by S. Love
Ozzie pushes my drink in front of me, dropping in a straw and plastic stirrer. I make a conscious effort not to stare at his arms. He’s wearing a Nike wifebeater, and there’s a thin, silver chain around his neck that’s in stark contrast with his golden skin.
“It means,” he says, picking up his own drink, “you don’t belong in here.” He’s not exactly wrong. “Got tired of babysitting?”
“I wasn’t babysitting. I chose to take Mariah out, and Topher was with me.”
“Yeah, and we all know why.” Ozzie’s tone is peppered with snark.
“Do we?” I pick up my drink, sniffing it first. Wow smells strong. But I think I’m going to need it. I haven’t forgotten Garrett back there in the distance, even if I have called on all my strengths not to turn and find out if he’s paying me any attention. Knowing my luck, he’s already left.
Ozzie perches on the edge of a bar stool, kicking his foot up on the low bar. Nothing in his cool expression changes, but it’s clear he’s laughing at me.
“When a girl puts out for one brother, it’s only natural the rest start wondering when they’ll see their turn.”
I swallow more vodka and soda, then I go ahead and drain the glass. Banging it on the bar top, I dismiss the burning in my esophagus and straighten my features as I face Ozzie. “I just realized I don’t have to listen to this. But since you asked,” I say sweetly, “I’ll go ahead and let you know that your turn is never.” I shove myself in his face, so close, I’m practically between his knees. The cigar-stained air between us becomes marginally thin. “You could always ask your brothers how I am, though. If you think you’re missing out.”
Distributing an uneven smirk, Ozzie’s flagrant amusement shaves an inch off my self-esteem. “Sounds like you may have misunderstood me. Topher isn’t into you, he’s under the impression Cindy hired a sex worker to keep him out of trouble over the summer. It’s about time someone showed him what to do with it. Where to put it…”
I tilt my head to one side, trying to find something—anything—that might redeem this hostile piece of dirt. I’m trying to find that something in him as much as I am in me. I’m the stupid one continuously giving him a reaction. It’s my damn hormonal body; it hasn’t figured out how to control itself around him.
“You do know where it goes?” the arrogant jerkoff asks.
And that’s it. I’m done.
In my haste to create distance between me and Ozzie, my wrist tangling in an unexpected grip takes me by surprise. I’m even more surprised when I see that it’s Garrett, and the concern clouding his slate eyes tugs at my weakness. Everything I’m putting myself through is for him. I’m being yanked from all directions to win him back.
Staring into his face, I question if what we had is worth it. Worth the constant shit and abuse from stuck-up teenagers who know jack about life, yet think they’re savvy to everything.
“Hey.” Garrett guides me toward him by my wrist. He’s still holding the cue stick in his other hand. “Everything cool with you?” His gaze coasts to where Ozzie’s perched on the stool, then slowly back to me.
My heart’s racing from adrenaline and hatred. Falcon in the middle of a poker game is all that stops me from diving into Garrett’s arms and begging him to get me the hell out of this dive. If I go anywhere with Garrett now, I know exactly how that will make Falcon look. And he’s blindly managed to convince me it would be weakness on my part to give in to Garrett without any sign of a fight.
“We’re all right,” I say, easing my wrist from his grip. And it kills me to do it. “I have to, uh…” I look toward Falcon, so Garrett gets the message without me having to say it.
Garrett’s eyes locate who I’m referring to and he nods slowly, his lips slightly pursed. I don’t fully trust my own judgement, but I’m pretty sure he’s disappointed—in me. And he’s not the only one.
“Sure.” He steps back, between two pool tables, elongating that horrible space so cruelly keeping us apart.
It physically hurts me to leave, but I do. Ozzie’s behind me and Falcon’s ahead, and that leaves only one direction for me to go.
“How much?” I ask Falcon.
He stands his cue stick on the floor and covers my bare knee with one hand. “Fifty,” he says, referring to his winnings. The smile in his brown eyes scarcely hints at his straight mouth.
My own mouth pops open. “Grand?”
“Keep it on the hush.” His palm squeezes my flesh. “No need to shout it to everyone.”
“Is it legit?” I lean in and whisper. From my place on the pool table, Falcon’s towering over me. He leans in also, creeping nearer one degree at a time.
“What do you think?” His gaze strays to my mouth for a blistering heartbeat, and I miss when he breaks down the last pocket of space separating us. He positions the pool stick between my thighs, holding onto it with both hands.
“Tell me about her.” I push for information. Since I’ve surpassed tipsy, I figure I might as well. I’ll blame it on the alcohol if he gets mad at me again. “I deserve that much, don’t I? I’m doing everything you ask.” I’m being led through a dark tunnel blind, and I’ll lose my way if he doesn’t shine a small beam of light.
Falcon’s had plenty to drink, but he’s still sober. A slight, glassy sheen in his eyes, but that’s the only sign of his abbreviation. The flush under his tan skin is mainly from the heat. It’s obscenely claustrophobic in here. Even warmer when you’re three sheets to the wind.
“She’s a fucking queen,” he tells me. The sincerity in his voice throws me a little. “But she needs to be dethroned.”
My heart skips a nervous beat. “Why?”
“Why’s not really your concern.”
“She cheated on you?” I can’t imagine any girl doing that, but what else could it be?
“She’s not that kind of girl.” Falcon’s eyes are deadly weapons in a vast armory. Alongside looks and charm, he’s disarming to a sheltered girl like me. How he looks at me—like I’m the only person in this bar—it’s unnerving. I have no experience in dealing with guys like him. Not sure I want any, either.
“Were you in love with her?” Whatever he tells me, I’ve decided he’s already shown me his answer. His words couldn’t mean as much.
“Con!” a male voice hollers from across the room. I locate the intrusion standing near the poker tables on the lower level. Dressed in all black and wearing a security tag, the muscle-strapped bouncer tips his head for Falcon to go with him. “Upstairs a minute?”
Falcon’s displeasure appears in the discreet scowl he casts the bouncer. Without argument, he places the cue stick on the table, runs his index finger under the hem of my sweatshirt, and then he’s striding across the floor and down the stairs, the two men leaving together.
I keep my eyes away from Ozzie and Garrett, Nipsey Hussle’s “Double Up” floating from the sound system, the rising vibrations from the carpet thrumming through the suspended veil of cigarette smoke.
Caught up in the lull of the song, my gaze accidently aligns with Ozzie’s.
Standing with one shoulder pressed to the wall on the other side of the lowly lit room, he’s holding his drink in one hand and holding my gaze with purpose. A game to see who’ll be the first to look away. Who’s weaker, me or him? Better still, when did it start to matter?
His gaze flicks to the left, beyond where I’m sitting on the pool table, and I hear it.
Feminine laughter rinses out the music, the tinkling noise draining the blood from my face. Dainty footsteps bound up the stairs, and the blonde girl, Masie, taps Garrett on the back, pressing her hands to his hips when he turns to see who’s interrupted his game of pool.
He offloads a scattered look in my direction, catching my staring, and I retain his gaze for as long as I can. His slow smile for Masie hurts my heart. It damn near rips a piece off when he bends his head to kiss her, his hand lifting to the back of her neck, fingers caressing the skin beneath her golden hair.
&n
bsp; If he can kiss her so explicitly in front of me, maybe we really are over, and he has moved on. Or maybe he’s playing me at my own game. Hoping to win me back by pushing me away. Only in my skewed situation could that make sense.
Or maybe I’m just seeing and believing what my jealous heart wants me to. So far detached from reality, the games are all my own. Maybe his messages aren’t mixed; they’re as straightforward as a permanent, diagonal line.
The air around me thickens, my chest tightening from the overwhelming sensations crushing me from the inside. Freeing my phone from my pocket, I jump down from the pool table on shaky legs.
“Jesus,” I gasp, startled, Ozzie’s face appearing before me from out of nowhere.
He snatches the phone from my hands, the cool plastic and glass slipping from my fingers and into his possession easily.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. Rather than give me my phone back, he shoves it into his back pocket.
“Give it to me.” I hold out my hand expectantly. Nothing but air grazes my waiting palm.
“Later,” Ozzie says calmly.
“No. Now. I don’t have a lock code.”
“Even better.”
“I could have naked pictures of myself in there.”
“I’m counting on it.” Ozzie’s grin is wolfish.
Finally driven to my limits, I push past him. Enveloped in a haze of frustration and anger, I make it as far as the stairs when I’m picked up by an arm around my waist and then dumped back on the floor in front of Ozzie. He gives me a forcible nudge toward the bar, his chest practically touching my back the entire way there.
“I’m not your prisoner,” I say without looking at him, allowing him to hustle me forward with his body. My words and my actions are contradictive of one another, my last drink making me all floaty.
“Hennessy.” I watch Ozzie’s mouth moving, considering if I possess the necessary-sized balls to smack him and run off. “Give me the bottle. I’m trying to loosen her up.”
The bartender pulls a full bottle of Hennessy from under the counter, along with two thick-rimmed glasses. He doesn’t ask Ozzie for payment, just tosses a dishcloth over his shoulder and collects the empty glasses scattered across the bar top.
Before I can exercise my right to leave, and tell Ozzie he can shove his cognac where I’m sure a number of dildo’s have already been, he picks up the glasses and the Hennessy, a no-good smirk setting off my internal warning bell.
Dumbstruck, and far too tipsy for fast thinking, I stand idly by while Ozzie throws his arm around Masie’s bare shoulders, slotting both glasses between her hands. He unscrews the cap on the Hennessy with his teeth and then pours a generous measure into one of the glasses, deliberately misaiming and spilling the amber liquid down her chest, where it trickles under her tank top, between the valley of her breasts.
“Shit. Caught you a little bit there, babe. I don’t mind cleaning that off for you.”
“With what?” Garrett’s glaring at him. Sitting in a leather booth seat along the wall, Garrett’s body looks relaxed. Both his hands are stuffed into the pockets in his jeans, the tensed muscles in his forearms and biceps the dead giveaway he isn’t as cool and composed as he seems.
Ozzie looks at me. “I was thinking my tongue.”
Masie laughs nervously, casting long glances at Garrett, not wanting to unburden herself from Ozzie but clearly uncomfortable with the tightly strung tension tugging dangerously between the two boys. Her chest’s still wet, and no one makes a move to correct it.
I can see exactly the kind of trouble Ozzie’s trying to stir up. I just wish I wasn’t here for it.
Chapter 14
Neither me nor Ozzie backs down, our battle of wills potentially lasting all night. I silently call him out on his dickish behavior, and he silently tells me he’s just getting started. He proves it when he asks Masie, “Have you met Lyla? G’s pretty familiar with her.”
Masie flushes pink, whether from Ozzie draped all over her or from how he’s playing us, who knows?
“Hi.” She gives me a small wave with just her fingers, since she’s been saddled with two glasses. “I’ve, ah, seen you around. At the beach and stuff.”
“Hi,” I say. I don’t love that Garrett’s becoming involved with someone else, but that isn’t Masie’s fault. She’s done nothing wrong. My motives are entirely questionable, however. If Garrett can’t be straight with me tonight, I’m telling Falcon the charade’s finished. I’m not interested in his end of the bargain and who he’s missing out on. No one seems to care about what I want, so I’ll extend the same consideration to them.
“Pool?” Ozzie asks Masie, relieving her of one of the glasses and emptying the contents straight down his throat.
“I’ve never played before,” she says shyly, dabbing at her damp chest. The two girlfriends she came here with sit on the same booth seat as Garrett, huddled in the shadowy corner nearest the bar pitching Masie blatant, knowing looks. I’ve never seen either girl before in my life. Judging by their designer dresses and cute, leather handbags, I’m going out on a limb and assuming they attend Cape Pearl Prep.
Taking the other glass from Masie, Ozzie places it and the bottle of Hennessy on the table. He picks two cue sticks from the wall rack and hands one to her. “I’ll teach you, so long as you don’t mind me bending you over the table every once in a while.”
Like Garrett—or any of us—is no longer here, Masie giggles. She’s totally flirting, like Ozzie’s charming and not a top-tier sleaze with game flatter than an English pancake. He’s so extra with his douchiness tonight, I don’t understand why I’m the only one who realizes what’s going on.
Ozzie sets up the pool table, racking the balls while Masie watches on with stars in her eyes like he’s prepping to deliver lifesaving, open-heart surgery.
Where my saltiness has come from, I’m not sure. But you could coat popcorn in me right now, I’m behaving so out of character.
Diverting my eyes from the impending car crash in front of me, my eyes come to rest on Garrett. He tugs his hand from his pocket and pats the leather seat cushion next to him, his exasperation with Ozzie transitioning into a lax smile. It’s an invitation I’m well aware should be refused. Slotted back in the envelope without my RSVP and returned to sender.
Recipient. No. Longer. At. This. Address.
But he’s what I want, and he’s right there asking me over. Now’s my chance to find out if there’s a place for me in his life or whether this is the end of the road and where I finally get off.
It’s been a long ride, for sure. I think I may even be exhausted from it.
Still, any residual vigor I have left, I’m saving it for Garrett.
Heat rushing from my toes to my head, I quickly whip off my sweatshirt to tie around my waist before sweat stains manifest on the cotton, sealing my fate for me. The white bodysuit I’m wearing means I bypassed a bra when I chose my outfit earlier, but there’s no breeze in here, and my nipples are safe.
For now.
The raw energy radiating from Garrett as he carefully watches me lights a spark in my lower abdomen. The lone ember ignites as I get nearer to him, and I endure the burn that zips down between my thighs. I give in to how sexy he makes me feel with just his eyes, and the searing heat behind them. He’s looked at me like this so many times before. I’ve missed it. Him. Us.
He leans forward and picks up the Hennessy. He fetches more glasses from the bar and fixes a shot for everyone, then he turns his back on Masie’s friends and showers me in the attention I’ve been shamelessly craving from him for too long.
He still feels like mine.
I accept the drink he offers me, following suit when he shoots his. He pours a double, and I drink that one, too. It wasn’t a good idea. I progress from tipsy to nauseous in microseconds, the alcohol spreading in my veins and taking control of my withering braincells.
True to his word, Ozzie has Masie pinned between his muscular arms. Her ass nuz
zles into his crotch as he positions her hands on the cue stick and corrects her posture by tilting her hips upwards and into him.
He’s so full of shit I can smell him from here. But I’m grateful for the help he’s uncharacteristically dishing out. He’s offering me time, and I don’t have any plans to waste it.
My focus slips back to Garrett when the heat from his palm scorches my upper thigh, the tips of his fingers poking at the frayed hem of my denim shorts.
“How’ve you been?” he asks. He’s having trouble keeping his eyes any higher than my mouth, and I cast an uneasy glance toward Masie and Ozzie.
Neither person is taking any notice of us, and I’m shielded from Masie’s friends by Garrett, so I don’t even worry about what they can or can’t see. They can come to their own conclusions.
“I’ve been better.” The Hennessy’s bringing out my vulnerability, and the honesty flows from my lips.
“Are you and Con seeing each other?” I barely hear what he says. He’s leaned in at least three inches since I sat down with him. His hand on my thigh presses down harder, his fingers creeping under my shorts, driving me crazy.
Kiss me already.
He just stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you seeing Con? I don’t want to say this but, he’s not right for you, Lyla.”
“How isn’t he?”
“He’s been with a lot of girls—Inside a fuck of a lot more. That’s not you, Lyla. You’re good. Pure. You shouldn’t have to settle for recycled goods.”
I blink away my stupor, a frown sitting heavy above my eyes.
“Jesus.” Garrett’s hands slide down his face with a noisy sigh. He edges away from me, leaning back into the booth seat and clasping his hands loosely between his thighs. “Never mind.”
I’m so confused. The alcohol isn’t helping, either. “Never mind what?”
He turns his head, and for the first time since we started talking, actually looks into my eyes, and not at my mouth or my chest. “I don’t want you to fuck him,” he borderline growls. “Or his dick to be anywhere fucking near you.”
