by H. M. Ward
I simply shake my head again and Ricky backs up a step, taking in my appearance. From the looks he’s giving me, I must look horrible. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from my cheeks and gives me a weak smile.
“Tell you what, you go freshen up a bit and I’ll have a drink ready for you when you get back. You look like you need one, a stiff one.” At the word stiff, I break down into tears once more, remembering just how stiff Anthony was when I walked in on him. I’m losing it.
I take his advice and go freshen up. My legs feel stiff and my feet are like lead but I make it to the restroom, one step at a time and do my best to make myself look half decent again. Most of my makeup is still in place, but I do have to take care of a mild case of raccoon eyes. My beautiful ringlets have frizzed out so I simply remove the clip and let my hair fall down past my shoulders. The same woman is staring back at me as earlier today but for some reason, she doesn’t look so pretty anymore. She looks... only slightly tolerable. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be good enough.
When I get back to the bar, Ricky pours two shot glasses of rum and we both toss them back, slamming the glasses upside down on the bar when we’re done. It burns as it goes down my throat and the feeling is distracting. I sit on the barstool, legs crossed and I pull on the skirt of my dress to cover the tops of my thigh highs and garters. Throughout the evening, Ricky doesn’t ask any questions, he just keeps on filling the glasses, one by one. Soon, I’m feeling much better about the world in general and everything around me is funny and fuzzy. When Ricky gets a bit of a break from bartending, he asks me to dance and I go willingly. A vague memory of the thong fiasco from the first time makes me hesitate. I’m dressed a little bit slutty under my dress and it’ll only take a little spin to be showing off so much more than what I’m comfortable with. Before I ask him not to do any lifts or throws, my frustrated mind is saying fuck it and I keep quiet.
We start to dance and my mind shuts off. It’s a Jive, which is fun and upbeat and playful. When the music starts, we begin bouncing on the balls of our feet, stepping quickly and teasing each other at first. The moves are tricky with the high heels, but I manage to do the steps without tripping or falling down.
He’s playing lovesick guy, his hands all over me and I’m the girl who keeps pushing him away. After the first couple of bars, we really get into the dance. My pulse is pounding, my heart is soaring and with every leap, spin, and throw, I forget more. His hands move me with confidence and I can let myself be led without thinking. This is what I came here for, to lose myself in the music, the movement the physical contact. He leads me through every move with confidence and ease. He may be on the short side, at only five foot six, but when he dances, he looks like he’s ten feet tall. His stage presence is remarkable.
I turn my back to him and take a teasing step away, but he snatches my hand and spins me back to him, twirling me around his body and across his back. We do variations of this over and over again, always keeping our rapid steps in time with the music. We’re all hands and feet, pulling and pushing against each other, turning and dipping, moving fluidly with the music. He sends me sliding under his legs and pulls me back up, sending my whole body up in the air, kicking my legs behind me. By the end of the song, I’ve completely forgotten where I am, until the band plays the last note. The song is over too quickly and Ricky has me end in a low dip, my head almost touching the ground and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. From this position, everyone in the room looks upside down, including the person with those sapphire eyes that are boring holes into me. It’s Pete. He’s here. He’s upside down but he’s here and he’s not alone.
JENNY
August 9th, 9:38pm
My eyes lock with his. Ricky tries to pull me off of the dance floor, but I can't move.
"Gina, come back to the bar with me." Ricky wraps his arm around my waist and tries to usher me towards the bar, but my feet are frozen in place. Pete's eyes drop to Ricky's hand on my hip and his jaw clenches tight.
Ricky leans in and says in my ear, "Doll, this is a bad idea. Come back to the bar, I'll fix you another drink."
Pete's hand balls into a fist and his eyes narrow. Ricky's arm drops from my waist and I vaguely register him muttering to himself. He must have gone back to the bar because I’m standing all by myself on the dance floor, surrounded by people dancing all around me. I stay glued to the spot, well, except for the occasional wobble from trying to keep my balance. There’s a woman with short blond spiky hair and too many ear piercings to count, sitting next to Pete. Okay, to be honest, I can’t count her piercings because she has three left ears that keep coming in and out of focus. She’s wearing a very low cut tank top which leaves very little to the imagination, especially considering that she’s not wearing a bra underneath and it's obvious that she has her nipples pierced too. Damn that’s sexy! I want those. Not hers, but on me. Piercings, that is. I want my boobs pierced. Crap I’m drunk.
She’s leaning over, saying something in his ear and trailing a long, blood-red fingernail across his chest. His gaze breaks from mine to look at her and he says something in her ear.
My jaw drops and my temperature rises. All I want is to go slap that bitch. I don't care who she is. Right now, she symbolizes everything I'm not. She's Kitty-butt-plug, rave-red-head, lingerie-model-orgy and fireplace-mantel-tongue-chick all wrapped into one.
A young man comes up to me and puts a hand on my lower back, saying, “Hey, sugar. Looking for a dance partner?” breaking my vengeful fantasy of pulling out those nipple rings.
I blink a couple of times and shake head. “Not right now.” I look towards the guy. He’s good looking, about my age, medium build, light brown hair, short sleeve polo shirt and khaki pants. He looks like a picture perfect, clean cut, college frat boy. I look back to Pete, who’s still looking at me angrily while metal-nipple girl nibbles his earlobe. The guy beside me is about to back away when I smile at him sweetly and add, “but I could use a drink. My name is Gina.”
He smiles back and simply answers, “Kendall.” He leads me towards his table, his hand on my lower back. I feel Pete’s eyes on me and I just don’t give a flying fuck. He’s got his skank, I have my frat boy. And tomorrow I’m getting my nipples pierced, ‘cause that is seriously hot. Maybe I should do that tonight while I’m drunk because tomorrow I may forget. Oh hell yeah, that’s such a great idea. Best. Plan. Evah!
Kendall sits down and introduces me to the other members of Sigma Tau Delta and their dates. He gestures to the seat next to him. Smiling, I forgo the empty seat and opt for Kendall’s lap instead, one arm draped across his shoulders. I try damn hard not to laugh at the name of their fraternity, Kendall is an STD.
We talk, laugh, order a couple rounds of drinks and with every one that goes down, I get tipsier whereas Kendall gets friskier, with one hand inching its way up, under my skirt until he finds the strap to one of my garters. His eyes widen and I feel him harden against my hip. It doesn’t feel exciting to me, but I don’t stop him from touching me. He seems to want me and I really need to feel wanted right now. Even if it is from someone I’m not really attracted to. He’s handsome and he’s smart so it’s not so bad but there’s something missing.
There’s no spark, no heat, it’s just touch.
Kendall tucks my hair behind my ear with one hand while the other creeps up higher along my thigh, almost reaching my panties and he leans in to murmur, “Want to get outta here, Jenny?” The way he says it sounds dirty, like he’s just asked me to have sex with him. Come to think of it, I guess he has, hasn’t he? He’s been calling me Jenny for the past 20 minutes or so which is either a cute nickname or he’s already forgotten my real name. I’m thinking it’s the latter… or the former? Oh, fuck it! It’s the one where he’s forgotten my real name. I’m too drunk to think. I won’t bother correcting him. This is not personal, it’s physical. Names are not important. If he wants to fuck a Jenny instead of a Gina, all the more power to him. Seems like no one wants to
fuck a Gina anyways so I can’t really hold it against him.
I don’t get a chance to ponder his question or even try to figure out what my answer will be. A hand appears in front of me and a familiar, rich voice saying, “Dance with me?”
FINALLY FREE
August 9th, 11:37pm
I look up and see Pete standing there, unsmiling, hand still outstretched.
Kendall speaks up, “Uh, guy. Jenny’s with me.” Pete just rolls his eyes at Kendall and I take Pete’s hand and get up from off of Kendall’s lap. The world starts to spin way out of control and I’m about to fall down but Pete holds me up.
“Come on, Jenny. Time to stretch your legs out a bit.”
I laugh at Pete’s use of Kendall’s name for me. “Can you believe the dude couldn’t even remember my name? He was gonna be all “oh, Jenny. Fuck me Jenny. You’re so hot Jenny.” I keep on laughing because “Jenny” is, like, the funniest word ever!
Pete’s expression softens a bit, offering me a small smile and leads me to the dance floor, an arm around my waist. That simple contact does more to me than any of Kendall’s advances from earlier on. I feel alive, like someone switched all my nerve endings to on. I hear Kendall protesting from behind, calling me all sorts of degrading names and Pete’s grip on me tightens.
When we get to the dance floor, we stand at the edge and I place my hands in his and we just stand there, looking at each other. I smirk, incapable of not taunting him, “Are you stalking me Ferro? I thought you didn’t like dancing. You said it was for pussies?” My smile falters and my mind starts to wander into dangerous territory. Pussies… Cats. Stupid, fucking, backstabbing, cat-tail-butt-plug-loving asshole who never really loved me at all! My anger flares up and my eyes start to burn.
Pete doesn’t seem to catch on to my mood shift, because he replies with an equally mocking tone, “I happen to like big band music and this club seems to be the only place where I get to see you flash your panties and listen to live music at the same time. By the way, if you don’t mind my asking, what the fuck were you doing back there with one of those STD douchebags? ”
“Trying to get laid.” There. Simple, direct, honest. Oh, fuck! Did I just say that?
“Where’s Andrew?”
“Anthony.”
“Whatever. Where is he and why are you trying to screw the entire English undergrad class?”
“Wait, how do you know those guys are English majors?”
“Answer the question, Gina.”
“Tonight it’s Jenny. And no. You wanted to dance, so shut that perfectly gorgeous face of yours up and dance. If not, go back to your slut and I’ll go back to mine.”
Pete doesn’t answer—at least, not with words. With a forceful tug, he pulls me towards him and for a moment, time is suspended in the most heated, hate filled staring contest ever. He starts to lead forcefully, remembering the basic steps I taught him the last time and adding some of his own. For someone who doesn’t like to dance, it surprises me once more how good he is at it. His coordination is spot on and his hips sway and holy freaking hell do his hips sway! His moves aren't as advanced as Ricky's, but the moves he does know, he executes perfectly.
He spins me out and then back in and I come crashing into his chest. He holds me there for a couple of beats longer than he should, trailing one of his hands down my waist, towards my hips. With a hand, he lifts one of my thighs up to his hip, letting his fingers trail up my thighs, under my skirt, until he reaches the top of my thigh highs and touches my skin. Everywhere he touches me is on fire and I can’t help but remember how, coming from someone else, that exact same touch did nothing for me just moments ago. His thumb caresses the skin just above the edge of the lace trim and his gaze dips and stares down along my neck, towards the neckline of my dress.
When he looks back into my eyes, his are full of sultry heat and I smirk at him. When he returns the playful expression, our dance quickly goes from angry to flirtatious. I try to step away from him, but he quickly catches up and surprises me by flipping me over, the way Ricky taught me that the first night. When I land, Pete turns me a half turn and holds me close. My back is pressed to his chest. His arms are wrapped around me holding me there, one hand just under my throat and one on my hip, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to where I want him to touch me. His heaving chest presses into my upper back and I can definitely feel something very hard press up against my backside. He's aroused and it's making me ache for him. He gently pushes my hair back with the tip of his nose, his hot breath on my skin. I tilt my head to the side, wanting to give him easier access to my ear or neck, which ever one he’s going for. Hell, he can have both if he wants, just as long as he does something. He growls in my ear “are you trying to kill me with that lingerie of yours?”
His tone, his words, his breath on my cheek, it’s all too much. My bones liquefy. “I didn’t wear it for you. And to think, that’s only part of it. It's a shame you're never interested in finishing what you start. You're missing the best part, Ferro.”
When he spins me back again to face him, I’m held in place firmly in his arms. I place both hands on his chest and I can feel his firm muscles underneath the damp fabric clinging to his skin. I go up on my toes and lift my face to his, trying to get closer. He leans down, both of his hands on my back, holding me close and we stay there, looking at each other. We’re both breathing hard and fast from the dancing, making our chests press into each other. One of Pete’s hands trails up my back to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair and he angles me, as if he’s getting ready to kiss me. His lips part and he leans down just another little inch. He’s going to kiss me, I just know it. We’re just an inch apart. I can taste his breath in my mouth and I want so desperately to feel the softness of his lips on mine. I want that kiss so badly.
“This isn't you. I can't let you do this to yourself. Where’s your boyfriend, Gina?”
I bite my lower lip and then smile wickedly with the realization that nothing is holding me back. I'm free. “What boyfriend?”
COMING SOON:
LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 5
THE FERRO FAMILY
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COVER REVEAL:
MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS
NICK FERRO
~THE WEDDING CONTRACT~
*****
BRYAN FERRO
~THE PROPOSITION~
*****
SEAN FERRO
~THE ARRANGEMENT~
******
PETER FERRO GRANZ
~DAMAGED~
******
JONATHAN FERRO
~STRIPPED~
******
MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD
SCANDALOUS
SCANDALOUS 2
SECRETS
THE SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT
DEMON KISSED
CHRISTMAS KISSES
SECOND CHANCES
And more.
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