by Schow, Ryan
Guys are watching; girls are watching. I find myself laughing, throwing my hair back, letting my body do what Chloe’s body is doing.
I glance toward our table, then around the club and Netty’s still not out of the bathroom. I’m thinking, what a time to take a dump! Because she sure isn’t peeing. Or maybe there’s a super long line, which—for girls at a club—is entirely plausible. Or maybe she’s crying and I’m being a terrible friend out here, fraternizing with the enemy.
Then, the next song comes on, Sexy by the Black Eyed Peas, and Chloe says, “Oh my God, I love this song!” Her movements slow, her eyes simmer, and a seductive sort of music-inspired lust gives her pouty lips and a body that looks driven by desire. She dances around me, running her hands fractions of an inch away from my body. Clearly she’s the huntress and I’m the prey. It’s practically erotic. People move away from us to give us room. Their faces are smiling, their eyes are watching, and some of them, well, it’s obvious they’re lusting after us.
Freaking Chloe, she’s put us on display.
The looks in guys’ eyes, however, talk about euphoric! Chloe draws me into this hypnotic state, makes me her slave, and yet she’s making me look sooooo good doing it. Then, when the song is about over, she pulls me in close and says, “This isn’t for me, it’s for them,” then flicks her eyes over to the boys watching. I’m about to ask what she means when she puts her lips on mine and gives me the most sensual kiss of my life.
I feel detached from the real world, tethered to some alternate universe that’s light and sweet and magical. Then her lips leave mine and I’m hauled back into this world with a new song, brighter lights, and the low whistles of jealous, sexually charged boys.
Holy f*ck, that was hot.
The smile on my face gets there on its own. Chloe is enjoying the attention, soaking it in. She takes my hand and says, “Bow,” and we do. Everyone is clapping, except Netty, who is watching.
Immediately I’m embarrassed. Netty, however, gives me an easy smile. Right then I know she isn’t jealous. Thank God. Unless it’s an act.
Is it an act?
Walking off the stage, Chloe says to me, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I did that for me, too. I wanted to kiss you the moment I first saw you.”
And so there it was: my first girl kiss. The first kiss to put all other kisses to absolute shame.
Damn.
Back at the table, the three of us talk, Chloe not paying nearly as much attention to me as she is to Netty. Some guys pass by, make idle chit chat, then move on when Chloe says, “This is a girls only table, but thanks for stopping by.” Each time, however, before the guys leave, she looks at me and says, “Unless you see anything you like.”
I look the boys up and down and smile, and to them I say, “Sorry, I’m still stuck on her kiss. But maybe later?”
Truly, it’s the polite thing to do.
Reconnect | Disconnect
1
Romeo once told Brayden there was this slut named Houston who in 1999 starred in a documentary film called The World’s Biggest Gang Bang III – Houston’s 620, where she has sex with six hundred and twenty guys in one day. Brayden didn’t watch the film (he wasn’t into that sort of debauchery), but the way Houston must have been exhausted at the end of that day was how he felt nearly every single day now.
This life he lived—what was supposed to be the storied life of a Vegas pick-up artist—it might have been a charmed life, if not for Abby.
Freaking Abby.
Romeo and Titan promised to be instrumental in his journey to becoming what they called the “master seducer.” Ever since he got back, however, he drifted in and out of numbness. Not even the tantalizing Aniela could drag him completely from his funk. How did this happen???
All he wanted was Abby.
For all the excitement Vegas promised, he felt empty inside. A shadow of his former self. So consumed by an unfulfilled need, his condition dare not have a name. He couldn’t get Abby out of his mind. Not even after the two married women and the sexy AF pajama foursome. His and Abby’s start, their friendship, their most recent adventure, it was all he thought about anymore. That and her lying bloody on the floor in the music producer’s house. Man, he thought she was dead! His mind wandered through all their times together. To the time he showered with her, slept in bed next to her, road tripped through California with her. When Aniela asked him where he was, he felt his eyes go sad.
“Back in California,” he said.
“With her,” Aniela said, somber.
“Yes.”
For a second, he wanted with such desperation to lose himself in Aniela. Just to not be alone. Just to feel something. He halfheartedly ran his game on her but it wasn’t working. His heart simply wasn’t into it.
“You know who you love,” she said to him one night.
She was right.
“I almost love you for you knowing this about me,” he said. His eyes were elsewhere. His heart rendered useless without Abby around. God, he thought, how did this happen?
Aniela took his chin, lifted his head so their eyes met. It was a kindness so tender he wanted to cry. “I know,” she replied with understanding in her eyes. Not only was she angelic, she was intuitive as well. The melancholy overcame him. “Awe, sweetheart,” she said, and that did it.
He broke down.
She pulled him into her arms, drew him into a hug. “Sweetie, this lifestyle isn’t for you. You’re too attached. Too in love.”
The thing about Brayden was, once he let Abby into his heart, he wanted her there all the time. But he was in Vegas, and she was in Silicon Valley. And now he felt like every moment away from her was the most suffocating moment he’d ever known.
“Go back,” Aniela said to him that night. “You need to go back.” She was in bed with him at the time, sleeping with him just so he didn’t have to sleep alone.
“She hasn’t even called,” he said.
“You should go to her.”
After a long moment, he croaked out the word, “No.”
If he and Abby shared what they did and she couldn’t even call him, then this pain, this love, it had to be a one-sided affair. The truth was, she could do much better than him. And she would. And he’d still be the ugly kid who got a little less ugly and learned to seduce women.
Not good enough.
Pitiful.
So, it was wake up, work out, make a protein shake and eat, plan the night during the day. Then it was take a nap, wake back up, get ready. Night would fall on the city and just like a vampire, his body would wake up ready to descend upon the masses.
Around ten it started.
It was the unparalleled beauty of Pure and its guests in Caesar’s Palace, then the beer garden at Chateau in Paris, then the lights and music of Haze in Aria. It was one hotspot after the next; it was the drinks and the dancing; it was waterfalls and flirty women. The buzz he cultivated held strong and his game was on. Girls came and went. He got numbers, kissed strangers, set up dates he never planned to go on. He was doing everything but having sex.
He didn’t want it.
He did not want sex for sex alone. After having random sex when he first arrived, he realized it left him feeling hollow unless you did it with someone special. Someone you know. At such a young age, he realized he wanted that most coveted thing: love. If he wasn’t having sex with Abby, he would have sex with no one.
He didn’t want to be a player. It wasn’t him. But that didn’t matter. He was in the life, passing the time. Soon it would be over and he’d have to go back to school where he’d see her again.
Finally he told Aniela about Maggie’s suicide, about the music producer, about how in Santa Monica everything went sour. He told her how Abby almost died.
“The trauma of a situation like that,” Aniela said, curling into him, “it feels like first love. That need, that shared experience. Could you be confusing the two?”
“No,” he said. He shook his hea
d, “I don’t know.”
She kissed him on the cheek, not like she wanted something. She kissed him the way a mother would kiss her wounded child. It was a different. It made him sad.
“Think about it,” she said.
He’d been thinking about it for days now.
After that, he stopped gaming. Started sleeping. He couldn’t bare to be awake with the pain of her not being in his life. Twice he picked up the phone to call her; twice he hung up with butterflies in his gut by the thousands, all taking flight, all threatening to turn him into a weepy vagina.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he said.
Romeo and Titan got him out of bed. Dragged him to the clubs. Fed him drinks and introduced him to more beautiful women, like that was the solution to anything. He went on autopilot. Most girls he gamed ended up dropping obvious hints for sex. They said they could see themselves enjoying a guy like him. That they were advocates for sex on the first date, even though meeting at a club wasn’t really a first date because it wasn’t prearranged. They pressed their chests a little further out, twirled their hair more, bit their lips while holding his eyes. It was seductive, and sometimes exciting, but it wasn’t real.
He never felt so wanted before.
Never so alone.
2
Abby called in the middle of the night. She was sobbing. Brayden sat up in bed, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Abby?” he said.
Aniela stirred, rolled over, her eyes still closed, but her breathing different.
“Brayden,” Abby replied, her voice choked with tears.
“Are you alright?”
“Rebecca’s gone,” she said, so much pain in her voice.
“She left?” he said, rubbing his eyes, his mind racing in so many directions. When did Aniela come in here? Or did they fall asleep talking?
“No, she was kidnapped.”
“What?!”
Aniela’s eyes fluttered open. She stretched. Trying to open her eyes again, her face held the grogginess of lost sleep. She put her hand on Brayden’s thigh. He looked at her in the darkness, his soul cold.
“Is everything alright?” Aniela asked.
“Who is that?” Abby said on the phone. “Are you with someone?”
“It’s okay. It’s Aniela. Tell me what happened.”
“Aniela?”
“Goddammit, Abby. Tell me about Rebecca!”
“She was kidnapped back. From the same lunatic doctor I stole her from.” The spinning in his head finally took flight. He dragged his hand over his scalp and realized Aniela was still looking at him. Waiting. Everything in him dropped to an anxious chill. Rebecca was still too fragile. “He tried to kill me, Brayden. That freaking maniac doctor tried to kill me.”
“How?” he said, concern trumping urgency.
“He tied me to the bed, cut me open and poured gasoline through a hose into my heart. He set me on fire. Tried to burn me to death.”
He pushed the covers aside, sprung out of bed. His stomach surged and he thought for a moment that he was going to throw up. Or punch a hole in the wall.
“Are you okay?” he practically growled through clenched teeth.
“I’m fine.”
“You…healed?” His heart was pounding so hard, he didn’t care if Aniela heard him. Whatever questions she had about Abby, Brayden would never reveal her secret. Ever.
“I’m okay now,” she said.
“Thank God. How long has Rebecca been gone?” He was thinking, twenty-minutes? An hour? Two hours? She went silent for a long time. Finally he said, “Abby?”
“A couple of weeks now.”
“What? Are you serious! Why didn’t you call me? I’m going to pieces over here thinking about you and all this is going on and you don’t even call?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m angry!” she barked. Then lower, “And I’m scared. And sad.” He stood there, stewing, the blood pumping so hard he had to steady himself. He was about to pass out. Either that or he was about to start hyperventilating. “Brayden, I’m going to get her back.”
He paced, ran his hands over his freshly buzzed head again, fast enough to cause friction, then tried to keep his heart from exploding, or stopping cold. “How?” he said, his voice so calm he wasn’t sure he even said the word.
“Trust me.”
He looked at Aniela. She was sitting up in bed now, topless, her large Polish breasts hanging heavy for him to see. He fell short of breath. Her breasts were gorgeous. She looked at him like she didn’t seem to care that she was naked. Which was new. She was always so standoffish when it came to his minor advances, and so generous at the most unexpected times. Now she was more interested in him. More interested in what was going on. He looked away, but not because he wanted to.
“How can I trust you, Abby? You waited weeks.”
“I know,” she said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I told you, I’m going to get her back,” she said with that all-familiar conviction.
“Jesus Christ, Abby. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Help me,” she pleaded.
“I just helped you in L.A. and you left me. It’s been weeks since we talked, Abs. Weeks.”
Aniela crawled out of bed, walked to the bathroom, sat on the toilet and began to pee. For some reason, Brayden didn’t give it a second thought. And then he did. The way her body was curvy like a woman, rather than straight like a girl was sexy. Even in his worried state, his male DNA was leading the charge, taking over and making him think he wanted to touch her, be with her.
“Well we’re talking right now, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” Brayden said, “at three in the morning.”
In the background Brayden heard someone—a girl—say, “Abby, are you okay?” It sounded like Netty.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” she told the voice. “Just talking to Brayden.” Then back to him, she said, “I’m in San Francisco. I pretty sure Rebecca is back where I first found her. I just need to get her, that’s all.”
“When?” Brayden said. Aniela flushed the toilet, then turned on the light and fixed her hair in the mirror. She wasn’t wearing anything and it became distracting.
Her ass just might be the most perfect he’d ever seen.
“Couple of weeks. I need to come up with a plan. I need to make sure this won’t happen again.”
Aniela walked over to him, put her arms around him, buried her head into his neck and gave him a slow kiss. This one was different from the one before. This one was suggestive.
“I’m coming out,” he says. “Text me your address.”
“Not yet. I still have things to do. Plans to make.”
Aniela was nuzzling on his neck now and his body was responding, betraying him, sending false signals. Or maybe they were true. She was moving her kisses up his neck, to his face, to the side of his mouth.
“Then I guess just text me when you’re ready,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed, or cold. What he felt was massive frustration. And arousal.
Aniela’s mouth moved over his and it was the first time she kissed him like that. In his head, he was thinking how girls are just as dumb as boys. When he thought he wanted to be with her, Aniela played coy, now that he confessed to wanting Abby, to being in love—now that Abby was on the other line—this Polish huntress decided to get completely naked and to try to seduce him.
“Are you mad?” Abby said.
“No,” he replied, soft, defeated. “Yes.” Aniela kissed his mouth again, slowly, seductively.
“Is that girl…kissing you?” Abby said.
He looked at Aniela and Aniela raised an eyebrow that said, “I’m kissing you and I don’t care if she knows.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you like, seeing her or something?”
“I’m in love, Abby,” he said, bitter.
>
Sounding disappointed, she said, “I’m happy for you two.”
“Not with her, retard,” he said. And then he hung up.
He felt tears prickling the backs of his eyes when he turned and matched Aniela’s kiss with a warm one of his own. He told himself this would be the first and last time they would do it, and when he climaxed, it was not with Aniela in mind, but Abby.
God he was a fool.
So stupid.
Good Morning Mr. Yummy
1
I stab the END button on the phone, mad. He hung up on me! Why did he do that? And why did he say he was in love, but not with the girl he was with. What is he doing? Who is he in love with?
“You, jack ass,” the voice in my head whispers.
Shit.
Realization sweeps over me like a cold front. I don’t know how I feel about this, but it’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever felt. Relax, I tell myself. Breathe.
Somewhere in this chaos of thought, my brain and my body give up and sleep overtakes me.
When the phone rings again, it’s morning and I’m seriously freaking agitated. My hand reaches for the phone and before I’m fully conscious, I’m speaking. “Don’t hang up on me again,” I say with a sort of drowsiness and slowness to my voice
“Why would I call only to hang up?”
It’s not Brayden.
It’s Professor Teller. Jake. I wake instantly.
“Uh, sorry. I thought…why are you calling?”
“To apologize.”
My mouth stays shut, and my mind returns to the humiliation I felt when I stormed out of his hotel room in tears. I’m so hungry for him. I loathe him. Mostly I hate the way he rejected me. How he made me feel terribly young. And unwanted. So thoroughly rejected. Did this new body and face mean nothing?
“I want to be with you,” he says into the phone, his voice different, more solemn. “You are so young though, too young. A minor, still.”
“If you wanted to be with me, age wouldn’t matter,” I challenge. My mind is half thinking about Brayden. Now it’s wondering what the f*ck Jake Teller is trying to do to me. Not that I mind if he’s telling me he wants me. Truthfully, though, I think I’m just holding my breath, waiting to be hurt again.
