tried to put everything out of my mind except the rehearsal I had coming up in a couple of hours. It was my first real rehearsal for a major Broadway production, and I couldn't be more excited. At the same time, I had this dark, baby-shaped cloud hanging over me. I stared down at my stomach and laid one hand gently over it, wondering how this might affect wardrobe. My stomach started to gurgle, and I ran to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl before I threw up.
"Ugghh," I sighed, standing up and rinsing my mouth out with mouthwash. I hated puking. The idea I might do this for months made me feel queasy all over again.
The doorbell rang. I opened it and suddenly the queasiness was forgotten. Madeline stood staring at me. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were stained with tears. A clump of dark brown hair was matted to her forehead and a massive bruise had formed on her right cheek. I was at once worried for her and angry with her.
"Madeline," I said, "um..." I wanted to tell her to leave, that I had rehearsal and couldn't be bothered with backstabbers like her, but her eyes pleaded with me to invite her inside. In the end, her tears won out and I opened the door wider, stepping aside to let her in. She might be my ex-best friend, but she was still a person — if I was honest, she was still a person I cared about; after all, you couldn't just erase friendship overnight—looking at me like she'd just been hit by a freight truck. Literally.
"Madeline... are you okay? What happened to your face?"
She stood a moment with her shoulders shaking as fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Then she threw her arms around me in a giant bear hug. "C-Clarissa. I'm s-s-sorry," she wailed. Her whole body shook as she cried against my shoulder. I couldn't decide whether to push her away or embrace her back.
"Madeline," I finally said, pushing her gently from me. "I'm...I'm surprised to see you here."
"I know," she sighed, her chest heaving as she fought to get her tears under control. "I just feel terrible about yesterday. I didn't mean...I wasn't thinking. You're my best friend and...I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" I asked, anger bubbling slowly inside me like steam in a kettle. "How could you do that to me? You knew I liked Lars, didn't you?"
She nodded her head. I sighed and walked to the couch, Madeline trailing behind me. We sat next to each other in awkwa
rd silence.
"I'm sorry," Madeline said again. "I shouldn't have gone to the stadium." Her apology seemed genuine, and I felt myself softening.
"Why did you then?" I asked.
The alarm on my phone suddenly let out a long, shrill screech that made both our ears bleed. I jumped up and shut it off, sticking it into my pocket.
"Look, I've got my first rehearsal today. I've gotta go. Maybe we can talk later. If there's anything else you want to say right now, you can text me."
Madeline's brown eyes darkened as she rose to her feet. "Rehearsal?"
"Yeah. Rehearsals start today."
"For A Bride for My Father?"
"Yes," I said, exasperated. "How many Broadway shows do you think I've got right now?"
"It's just...I thought that you weren't, I mean, that maybe you weren't doing the show anymore."
"Why would you think that?" I asked, bewildered.
"You didn't...change your mind? No one's called you? What about that director, Jerry? I thought you said he didn't care for you too much."
I grabbed my coat from the closet, annoyed at whatever she was getting at. She was looking at me with an odd expression I didn't have time for.
"He didn't. But Phil does, and he outranks Jerry."
Something in Madeline's eyes flickered. I didn't have time to sort out whatever bullshit she was going through, though. I couldn't be late to my first rehearsal.
"I've gotta go, okay?" She was starting to irritate me all over again. "Text me if you need to." I took one last look at the bruise on her face as I swung my coat over my shoulders. I couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for her. It looked like it hurt. "Are you sure you're okay? That bruise looks bad. Did you fall?"
Suddenly, Madeline's whole temperament changed. Instead of looking at me as though I were speaking Hebrew, she reverted back to crying like she'd been when she first came in, only this time the sobs were louder and more alarming.
