by June Winters
Ryan passed me my drink. The dance music was so loud, it forced two people together to be heard.
“Here,” he said, leaning in so close he nearly nuzzled me. Like prickly barbs, his whiskers scraped against my skin and sent a shiver down my spine.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Hoppin', right?”
I steadied myself on his arm and stood on my tip-toes, reaching for his ear. This close to him, the scent of his cologne filled my senses again.
“Sure is,” I yelled, “and I can see you're no stranger around these parts, either.”
“Yeah,” he answered.
I waved my hand like a wand over the club—the environment itself, with the ear-splitting music, the alcohol, the rolling clouds of competing cologne, the scandalously dressed women—and asked, “Do you meet all your girls here?”
“Some,” he answered with a shrug.
“So where is she?”
He checked his watch. “She'll be here in a little while.”
“You don't sound very excited,” I said. “You should be. You're about to get laid. And what if you met this Kara girl, and she blows you away in every regard? What if she's your dream girl? Would you want to date her? Like a steady girlfriend?”
Ryan chuckled. “I wouldn't count on that happening.”
“Why not?”
“I don't wanna think about all that right now!” he shouted. “And it's too loud in here to talk! Hey, c'mon, let's dance.”
I didn't even have a choice. His giant hand swallowed mine right up, and then a split second later he was leading me on a charge right to the dance floor instead.
God.
Just like that, he could shrug off any questions he didn't like, and skip right to what he really cared about: having fun. He was kind of charming in a horrible way—if you could look past the womanizing, anyway …
Chapter 13
Not My Type
Radar
Kara ended up being late. Not that I minded—Ella and I were having a blast just dancing with each other. And after a second round, and then a third round of drinks, we were really letting loose.
With my hands spanning Ella's waist, I tried not to think about Lance, or the absolute fit he'd throw if he could see me with his sister. Her arms around my neck. The two of us moving together, eyes locked on each other, the music bringing our bodies closer and closer together.
The tops of her glowing breasts jiggled and bounced in her dress, I couldn't help myself. I had to look.
She caught me stealing a glance. She gasped and wagged her finger in my face.
“I see you staring, you know!” she shouted over the music.
“I can't help it. That dress is such a lovely color on you.”
“Oh, please.”
“No, really. The green matches your eyes, and it really brings out the red in your hair. It's the perfect color on you, actually.”
I meant every word of that.
“I'm not dumb, Radar, you were looking at my tits.”
“Yeah. Yeah I was.” I smirked, and since the cat was already out of the bag, I stole another peek. “Your tits look great, too.”
She slapped my cheek, but only lightly. “Stop it, you perv. My eyes are up here. And Lance would kill you if he heard you say that, by the way.”
I gave a serious nod. “I know. But I still meant what I said about the color of your dress.”
Her eyes fluttered with doubt, like she wasn't convinced it was a genuine compliment.
“Are you always this cheesy when you're trying to woo some club girl?” she asked.
“Nah. If anything, I'm kind of a dick to them.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because it always works.”
“I doubt that. Try me. See what happens.”
“What? No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because you're a cool chick and I like you. And I'm not trying to sleep with you. Remember? Teammate's little sister, and all that?”
She let out a piercing laugh. “Is your ego really that big? You truly believe that if you start flirting with me, poof, we'll magically end up in bed together?”
I liked hearing her say that. I liked the image she put in my head, too: the two of us trying to quietly bone in my bed—but miserably failing at the whole 'being quiet' part. We're naked and sweaty and our faces are wrought with this twisted, guilty pleasure—like we both knew that what we were doing was so insanely bad and wrong, but we just couldn't help ourselves. It was wrong as hell just to imagine it, but that didn't make the thought any less appealing, nor did it make the sudden lengthening in my crotch any less pleasurable.
But she wanted me to be a dick to her, so I wasn't going to let her know any of that.
“Who said I wanted to sleep with you?” I asked, and I knew exactly what was coming when I saw her fist clench. “You're not my type, remember?”
Her jaw came unhinged and then suddenly, bam, there it was, her fist smashing right into my abdomen. But I was ready and waiting for it, and instead of knocking the wind out of me, her fist futilely deflected off a flexed and armored set of abs.
“Yeah, I do remember you saying that,” she said with a fire still smoldering in her eyes.
“You said it first,” I reminded her.
“So?”
“Don't feel bad.” I tried to pull her closer, but she resisted with an indignant squeal and pushed me away. “Just 'cause you're not my type doesn't mean I don't think you're cute anyway.”
She raised a still-angry and now skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, so after insulting me, this is the part where you butter me up so you can try to get in my pants, right?”
“I already told you, nothing can happen between us. I'm just telling you the truth: yeah, when I first saw you, I didn't think you were my type. But the more time I spend with you? The more I start to think you're kinda insanely cute. You're growing on me, that's all I'm saying.”
She softened, only slightly, but her nostrils remained upturned in disgust. “Well I still think you're gross.”
“Too bad. We could've had something. Imagine how fun it'd be, running around in secret behind Lance's back for the rest of your trip?”
“That doesn't sound fun at all. But you sound drunk right now, and you're acting like a creep.”
I raised my hands in defeat. “Damn. Alright, Ella, you win. I gave it my best.”
“Wait, that was you being a dick?” she giggled. “And that's it? That's all? You're surrendering already?”
“Yeah. I got nothin'. You're player-proof.”
She rolled her eyes. “Too easy. I can't believe girls fall for that 'negative asshole' shtick.”
“Me neither. But they do.” I pulled her closer again, and this time, she didn't resist. “You really think I'm gross, though?”
“I think you're handsome as hell,” she said, her hands flat on my chest, “but if you talked to me like that? I'd never let you kiss me in a million years, let alone anything else.”
“Damn!” I yelped. I wasn't used to girls talking to me like that.
“Surprised?” she giggled.
She hadn't just resisted me, she'd straight up won this round. I didn't know what to say or do, and I wondered if this was how Lance felt growing up with this girl—stunned to find yourself suddenly on the losing end of a verbal or physical battle.
“Yeah, actually,” I muttered.
She laid her palm on my cheek and sarcastically cooed, “Aww. The playboy is just so used to getting his way, isn't he?”
With her palm still on my cheek, I put my hands around her waist again. She looked so pleased with herself, smiling from ear to ear. She basked in her victory, and I mean she absolutely glowed in that moment, and for once in my life, I didn't mind losing. In fact, it made me feel closer to her, somehow.
With my hands on her waist and my eyes on hers, I felt like everything around us—the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, the stifling heat, the deafening music—muddled together
into a distant background distraction. All those things were still there, but in that moment, Ella's bright eyes and sparkling smile drowned it all out.
I had a terrible urge. Same as I did last night. Something I knew was totally out of line, totally inexcusable, totally inappropriate … but it felt like the only answer, the only thing I knew how to do.
I need to kiss her. This time for real.
I think she knew what I was thinking, and although neither of us moved and neither of us said a word, her eyes seemed to scream at me, no, don't do it, don't do it you idiot! You'll regret this! We both will!
But that just encouraged me more.
My eyes darted to her mouth, her lips so pink and so pretty, and my breathing began to slow, and she looked at my lips and I knew then that we both wanted it, even if we understood perfectly it was a terrible idea.
And then, right then, right as I started to lean in, there was a finger tapping on my shoulder.
We both turned, slowly.
Kara.
***
“Radar!” Kara squealed.
Without warning, the girl launched her body into the air and threw her arms around me. She hung from my neck, letting her legs dangle and kick in the air as she pressed her lips into the collar of my shirt again and again. She smelled heavily of fruity perfume and rum, a cloying cloud of nauseating sweetness that burrowed into my throat and overwhelmed my senses.
“I've been looking all over for you! You didn't answer my texts! I'm so glad I found you!” she said, piling her words one on top of the next.
A choking heat grew around my neck. I felt embarrassed, ashamed—like I'd been caught doing something wrong, although I didn't know what or why. My eyes stayed fixated on Ella. But Ella retreated from me and Kara, slowly, cautiously, as if she were perfectly content to be forgotten.
No, I thought. Don't go, not yet.
“Um, hey, hey Kara,” I stammered. “You mind? You're choking me.”
I pried her off my neck and returned Kara to her feet.
Kara demanded my eyes, but still, my eyes flicked over to Ella. I couldn't help it. I felt awful. We both knew that this was what my night was leading up to. Yet now that the moment had arrived, it felt so wrong to leave her like this.
Kara noticed I was distracted by someone else. She turned a cold, judgmental gaze to Ella.
“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Kara asked in a low voice. I'd seen it enough times to know: puck bunnies could be cruel and heartless when they thought another woman had wandered onto their territory.
“No,” Ella said. “I'm leaving.”
“That's what I thought.” Kara pressed herself into my side and began to glide her hand down my chest, across my waist, and slowly inching towards my crotch. It was a show for Ella every bit as much as it was for me.
Ella turned away and carved a path through the dancing crowd. I watched as she wiggled her way through the mass of bodies, hurrying towards the club's exit.
Kara grabbed hold of my jaw and pointed my gaze at herself. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said.
“You look really hot tonight, Radar. I can't believe how tall you are! They said you look even bigger in person than you do on TV and they were right.”
“They? Who's they?” I asked, distracted and guilty.
“The other puck bunnies.”
“Oh … oh, right.”
“That's how I knew about your collection.” She winked. “Remember? The picture I sent you earlier?”
I knew what she was doing; trying to direct the focus of my attention away from Ella and towards herself. She was trying to win my affection for the night, planting the image of her panties fresh in my mind.
I swallowed tensely. My eyes darted over Kara's head and I glanced at the crowd, trying to find Ella again, curious if she'd made it out.
Kara folded her arms and her tone went short and snappy. “Okay, there you go again—what's the deal with you and her, anyway?”
“She's from out of town. She's visiting from New York.”
“So?”
“I don't know if she even knows how to get back to the condo.”
“Sounds like her problem.”
“No, it'd definitely be my problem, since I'm the one who invited her out. She's my best friend's little sister. He'd kill me if something happened to her.”
“She's got a cell phone, doesn't she?”
“Well, yeah, of course.”
“I don't care what city the bitch is from, no one should be getting lost in 2017. And if someone does get lost, fuck 'em, they deserve whatever happens.”
I tilted my head and looked at Kara—really looked at her. I looked so deeply into her, I felt like I was looking into myself. Who was this girl? How did we meet? I mean, obviously we 'met' on MeatMarket, but why was I talking to her? What the hell was it all about?
I didn't know. All I knew was that she looked very annoyed that I was concerned about my buddy's little sister.
“Whoa, you're awful,” I said, staggering backward.
“Excuse me?” she panted. “You're the panty-collecting weirdo, you fucking pervert creep.”
I shrugged. “Hey, listen, sorry to waste your time. But I gotta run.”
“Whatever, dickhead!”
I left Kara and pushed my way through the crowd, hoping it wasn't too late to catch up with Ella.
Chapter 14
Mixed Messages
Ella
Heels clicking on the sidewalk, I hurried down the sidewalk with one arm held straight up in the air, hoping to hail a cab. But cabs in this city weren't nearly as ubiquitous as they were in New York.
The temperature was perfect when we'd left the condo—but now it was freezing cold. I had to keep my other arm snuggled tightly across my torso for warmth. The early morning chill was even more unbearable after being entrenched in the humid body heat of the dance floor at that stupid club.
I checked my phone and discovered yet another problem: my battery was completely dead, and that meant I didn't have Lance's address. I didn't know the way back to his condo. All I could do was describe the area he lived in and hope the cabbie might recognize it.
And that was Club Regret, I thought to myself, snickering cynically as I walked.
The club had lived up to its name. I would've been better off just heading home after dinner. But I guess I fooled myself—thinking I could be friends with Radar. Once he started flirting with me? He fucked my mind up. I might not fall for his games, but that doesn't mean I'm completely immune to the emotional bullshit a guy like him will put a girl through as he attempts to get laid.
Stupid jock, I muttered under my breath. Ugh, why are they always the same?
They had a way of creeping past your defenses and charming you with their oafish ways. But if you made the mistake of letting your guard down, and if you chose to see them as a gentle giant instead of what they really were—sleazy horn-dogs with no sense of loyalty—then the punch to the gut was always lying in wait for you.
I rolled my eyes at myself. The fact that I was even mildly upset about any of this just proved how pathetic I was in the first place. How could I even be this upset right now?
You know why.
It was because of the look Radar gave me on the dance floor. After all the shit-talking, the fake-flirting, the promises that we weren't into each other—that look he gave me was real. Just like last night. He really wanted to do it, didn't he? He really wanted to kiss me, and if he'd had a second longer, he would've done it!
And that's what fucked me up the most. I couldn't believe it at the time. I wanted to slap him! How could he? How could he actually want to kiss me, after all we'd already said to each other? About how we weren't interested in each other? About how it was a bad idea for so many reasons?
How could he be so dumb to even be thinking about trying? Didn't he know the damage he'd cause? And didn't he know he wouldn't get laid?
And yet … I didn't slap him. I didn
't slap him when I should've: the very moment I could tell the wheels were turning in his head, and his eyes began to soften with intimacy, and I knew damned well that he'd begun to desire my lips. The horror of it all was sort of entrancing. Maybe even alluring. I guess I wanted to see if he could really go through with it. And I was curious if I could go through with it, too, and what might happen if we did give in to a moment of weakness.
And then, right then, right when it seemed like it was about to happen—
His girl showed up.
And oh man, the look of pure horror on his face, as his big fateful moment was snatched away from his grubby paws, as if by divine intervention. Like God were personally telling him, you don't deserve this girl, Radar.
What was going through his mind in that moment? Oh, how I'd love to know. I hoped it burned him. I hoped it gave him a serious case of whiplash, as he shifted from working up the nerve to take a chance on something so uncertain, to suddenly having his sure-thing, arranged-lay for the night show up and throw herself all over him. God, that was poetic justice. I hoped he felt dumb and awful. Frankly, it served him right that she showed up at that very moment.
For my part? I appreciated Kara's timely intrusion. It was a perfect reminder of the kind of guy that Radar was: a guy who went for easy lays. He liked girls who squeal his name while they run up to him, girls who jump into his arms and plant their kisses all over his neck, who dress in skin-tight dresses with their tits and ass hanging out, who smell like booze and cheap perfume …
They were probably all over each other at this very moment, freak-dancing in the club, tongues lodged in each other's throats. I could just picture her jumping into his arms, her legs over his shoulders, shrieking in a fake and obnoxious falsetto as Radar powered her into the air with his obscene dry-humping dance moves. All the blood in Radar's brain would drain straight to his cock, and he'd forget I was ever with him tonight.
