He takes my hand, his palms clammy, and he leads me through the crowd of college-age people packed in the townhouse living room, where a game of beer pong is going on. A few of the girls shoot me dirty looks, like I don’t belong with a clean-cut guy like J who’s wearing a collared shirt and a watch that probably cost more than all the money I’ve spent in my entire life. And I’m fine with it, too high on the thrill of what I’m doing—what I’m about to do. The danger. The instability. The adrenaline.
When we reach the hall, we disappear out of the sight of all the judgmental eyes and lucky for me, J’s not doing that great. His feet can barely carry him as he stumbles his way to the last door in the hall, hauling me with him.
“Whoops.” He giggles like a girl as he turns the doorknob. “I’m sorry.”
I have no idea what he’s sorry for, but I just smile. “It’s fine.”
He grins again, stealing the bottle of tequila from out of my hand. He tips his head back and knocks back a mouthful, gagging as he moves the bottle away from his lips. Then he aims it at me.
Not having my beer to spit it back in, I grab the bottle and set it down on a small bookshelf nestled in the corner. “Let’s take a little break from drinking, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, trying to stun me with an award-winning smile. “How ’bout we just get ya in here and get ya out of those clothes of yours.” His gaze scales my body and I briefly contemplate clocking him in the face. I know that look way too well, just like I know what he wants way too well.
I give him a little shove so he stumbles across the dark, empty bedroom. I follow him as he continues to stagger back and then lands on the bed. I shut the door and lock it without taking my eyes off him as he lies there on the mattress. Soft moonlight filters in through the window and lights up the dazedness on his face.
“Come… here…” He props up on his elbows, working to keep his head up.
I saunter toward him, glancing around at the clothes scattered around the large room decorated with a dresser set that matches his king-size bed.
“How about we talk some business,” I tell him, positioning myself in front of where his legs hang over the edge of the mattress.
He shakes his head determinedly, and then flops his hand toward the leather belt looped through his slacks. I watch him fight with the buckle for a while and then growing impatient, I finally unhook the buckle myself, and jerk it from his belt loop.
“I knew you’d like to play rough.” He laughs and starts to sit up, his fingers seeking my waist. But I gently shove him back by the chest so he’s lying flat on the bed.
I toss the belt onto the dresser. “I didn’t come here to play.”
“Preston promised you’d take… you take…” He blinks around the room, looking lost. “That you’d take care of me first.”
I roll my eyes. Damn it, Preston. I hate when he promises stuff. If he’d just be vague about what was going to go down, then I wouldn’t get in so much trouble when I don’t follow through. Then again, most of them can’t remember that much about what happens anyway.
“I will, baby,” I lie, cringing at my endearing term, but doing what I have to do to smooth things over. I reach for my jacket pocket and take out the small bag of pills. If I’m lucky he’ll try one and then quickly pass out. “But first I need you to pay up.”
Shifting his weight to the side, he snatches the bag out of my hand and then scoots back so he can sit up. He totters as he sits up straight, then when he gets settled he opens the bag. He glances inside it, pretending like he’s checking to see he’s not getting ripped off, even though it’s too dark to count the pills.
“You got the cash?” I scan his room, his stereo on the nightstand, the open closet overflowing with clothes, and the closed armoire in the corner. I can’t see a wallet anywhere, so I’m guessing he’s got it tucked in his pocket. Things just got a little complicated if he decides to be a pain in the ass about paying.
“Cash comes after we play,” he says, but I shake my head, ready to be done with this deal. I’m about to tell him to pay up, when he has an abrupt burst of energy. He throws the bag of pills aside and his fingers quickly jab into my waist. He jerks me toward him and I lose my balance and fall down on him as he collapses back onto the mattress.
He starts sucking my neck, his wet tongue placing sloppy kisses all over my skin as his hands start to wander up my leg toward the bottom of my dress. His breath reeks of tequila and cigarettes. “God, you smell so good.” His fingers pinch down into my skin and it kind of stings. “I bet you like it wild… you sure as hell look like you do.”
I roll my eyes. If I had a penny for every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have to be here dealing.
Turning my head, I lean to the side and try to slip out of his grip. His hold on me starts to loosen, but he continues to kiss my neck, his hands moving all over my ass and slipping between my legs. I’m starting to get bored, my mind wandering to homework, finals, moving back in with Preston in a few weeks.
J moans against my mouth. “I’m so hard for you right now, baby.” He rubs the evidence that he is against my leg and runs his fingers through my hair.
I get a little annoyed by his pet name and that I’ve become a humping post. I’m about to gently knee him in the balls and get rid of his hardness for him, ending this tiring situation, when he stops kissing me and slumps backward. He mutters something about me being a c**k tease and then his head flops against the mattress. His eyes drift shut and seconds later he’s passed out, his chest rising and falling as he breathes loudly.
“Thank God.” I slip out from his arms and climb off him.
Although the situation has gotten more complicated, I’m glad he passed out. After a lot of deliberating on what I should do, I decide it’s best to leave it up to Preston so I take out my phone and dial his number.
“What’s up, beautiful?” he asks after three rings.
I climb off the bed and pace in front of it. “I got a dilemma.”
“What’d you do now?” he asks in that flirty tone he uses on everyone. Even guys. It’s just how he is and I know he really doesn’t mean anything by it. Besides, he’s eight years older than me.
“I didn’t do anything.” I glance over at J. “Well, not really… J… that guy you were having me deliver to, passed out.”