by C. Shell
I’m half-listening to something Becca is saying when the little hairs on the back of my neck tingle in warning. I try to blow off the creepy feeling, but it only intensifies with time. Turning in a circle, my gaze washes over the crowd.
Tucked in a nook in the back corner of the room is my ex. Conner leans against the wall covered by shadows as he takes long pulls on a bottle of beer. I can’t make out his features, but I can feel his eyes on me. Swiping a few strands of damp hair from my face, I square my shoulders and stare the asshole down.
I clear my throat and flick a finger at Becca’s arm. “I need some air. I’ll be right back,” I yell to her over the loud music.
Becca bobs her head in approval. She’s too busy bumping and grinding with Patrick to care about anything else, so I don’t expect her to miss me too much. I glance around the room and get my bearings before weaving through the crowd toward the open double doors that lead out to the back porch.
Stepping out onto the deck, I take in a heaping gulp of fresh air and the view before me. I didn’t know Frat boys lived so well. These guys are surrounded by luxury with a half-sized basketball court, pool with attached hot tub, fire pit, and a pool house with a bar built into the side. They’ve hit the amenity jackpot. Who in their right mind needs all this?
There are fewer people hanging around outside, which is a nice change. Large crowds make me antsy. Pushing past a group huddled in a circle passing around a joint, I take a seat on a bench off to the side of the porch and away from everyone. The solitude soothes me.
I hide away amongst the shadows and watch the antics unfold around me. On one side of the yard you’ve got one of our prized rugby players pumping himself into a girl beside the pool and on the other is a girl from my economics class puking her guts up in a potted plant. And let’s not forget the group to the side of me who are blitzed out of their minds on weed and who knows what else.
In other words, it’s a typical college party.
I sit on a wooden bench enjoying the show when a red Solo cup appears in front of my face. I frown at the unwanted drink. So much for enjoying the solitude. I don’t even have to glance up to know who my unwelcome guest is. The pretentious top dollar shoes and pressed dark wash jeans are a dead giveaway that Conner has found me.
“Sorry,” I say, pushing away his gift. “I was taught never to accept drinks from strangers.”
“I’m the furthest thing from a stranger,” he scoffs. Wickedness plays across his handsome face. “I know you inside and out, baby. I know the sounds you make when you come and the way your pulse races when I take you from behind. I might be many things, but a stranger isn’t one of them.”
My cheeks burn hot. Conner looks at me expectantly. He wants me to deny it, but I’m not falling for his games tonight. Pushing up, I move to one side of the bench and glare up at him. “I’m not in the mood to fight with you. What do you want?”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Taking the empty spot beside me, Conner reaches out and trials a finger down my arm. I don’t get a moment to catch my breath before his mood changes and his eyes turn lustful. “You look beautiful. That dress on you is messing with my head.”
I can smell the alcohol on his breath, the stench strong and potent. Conner’s drunk and not just a little bit either. Alarm bells go off in my head. His voice slurs when he leans in and asks, “You do all this for me or were you planning on fucking someone else tonight?”
“You need to leave,” I tell him. My blood roars in my head, making me feel somewhat lightheaded. I’ve never enjoyed being around Conner when’s he’s drunk, and tonight is no different.
I hold my body tight, ready to spring up at any moment if needed. “I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to come to a party thrown by Patrick’s fraternity. You two aren’t exactly on good terms,” I remind him. “And just so you know, this dress isn’t for you,” I seethe. “It isn’t for anyone else either, although considering how many girls you’ve openly fucked this week, it shouldn’t matter.”
The excited butterflies that normally assault me whenever Conner is near are nowhere to be found. Instead, I feel sadness, anger, and above all else betrayed. He destroyed us. Gone is the intense love and devotion I once felt for the man beside me. I’m not heartless, but I am heartbroken.
The silence between us thickens. Conner cold eyes remain focused on my face as his hand snakes around my waist. One minute I’m sitting soundly beside him and then next, I’m being manhandled and dragged onto his lap. Between the alcohol sloshing in my belly and his unexpected visit, I’m ready to go back to the dorm and call it a night.
I whack my fist against his chest, but I might as well be hitting stone for all the good it does. “What the hell is your problem?” I yell. The group smoking near us gives us a quick glance, but just as quickly go back to own devices. They’re obviously too busy frying their brain cells to give us a second thought.
“Stop being so damn stubborn,” he gripes. The grip he has on me intensifies to an uncomfortable level. I squirm and try pulling away, but he’s too strong and too intoxicated to notice my discomfort. “I get why you’re mad,” he states. “I screwed up and made a mess of things. If I could go back and change it, I would. That ship has sailed, and it’s time for you to come home. We can fix this. We’ll be better than ever. I promise.”
If he were anyone else, I would dick kick him so hard he would walk funny for a month. Conner isn’t just anyone. I’ve spent the better part of my college years with this man and no matter how bad things are between us, there was a time when I wanted nothing better than to spend the rest of my life with him.
“Conner, you’re hurting me,” I say, forcing a vulnerability into my voice. “Please, let me go”.
Conner watches me with longing before glancing down to his hands. Seeing the bruise-like grip he has on my soft flesh, his eyes widen, then narrow. His hold on me changes and when his fingers go slack, I scramble off his lap. Growing up in a rough neighborhood taught me at a young age that physical bruises will heal. Words can be deadly. They can burrow under your skin and cause irreversible damage. Conner never learned that.
Coming from a privileged family where love is a four-letter word and money and power rule is all he’s ever known. His posture stiffens. “I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t-”
A guy from the down on the lawn interrupts his words. “Dude, get your pansy ass down here. We need another player.” His buddy from the rugby team is done screwing around. He motions for Conner to come and play a drinking game with him and his friends.
It’s as if the stars have all aligned and granted me the opportunity I need to slip away. Conner is hesitant to leave, his eyes volleying between his friend and me every few seconds. “You should go,” I tell him. “They’ll never let you live it down if you don’t. Being called a pansy around campus will become routine. Can’t have that happen, now can we?”
Conner looks to where his friends have gathered with yearning. He jabs a finger at me. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. We’re not done talking.” Without another word, he climbs to his feet and trots down the steps to join his friends.
The moment he’s away, I’m up and on the move. I slip back through the double doors and search the room for Becca and Patrick. The room is darker now, making it harder to make out individual bodies. Adrenaline pumps hot through my body as I frantically search for my friends.
I comb through a few more rooms before giving up. I’m sure if I called her, she would drop everything and go home with me, but I’m capable of handling this myself. No reason to ruin her fun. My hands shake as I yank out my phone. My first text is to Becca telling her I’m done for the night. My second is to Patrick. I remind him to keep an eye on Becca and threaten him with bodily harm is anything bad happens to her. After all that, I order an Uber and head to the curb where I wait for my ride.
As I wait, I think over all that happened tonight. It wasn’t all horrible.
I got out o
f the dorm, I mingled, I danced, and I met an annoyingly handsome Bartender. If you ignore my interaction with Conner, then tonight was a success. I accomplished what I came to do. Now I’m ready to put on some pajamas, make some popcorn, and enjoy an old movie.
Little by little, I feel my confidence coming back to me. I feel a spark within myself that I thought had died long ago. I’m back in control of my life and it feels fucking amazing.
Chapter Seven
I wake up feeling mentally and physically drained. I take an extra-long shower, hoping it will help clear my head. It doesn’t, but my fingers get nice and pruney. Normally, Becca is around to help perk me up when I’m down, but she drank too much last night and ended up staying at Patrick’s place. My room is all too quiet, making my mind race with thoughts of the cocky Bartender I met at the party.
I thought a lot about him last night. Especially when I pleasured myself.
I was just joking about his face being a part of my spank bank, but damn if he wasn’t the first person I thought of when I slipped my hand inside my pajama bottoms. With each stroke of my fingers, I imagined his kissable lips and those sexy as fuck tattooed arms. When I crested over the edge to a blissful finish, I closed my eyes and pretended it was his long fingers doing all the work.
Something must be seriously wrong with me.
It’s the only explanation. A stranger shouldn’t have such a stronghold over me. I’ve never seen him around campus before, so I have no clue who he is or why he was working at the party. He’s definitely not part of Patrick’s Fraternity that I am sure of. He’s a mystery. Maybe that’s why he’s still on my mind. I’ve always been a sucker for a good puzzle.
I’m lying on my bed still wrapped in my towel when Becca stumbles through the door, looking like something a cat would throw up. I focus on her unruly hair and smudged day-old make-up and frown.
“You okay, Becs? You don’t look so hot.”
She looks up at me through red-rimmed eyes. “Rough night,” she croaks. “After you left, I got roped into playing a game of shots against Daisy Lewis from the second floor.”
I sit up and cross my legs. I’m intrigued to hear how this turned out. Everyone knows Daisy can hold her liquor. I’ve seen her drink men twice her size under the table. “Dare I ask who won?”
She gives me a bland look. “That is the thing no one understands,” she says shaking her head. “There is no winner when throwing back shots. Beating the other person means being so drunk you spend the rest of the night puking your guts up.” She rubs at her stomach and frowns as if revisiting a bad memory. “Drinking is bad, Ems. So very, very bad.”
I snort a laugh. “You should have let her win.”
Becca yanks her shirt over her head and throws it at me. “It’s like you don’t even know me,” she complains while continuing to undress. “I’m not a quitter. I don’t care how many toilets I must hug. I will never purposely let someone get the best of me. It’s not in my blood.”
“Well, okay then.”
Getting up off the bed, I go to my closet and start rummaging around for something to wear. The clouds outside are a dark omen to the rain to come, leading me to pull on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of worn jeans with holes in the knees. Unlike most of the kids attending this school, the holes in my clothes are made from years of wear. They aren’t the designer kind that cost a small fortune.
“Do you have any plans for today?” I ask while searching under my bed for a missing sock. How I always lose only one is beyond me.
Her lips purse. “I’m thinking about getting another piercing in my eyebrow.”
I pause long enough to let that bit of information sink in. “Will this make the second or third one you’ve gotten?” Becca has multiple piercings, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her because she doesn’t wear them all at one time. Her selectivity depends solely on the outfit she’s wearing or what she’s doing.
“Not telling,” she laughs. “I prefer being a mystery no one can figure out. It’s what makes me me.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out of their sockets. “Of course, it does.”
“What about you?” she prods. “Any date with a certain hot bartender that I should know about?”
I was hoping she would forget about him, but no such luck. The memory of my mystery man is still fresh in my mind. It can’t be healthy to continuously think of someone you barely know. The memory of him is like a fungus that just won’t go away.
“Nope,” I answer with a sigh. “I never gave him my name, and I refused to get his. He was hot with a capital H. It’s for the best. Being with a guy like him is asking for trouble.”
“Why?” she challenges. “You need some fun and a man like him is guaranteed to deliver. Did you see those tats on his arms? Someone with major skill did his work. He was fucking sexy. I would do him in a heartbeat if I wasn’t already taken.”
Plopping down on the bed, I wrestle to get my Chuck Taylor’s on my feet. As comfortable as these shoes are, they are a bitch to get on. “Because I need to heal,” I tell her. “Jumping from one to another isn’t healthy. Besides, my heart is still mangled and bruised from Conner.”
I’m still getting over a rough break-up and dating isn’t in the cards for me right now. I need to focus on graduating and figuring out how to pay for my sister’s schooling now that Conner’s dad won’t be helping. My sister has called a few times since I moved back into the dorms, and I keep letting her calls go to voicemail. I don’t want to talk to her until I have a plan in place My sister has enough on her plate with finishing high school, work, and keeping mom from drowning in her own filth.
Pushing herself up onto one elbow, Becca gives me a hard stare. I squirm from her intensity, feeling as if she’s trying to dig inside my brain and figure me out. “I wasn’t talking about something permanent. You need a good distraction from everyday life. A friends-with-benefits type of relationship.”
Oh, Lord help me.
I don’t know why I would assume my free loving friend would think any differently. Becca has her own belief system when it comes to relationships. As much as she loves Patrick, she refuses to marry him. Or anyone, for that matter. He’s gotten down on his knee twice for her in the past year, and each time she’s turned him down.
Becca loves Patrick. She has no intention of leaving or cheating on him, but marriage isn’t in the cards for her. The thought of tying the knot makes her break out in hives. Her belief is that the moment you try to corral or put a label on something, you essentially kill it. She’s a free spirit through and through. She comes by it naturally; her parents are the same way.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth and consider what she’s saying. I get where she’s coming from, but my sensible side is keeping me from jumping on board. I’ve had a few hookups back in high school. It was fun during the moment, but it always left me feeling empty.
Running a hand through my hair, I give it to her straight. “I don’t think an arrangement like that would work for me. My heart and my hormones have a finicky relationship. One doesn’t work well without the other.”
Moving over to where I’m seated, Becca takes a spot beside me and pulls me into a side hug. “I hear you babe, but I think you need to keep an open mind.,” she retorts. “Sex can be cathartic. I’m not talking about spreading your legs for half the debate team,” she argues. “You just need to find a guy who knows what he’s doing. Knocking those cobwebs off your lady bits will help get your head clear. It’ll be good for you.”
It’s too early in the day to be having this conversation. Becca is stubborn. Like a dog with a bone. When she gets an idea in her head, she clamps down and won’t let it go. I could argue with her all day on this topic, which would leave us both frustrated or I can change the subject and spare us both our sanity.
I’m going with the latter option.
A crazy idea pops into my head and before I can think better of it, I rush out and ask, “When we
re you thinking of about getting that piercing of yours done?”
Her eyes widen with glee and she’s practically bouncing in place, her enthusiasm taking over. “I was thinking about going after I fill my belly with some greasy food. There’s this place down on Sixth street that Patrick read about in a magazine that I want to visit. The owner is supposed to be some up-and-coming hotshot.” Her eyes narrow. “Why? You never ask me about my body art?”
Not sure how she will react, I stare at her anxiously before saying in the smallest voice possible. “Because I want to go with you. With all the new things happening in my life, I think it’s time I got my first tattoo. I’m ready now.”
Becca’s mouth drops open. “Holy fuck,” she exclaims. Ignoring her hangover, she pops up and starts jumping up and down on the bed like a little kid on Christmas day. Her glee is contagious, and I find myself laughing right along with her. “This is monumental. My bestie is going to get her tattoo cherry popped. This is the best day ever.”
What is everyone obsessed with my cherry these days? Shaking my head, I smile back at her. “One more first for the books,” I muse.
Maybe hell is freezing over, but the thought of knocking out a few more firsts sounds tempting. It’s time I spread my wings and walk on the wild side for a change.
What do I have to lose?
Chapter Eight
Turns out the tattoo studio Becca wanted to go to has a waiting list. The owner, some guy by the name of Ashton Gibson, is in high demand and doesn’t have an opening right now. Becca promises that it will be worth the wait. Word on the street is that he’s a Tattoo God. Whatever that means.
All I know is that his name is being thrown around in magazines and the internet like a two-dollar whore. We weren’t able to book an appointment until the following Thursday, which I think is crazy.
