The Guys Are Props Club

by Ingrid Seymour

  Jessica screwed the top back onto her nail polish bottle. “Maddie, you know I can’t do that. If you don’t declare a Play and enter the pot, you can’t be in the club.”

  “That’s B.S. You can give me a pass.”

  “No, I can’t. The rules apply to everyone. We can’t have the girls saying that because you’re my roommate you get preferential treatment, can we? You know I don’t mind paying the entry fee for you. That’s nothing. Besides, I’m going to win it right back.”

  “That’s no guarantee. We’re pulling names from a hat,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, and my name is going to be in the hat more times than anybody else’s.”

  “May I remind you that you didn’t win last semester, despite that same scenario?” Jessica had pulled four Plays last time, three more than everyone else, and still someone else had won the pot.

  “With six Plays under my belt, my chances will be even greater this year. I’ll win,” she said confidently.

  I shook my head, frustrated. Jessica and math didn’t add up. I was beginning to suspect she thought a higher probability meant certain victory.

  “Just pull my name out, please. I won’t even have time to pull a Play. My course work is heavier than it was in the spring,” I reasoned.

  Jessica crossed her arms over her D cups with a smirk. “You have no shame. You just told me you’re going out on a date.”

  I sighed. “It’s not that kind of date. I’m going to watch a movie with one of the patients at the hospital.”

  She gasped, feigning horror. “Preying on the sick and helpless. You have exceeded my expectations, little grasshopper.”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “He’s nine years old,” I said.

  “Now, you’re really making me proud.”

  ***

  When I tiptoed into Hunter’s bedroom, he was sitting up in bed, waiting for me.

  “Hey there, buddy,” I said.

  He let out a pent up breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. With a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach, I realized he hadn’t thought I would keep my promise.

  “Call me Hunter, please,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said with a salute. “I brought popcorn and drinks.” I pulled out two sodas that I’d purchased at the vending machine downstairs.

  “I’m not allowed either of those. They’re too artificial. I’m only allowed organic food. My sister eats cheese puffs all the time, though,” he said with some resentment.

  “Well, then after tonight, you’re going to hell,” I said. I was sure his parents made those decisions in his best interest. Organic foods help boost the immune system and contain no weird ingredients that may harm the already fragile body of a cancer patient, but I figured one time wouldn’t hurt him.

  “I guess I am,” he said, a full smile on his red lips. It was the first time I had seen his full set of teeth. The sight of them made my day.

  I sat on a chair close to Hunter’s bed, so we could share the popcorn. He licked his fingers, enjoying the rich butter flavor, and burped with every sip of his soda. He was adorable.

  Hunter only managed to stay awake for half the movie. I noticed his short lashes fluttering after the first hour and although he fought fiercely to keep his eyes open, he succumbed to exhaustion. I took the DVD out and packed it away in my bag.

  Before leaving, I stood next to his bedside and watched him sleep for a long moment. His breaths were shallow, his skin so pale I could see the bluish outline of veins on his face and arms. Hunter had been battling lung cancer for two years. When I asked the nurses on the floor, they told me, this time around, he’d been here two weeks already. His lungs tended to fill with fluids as a side effect of his cancer. They said his parents visited every day—which made me very glad—but that they worked and had a four-year-old daughter, so they couldn’t stay as long as they would like—which made me furious at life.

  I left him a note on his bedside table, telling him we’d finish our date soon, then exited quietly after covering him and brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.

  Chapter 7

  “I’d pick scrubs over this,” I ran a hand down my side demonstratively, “anytime!”

  “I admit scrubs can be hot,” Jessica said, combing her hair in front of the body-length mirror attached to her closet door. “But that is a seven hundred dollar dress, and you look great in it.”

  “Seven hundred dollars?!” For three freakin’ feet of fabric? Unbelievable. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear it. What if I spill something on it?” When we had started getting ready for our outing with Sebastian, Jessica tossed me the dress, claiming none of mine would do. We both wore size six, although being much taller than me, she made everything look like a size two. I pulled the hem down, imagining the dress would barely cover Jessica’s butt. It was a black, slinky thing with a very low neckline.

  “Don’t worry. It’s like a year old.” She put the brush down and applied red lipstick to match the exact shade of her open-back club dress.

  I looked up at Jessica, feeling offended. I had clothes that were much older than that. As a matter of fact, some of those were my favorite and most comfortable outfits.

  “You know you could’ve used my flat iron to smooth down your hair a little,” Jessica said.

  “I like my curls,” I defended. They were loose and cascaded down to the middle of my back. If there was one thing she wasn’t going to make me feel bad about, it was my hair.

  There was a knock at the door. My stomach clenched, then seemed to drop a couple of inches. Sebastian was here, and every instinct in my body told me not to go anywhere near him. I had a promise to keep to myself, and I’d only been able to keep it this long because I listened to my better judgment.

  “Are you sure I have to go?” I tried again. “I have a lot of homework.”

  Jessica ignored me and strode confidently to the door.

  “Hi, Sebastian,” she drawled.

  “Hi, Jessica.” Sebastian’s greeting was polite, if a bit curt. I could see him trying to take a peek inside the room. “Are you girls ready?”

  Grabbing my clutch, I walked forward. Jessica stepped into the hall, but Sebastian stayed back, holding the door for me.

  “Maddie,” he said in greeting, his eyes traveling the length of my body, not pausing at the low neckline where Jessica’s dress had me feeling nearly naked. I was grateful for his tact.

  I gave him a shy hello and joined Jessica in the hall. As we made our way out, we got a few catcalls from some of the girls on our floor. But the way their eyes devoured Sebastian made me wonder who the calls were really for. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as Jessica talked his ear off about the club.

  Of all things, he was wearing a tight vest, and—if I were honest—I’d have to say he was rocking it. The fit was tailored to perfection. It was two-toned, gray in the front and black satin in the back. Under it, he wore a white dress shirt, rolled up to the elbows. For pants, he wore dark jeans that fit him like a surgical glove. His black shoes were polished and looked brand new.

  Rule No.6: A player knows how to dress.

  He walked confidently through the gaggle of ogling young women.

  Idling in front of our building was a black Mercedes. As we approached, Cristina rolled the passenger window down and waved at us. Jessica looked less than happy as Sebastian ushered us toward the back seat. She was used to riding shotgun, never playing second fiddle to anyone. I found myself wondering what that made me. Third fiddle?

  Sebastian opened the door behind Cristina and invited Jessica in. Before she scooted over to clear a spot for me, he shut the door. He walked around the back of the car, placing a hand in the small of my back to guide me. He didn’t rush me, but took his time instead.

  As we rounded the car, he said, “You look beautiful.”

  I would have tried to dismiss the comment, attributing it to good manners, but there was no way I could. Not the way he had leaned into me and pulled me a littl
e closer, so he could whisper in my ear.

  “Um . . . thank you.” I barely managed to get the words out.

  When he opened the door for me, he moved his hand away from my back and took my hand instead. My fingers felt frozen under his heated touch. He smiled and, like a fine gentleman, helped me into the car.

  I sat with my hands on my lap, still feeling his warm breath in my ear as he called me beautiful, still remembering the ghost of his fingers on mine. I wanted to jump out of the moving car, as we drove northwest out of Irvine, the city’s lights sliding by.

  Jessica talked about herself half the way to L.A., while I looked out the window, all too aware of those green eyes taking furtive glances at me through the rearview mirror. Several times, our gazes locked, and it felt like an unspoken secret flowed between us. Oh, what Lola would say if she saw this.

  He had called me beautiful, not Jessica.

  Cristina faked-yawned at Sebastian, thinking I couldn’t see her. I didn’t blame her. Sometimes Jessica just didn’t know when to shut up.

  “So,” Cristina dragged the word out as Jessica paused to take a breath in her monologue. “Tell us a bit about you, Maddie.”

  I snapped out of my thoughts, feeling self-conscious. “Oh, there’s not much to tell,” I said.

  “Don’t be modest,” Sebastian said, his green eyes smiling at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Where are you from?” Cristina asked.

  “Arizona,” I said, then tried to steer the conversation away from me. “What about you guys?”

  “I’m from New York,” Cristina said. “Born and raised.”

  “Oh, I love New York,” Jessica put in. “One time—”

  “What about you, Sebastian?” I found myself asking.

  One of his thick eyebrows rose, and I could see satisfaction in his expression. He was glad to see my interest in him. I picked at a bead on my clutch and resolved not to ask any more questions. I also decided that green eyes were the most expressive of all. I could read all his reactions in them as if they were open books.

  “I was born in Cuba,” he said.

  That surprised me and piqued my interest, making my resolve not to ask more questions impossible to maintain.

  “Really?” Jessica asked. “As in Fidel Castro?”

  “My parents moved to Miami when I was two,” he said. “I don’t really remember living there.”

  “Do you speak Spanish?” I asked, unable to hold my curiosity in check.

  “I do.”

  “Neat,” I exclaimed, totally beside myself. “I’ve always wanted to learn another language.”

  “I can teach you,” Sebastian said, and the way he said it made it sound like he could not only teach me Spanish but a lot more. As a blush crept up my neck, I felt thankful for the darkness inside the car.

  ***

  When we arrived at The Bongo Room, there was a long line in the front, with people begging to get in. Cristina led the way to the front of the line. The bouncer took our fake IDs. I fretted, as I always did, there would be a problem with them, but the burly man just waved us through. I didn’t know where or how Jessica had procured my ID, but I would be glad when I turned twenty-one, and I didn’t have to carry it anymore.

  Inside, Latin music played at ear-splitting decibels. People greeted Cristina and Sebastian as we moved forward. We pushed through a narrow hall, and Cristina pointed us toward a flight of stairs as we bypassed the door that led to the dance floor.

  “We’ll find a table upstairs. We can come down later,” she yelled above the music.

  I thought it would be impossible to find a table, but there were a few free ones. They were small, though, and Sebastian had to scavenge two chairs so we could all sit together.

  “This place is awesome,” Jessica said, bobbing her head to the music and looking down at the dance floor. We were seated against a glass railing and had a clear view of all the activity below.

  Dominating the floor was a small platform where the D.J. stood amid a collection of electronic equipment. He wore huge headphones and danced energetically, pumping a fist in the air. Laser lights danced behind him, making all kinds of shapes.

  “Look,” Cristina pointed toward one of the dancing couples. “Tito’s here.” I couldn’t decipher whether she was happy about Tito’s presence or not. I sensed that there was history between them.

  I followed Tito and his partner, a voluptuous black girl, in their orchestrated trajectory across the dance floor. They looked amazing, gyrating and stepping in perfect synchronicity. I looked at some of the other couples, trying to pick the best one, but after observing them for a few minutes, I couldn’t decide. Jessica was right. Everyone here looked like a pro. Very intimidating, indeed.

  “Can I get you girls something to drink?” Sebastian asked, leaning in close so we could hear him.

  “Water is fine, thank you,” I said.

  Jessica, who sat closer to him, put a hand on his bicep. “I’ll have a beer,” she said.

  Sebastian looked down at her hand and backed up, frowning. Jessica was so used to always having the same stupefying effect on men that she didn’t even notice his reaction.

  A little while later, Sebastian came back with our drinks. I was sipping my bottled water when Jessica nudged me under the table and stared pointedly at Cristina. This was my signal.

  Obediently, I leaned toward Cristina and engaged her in conversation. I figured my best bet was to ask her about dance, and I was right. Her face lit up as she started to tell me how she’d gotten into it. I did my best to keep my complete attention focused on her, but it was difficult. Involuntarily, my eyes kept drifting in Sebastian’s direction and my ears struggled to catch bits of his conversation with Jessica.

  When they stood, and Jessica announced they were going downstairs to dance, my attention completely broke, and I found my gaze following their retreat downstairs.

  “Your roommate is something else,” Cristina said, snapping me back to our conversation.

  “Yeah, she’s a bit much sometimes,” I found myself apologizing for her. “But she’s a good friend and means well.” I paused and reevaluated what I’d just said. Considering what Jessica had in mind for Sebastian, that was not a fair statement. “Most of the time,” I added with a rueful smile.

  Cristina laughed. “I like you,” she said.

  We smiled at each other in agreement.

  After a few minutes, Cristina retired to the ladies’ room. With her gone, my focus wandered to the dance floor where I immediately spotted Jessica in Sebastian’s arms. He was trying to show her what to do, speaking instructions into her ear, and using his hands to guide her. At every failed attempt, Jessica threw her head back and laughed, forcing Sebastian to pull her close to avoid losing their already precarious balance. Yep, she was good.

  Tired of looking at them, I turned my attention elsewhere. My eyes roamed from face to face, not really looking at anyone, until suddenly my gaze snagged on someone who was staring at me intently. It took me a second to recognize him, but when I did I felt myself go pale.

  Steve. The guy I’d pulled a Play on last semester.

  Chapter 8

  Crap!

  I looked away. As images of last semester played in my head, the loud music became a distant echo. I felt absolutely mortified. Embarrassment washed over me, as if someone had dumped a bucket of a very slimy substance over me. I felt low, more than ashamed of what I had done.

  Steve had been my victim last semester. I led him on for several weeks. Then—right after he told me he was falling in love with me—I dumped him. I broke up with him in a cowardly way, unable to even tell him face to face. I had stood him up on Valentine’s Day, after he planned an elaborate surprise dinner for me. I texted him to tell him we were through and that I never had feelings for him. Later, Steve tracked me down to let me know how pond scum was a step above me.

  I deserved it.

  A few minutes later, I let my eyes circle the room, trying
to seem nonchalant. I paused by the table where I’d seen Steve, but he wasn’t there anymore. I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he’d left the club.

  Cheering and clapping drew my attention back to the dance floor. Cristina was down there, holding her hands up apologetically and shaking her head no.

  “Cristina de Leon, ladies and gentlemen,” the D.J. announced. “Last year’s Los Angeles Open Dancesport Champion!”

  She took a graceful bow.

  A chant started and then rippled through the crowd. “Dance, dance, dance . . .”

  Cristina told the D.J. something, looking apologetic.

  “You need a better excuse than that, Bonita. We have more than enough partners to pick from.” The D.J. waved a hand over the crowd.

  A couple of men pushed to the front, offering their services. I saw Sebastian move through the crowd, too. Jessica stayed back in one of the outer circles, looking rather displeased about being left behind.

  Sebastian and Cristina moved to the middle of the dance floor. The crowd pushed back and started clapping to the rhythm of a new song.

  They began to dance, their bodies two works of art brought together by the sensual beat of the music. Sebastian did little, letting Cristina shine in the spotlight. Even so, he still commanded the floor. Cristina’s feet moved in intricate patterns that looked near impossible. Her sequin dress sparkled under the multicolored lights with a dazzling effect. A few times, her hips grounded against Sebastian’s, bringing a pang of heat below my belly. I crossed my legs and bit my lower lip. That was a part of me I didn’t need to awaken. I gulped my water.

  When the song ended, Cristina and Sebastian took a bow. The crowd cheered, and the D.J. praised their performance. As they walked away, people shook their hands, kissed them on the cheek, and smiled at them warmly. They both seemed well-liked and well-known.

  “Well, somebody wasn’t doing her job.” Jessica plopped on the seat in front of me and took a huge gulp of her beer. She gave me a nasty look over the rim of the glass.