by Kerri Ann
“Light, Car, light.”
Why do I agree to this shit? Probably because I love the hell out of her.
A few hours later, I’ve been primped, tucked, teased, and I’ve downed a couple good ales. Standing stunned, peering at the girl in the mirror, I take in the dark makeup, stiff hair—that wouldn’t move in hurricane winds—and boobs settled primly as stick up pads keep them firmly in place.
Why did I let Carli dress me like a desperate hooker? She promised light magic only. This is as far from light as Darth Vader is from My Little Pony.
“Carli, this is a bit much, hun. I look like a hunting cougar. No, a wanton slut. Yep, that’s it. A wanton slut.”
“Shut up. You’re ruining my project runway buzz. You look amazing.”
“I can’t go like this.” Slumping down on the couch, I crinkle the flowing dress she put me in and pout like a three-year-old who lost her tiara. Carli just laughs at me. She knows I haven’t worn something like this for a very long time. I don’t think she’s ever seen me ‘dressy.’ I’m always conscious of the way it makes me feel like the old Circe, showing off old scars that are a part of my past I wish to hide and reminding me of who I was and what I’d lost. In this, I feel so exposed.
I’m vulnerable.
“That’s it. I’m staying. Go on without me, Car.” Pulling at the dress’s zipper, she scoffs.
She pulls on my hands. “You’re going. No choice.” Lifting my slouched ass off the couch, she starts towards the door with me in tow.
“I have more beer in the fridge—”
“Of course we do. I put it there yesterday. Now, stop avoiding human contact, Circe. Let’s go.”
“But—”
“You’re going and that’s that.” Frozen in disbelief, I stand still. She really will make me. I’ll be kicking and screaming, spitting mad like a spoiled child and she’ll still force me to go.
Bitch.
“No, no buts.” Grabbing up her clutch and mine, she takes my hand forcefully and starts off into the hallway, dragging me behind her.
The hallway is packed with teams, production employees and their dates, dressed to the nines. As I fret with the edges of the dress, Carli grins excitedly. She wants to go to satisfy her libido. These parties are meat markets, unbalanced when it comes to single men vs single women ratios. She fits right in. Single or not doesn’t matter if I’m being truthful.
Peeling my hand off the material, Carli does her best to halt my nervousness. “Stop pulling on the hem, you’ll split the dress in half. I wouldn’t put you in a dress that shows off anything you wouldn’t want seen, sweetheart. Please, relax and enjoy the attention. You’re absolutely stunning.”
“Honestly, I feel naked in this. You know I can’t stand attention.” I hate others seeing my scars. They ask questions I’m not prepared to answer, ever. Maybe someday I’ll be okay talking about them, but it’s still so raw.
God, I’m sweating. The dress is sticking at my boobs. The only thing holding them in place is the tape and perspiration. I shouldn’t have worn a thong. I’m expecting the dress to stick to the crack of my ass any minute now.
Forcing me to move, Carli holds my arm tight as she drags me towards the inevitable. With that ever-knowing grin, the one that says suck it up, we pass into the open venue space.
Jesus, I can’t believe I’m letting her lead me into this shitstorm.
“I’ll grab us drinks, Circe. Go grab some seats.” As Carli walks off to grab the libations that will help settle my frayed nerves, I smile weakly, nod, and grimace. She’ll grab me some weird and wonderful concoction that will be hard to spell, but as long as it makes me forget the night and my fears, I’m good.
“Okay. I’ll be over there.” Pointing to the far side, I pick a spot by the open balcony farthest from the crowds milling around the stage.
“I’ll be over soon,” Carli says, leaving me to flounder in the crowded space.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I wander off. “Why do I let her get away with this shit?”
Picking a table by the balcony, I settle in and wait.
Singling out the newscasters that we need to avoid for the night, I turn away from their questioning stares, looking anywhere but towards them. They’re the fake-nice people who’ll stab you in your sleep, after they get the story. Speaking of, looking around for Markus, I don’t see him anywhere around. I’m hopeful that he’s off with his boy toy, getting a bit of head in the closet, or drinking himself into a stupor. My wish is that he won’t show, and I can hop onto the plane for our next race without a public display or any other issues. Maybe I’m lucky and he’s been so busy sucking cock that he hasn’t had a chance to speak to our bosses.
Flattening down my dress, I use the tablecloth to cover my marks. Talking to myself, avoiding eye contact, I count down the moments before I can escape. “One drink. I can handle one drink. Maybe I’ll make it to dinner. Maybe I’ll pull a bathroom break and head out early.” Checking all the exits, looking for ways to leave without Car harassing me, I reach for the pitcher of water at the center of the table. Filling my glass, I down it quickly and await my fate.
Carli’s at the bar, entertaining others with her innate, infectious pull. People are always drawn to her natural bravado, charisma, and exotic beauty. I used to be that attention-grabbing person, and the spotlight that my sport and my upbringing enticed was intoxicating. Now, my objective is to be unattainable, unnecessary, unremarkable, and all around indistinct.
Before today’s impromptu interview, I wasn’t afraid of these parties. After the whole Interview with a Vampire moment that passed with Casper, I’m freaking the fuck out. For a moment, I was the old, confident Circe that didn’t mind the center stage. Letting the old me resurface after years in denial scares me.
Breaking away from her admirers and walking over with the most ungodly looking pair of drinks, Carli hands me my glass of pink slush foam on top of a purple liquid with a blue umbrella. All of it’s encased in a martini glass that is garishly garnished with a maraschino cherry.
"What the hell is this?"
"Drink. I command you. You look as if you're about to peel your skin off and pour salt on the wound. Did you notice the older yumminess I was talking to? I think he’s single. I mean, who am I to differentiate as long as the hardware isn't rusted?"
Carli, the sex freak, is once again chasing the unattainable. That guy is the epitome of unattainable. I watch him as he walks back to his gorgeous trophy wife after a bit of flirting with Car. She watches as well, as he slips his arm around the sexy wife. Carli shrugs, sighs, and flits back to her drink like nothing deters her need.
“What’s in this drink?"
"It's a blend of Sex on the Beach and a Frisky Kitten Margarita. It sounded yum, so drink up.” Winking, Carli pulls the straw to her mouth, sucking in deeply.
Taking a sip of the questionable drink, I find myself mildly surprised. It's not too bad. A bit sickly sweet for my tastes, but not wholly unpleasant. I think I’ll be able to make it to the bottom, gaining the liquid courage required to sit still through dinner without sobbing like a git.
“I’m worried today’s events will come back to bite me in the ass, Car.” Noticing her keen insanity, she eyes me as she thinks on my comment, processing the best way to lighten me up.
“Circe, I’ve known you for years now, and in that time, you’ve hidden spectacularly from everyone. Consider this my night, okay?”
I quirk my brow. “Really? This is your night?”
She laughs in the way that only Carli can. I know she’s trying to figure out a way to hook me up with a racer.
Fat chance, lady, because they’re all the same. Looking for a quick ride, a fast bit of relief, and a new trophy. I’m no one’s trophy.
“See those two guys at the bar? Crass is delish any day of the week, and Mahoney is…meh.” She gulps down a huge amount of her drink before pulling the cherry from mine. Twirling it around in her mouth before eating it, she laughs.
>
“They asked about you. The mysterious girl at the table, sitting all alone. I think they might join us. As usual, just say hello, be polite and sweet, then leave them to little ol’ Carli.”
“Look, I’m not interested in any of them, so take your pick or take them all. They’re all yours.” Sipping at the straw once more, I try to avoid the conversation that I know she’s trying to drag me into.
“That’s because you want Casper to see you all dolled up.”
“Don’t be absurd.” I try to act indignant as I pull the last bits from my glass. “I’m the last thing on his mind right now.”
“Sarcasm and self-deprecation. You’re going to need way more to drink to be tolerable. Drink up.”
“I didn’t intend to, but this isn’t bad.” At this point, I pretty much say fuck it and finish the drink off quickly. At this rate, I’ll be slung over someone’s back, dragged back to my room in an undignified way, and unintelligibly drunk. I know better on nights out with Carli. I should have eaten more today and drank less.
“How do we get said racer to visit us? You’re not nearly naked enough to gain his attention as he walks in, and I’m not drunk enough to dance on the table yet. So, what do we do?”
“Carli, I picked a seat back here for a reason. I’m hiding. I’m not looking for him to search me out.”
“Oh, yes you are. You wouldn’t have let me play Barbie’s playhouse with your attire if you didn’t want to be seen.” Carli smiles wickedly. Now I know I’m screwed. “You want Casper to see you,” she sings.
“Fuck off,” I say as I make that awful slurping noise when you hit the bottom of the glass through a straw. Peering through the fluffy pink at the bottom my now empty glass, I stand. “I’ll be right back.”
With all intentions of heading back to the room, the object of my desire walks in. In slim, tapered down, dusted grey pants, flat black loafers, and a crisp white shirt, the sight of him stops me in my tracks. Casper looks fantastic. His black tie is loose at his neck, and I imagine what I’d like to do with that bit of material.
“Pardon?” Carli giggles.
“Shit. I said that aloud, didn’t I?” Narrowing a look of disgust at her, she laughs deep, and I blush.
Instead of heading towards the bar, I change direction. Gulping mouthfuls of air is what I need instead of more to drink. And avoidance. Any and all moments relating to the gorgeous Wyatt Crown needs to be avoided. Especially if I’m to live through this night with my flat mate.
She won’t let this lie. The only thing I hope is that he didn’t see my inventory check of his attire. Walking out to the open porch, I inhale the sea air as I berate myself.
Carli follows me out. “Circe, get your shit together. You’re smart. Casper is dangerous, untouchable, and magnificent. The last thing you should do is make your embarrassing girly crush any more apparent.” I watch her retreating form and think on her words.
She’s right. He’s a manwhore. He’s a flirt. He’s a cad. He’s definitely not someone I should want.
But I do.
“Fuck.”
Standing on that porch for a good ten minutes, justifying my own reasoning and calming my frayed nerves, I finally decided to re-join the party. When I return, both Crass and Mahoney, the two racers Carli chatted up, has joined our table, with Casper. For fuck’s sake! How the hell am I supposed to handle Casper in all his glorious deliciousness encroaching on the space I need to occupy?
Standing completely still, Carli looks over at me, seeing my quandary. She raises her drink, indicating a refill is needed. To make it through this night unscathed with Casper, I need to be drunk. Not just drunk, but that totally unintelligible drunk I didn’t want to be earlier.
Nodding my understanding, Carli smiles as I venture off to the bar.
“I can do this without falling apart,” I mutter over and over as I approach the bartender. Once it’s my turn, I give him my order. “Two more of that concoction my girlfriend over there ordered, please.” I point in her direction and he nods. As I wait, I watch our table. Carli is engaged with Crass, and when I say engaged, I mean her hand is on his crotch, stroking up and down as she whispers something I’m sure is quite filthy in his ear.
“Six euro,” the bartender says as he slides the drinks across the bar. Passing him his allotted amount, I turn and guzzle my drink down as I walk back to our crowded table.
Every step is agony as I envision licking the lingering moisture off Casper’s lips. If I was smart, I’d toss my drink in the air and run fast, but I’m neither smart, nor that chicken. Being near him is what I do and don’t want in equal measure.
Normally, I’m the one that has her cool composure, while Carli screams unintelligibly from the other room. I’m the one that listens to the headboard hit the wall a thousand times as I use my pinkie friend to shatter my world. Alone. Always alone.
Mentally gathering my wits, calming my overheated libido, I shore up the braces around my girlie bits. Moving towards the man who stars in most of my fantasies, I remind myself to be professional and poised.
“Here, Car. I got you another.”
Handing her the drink, I feel eyes bearing down upon me. Fearfully looking up, I see that Casper has cut off his conversation with Mahoney.
“Circe Maco. Nice to see you again,” Casper says, directing his crystal eyes my way. They’re piercing and as deep as pools. I’m falling in the deep end and drowning in a sea of soft blue.
When he says my name, it sounds dangerously erotic, like warm, rich hot chocolate. Or sitting on a cold day in front of a roaring fire. It’s everything beautiful in the world. My heart leaps and my voice evades me as I stare at him.
Get it together, Circe.
“Mr. Crown.”
He steps in close. “Please, call me Wyatt.”
I’m stunned by the mere fact that he wants me to call him Wyatt. No one, and I mean no one calls him that but his family and close friends. Even reporters know better than to call him anything but Casper.
Expecting an anvil to fall on my head, or a security guard to haul me away, I gather my courage and say, “Wyatt.” His face is only feet away, and I realize his eyes light up as his name escapes past my lips. God, his smile is beautiful.
My chest tightens and my panties dampen. Soon, I’ll either be back in my room with pinkie, or crossing my legs to hold the twitching at bay.
Brushing a few stray strands of hair from my face, he says, “I hope to see you later, Siren.”
Walking away from me, as if our moment was nothing, I stand there, shocked. My body is confused and my mind is clouding over. So much so, I don’t hear if he says anything more to Crass or Mahoney. Shaking myself internally, I sit down to consider all that just happened. It seems I wasn’t the only one that was surprised. Carli’s jaw is practically lying on the table, along with other occupants surrounding us. Ignoring them all, I turn and place my full attention on the podium, where Jack is about to start with the announcements.
Training my thoughts to the proceedings, I suck back on my liquid heaven and think about how my night just got a little trickier. It’s getting a whole lot closer to arrest-able drunken escapades, and overall, a ton messier.
CIRCE
After all the ceremony pomp and bullshit, it didn’t quite register that I’d spent the whole hour staring at Wyatt. I was hoping to pass through the night like a gyno appointment— uncomfortable, but quick. But my mind has raced, my heart has soared, and my thoughts have danced with thoughts of the delectable racer.
Now that the ceremony portion is over, everyone is either moving on to the festivities or going their separate ways. Carli’s been spending her time informing Crass and Mahoney what she can do with her tongue, and how flexible she can be. I’ve become the third—make that fourth—wheel, and I think I’ve had enough for the night.
Rising out of the chair, I announce, “Car, I’m going to get some air.”
She hardly acknowledges me as I leave, but I don’t really
care. I need to get clear of this place before I do something stupid.
Figuring that the porch is now a safe haven, since most the people have left, I tromp out to relax in the sea air. Earlier, I saw Wyatt leave when the reporting ass hounds started in on him again about the spectator on the track. Thankfully, I never saw Markus, and my boss never even spoke to me, so for now, my career fate is still in limbo.
Stepping out onto the porch, I take in the quiet. Leaning over the edge of the concrete railing, I pull in a massive gulp of salty air. Fuck, I needed this. I’d been drinking nonstop as I eye fucked Wyatt. I envisioned all the things I could do to his body, and all the things he could do to mine with his lips, his hips, his fingers, his—
“Nice night to watch the skies,” a dark, sexy voice says from behind me. I immediately recognize the voice.
Wyatt. Shit, he didn’t leave.
My heart skips a beat. I need to clear out quickly before I make a complete ass out of myself, doing something I can’t undo. My mind and body aren’t listening to each other, though, so I try my best to look unaffected.
As he steps around to lean on the stone edge to my right, I gaze at his features in the moonlight. His chiseled jaw. His soft, yet very manly cheekbones. His eyes…god, and those lips! My body feels like it’s overheating.
Fucking drinks. I never should have drunk so much. As soon as I tell Carli about this newest chance encounter, she’s going to raze me. I’m going to pay for it for days and months to come.
Here I am, dumbstruck by his beauty, and I’m scared of how many stupid things I can say. I try to act totally calm, relaxed, and poised. It’s been hours since I saw him at his Caravan, and less than an hour since he asked me to call him Wyatt. Now, here he stands beside me, leaning on the railing, looking like a Ralph Lauren model. All I need to do now is snort and giggle while bubbles pop out of my nose. That’s the type of thing that would happen to me.
“How about we try this again. I’m Wyatt Crown, and you are?” He holds out his hand in greeting, as I sigh inside like a lovesick puppy.
