“Because you said you were going to have fun with me. You’re only getting started.”
“Sylvia. I can’t get drunk. We have another show tomorrow night.”
“You don’t have to get passed-out, throwing-up-your-guts kind of drunk.” She takes a glug of her wine. “But you can get tipsy enough to loosen up.”
I’m the first person to realize that alcohol isn’t the answer to my problems, but I can see her point. It might help me relax.
We rejoin our group and I soon find myself caught in the middle of a discussion about welfare and whether it perpetuates poverty or helps families climb out of it.
Sylvia rolls her eyes and pulls me out of my chair. “This is too close to work. Let’s dance.”
My upper lip curls as I eye the dance floor. “I don’t dance.”
“Tonight you do. Drink up.”
I gulp down the rest of my drink and follow Sylvia. There are more people dancing now, so I feel less conspicuous, but I’m still uncomfortable as I begin to move. The song is a fast-paced dance song I’ve heard on the radio and I soon find myself letting go of my rigid control.
Several other people from our group join us. I’m laughing and having more fun than I’ve had in a long time.
An arm slips around my waist and I start to tense when I look up into Rob’s smiling face.
“Dance with me, Lexi.”
I lift my eyebrows playfully. “I thought I already was.”
He turns me so I’m facing him and his hands land on my hips. “Not like this.”
I expect to be more nervous, but I’m feeling sassier than usual so I dance with him for several seconds before breaking free. “I need another drink.”
When he turns and heads for the bar, I go back to the table, Sylvia following me.
“Look at you,” Sylvia says as she takes her seat at the table. “Dancing, drinking, flirting. Who knew you had it in you?”
I laugh. “It’s always been in me.” But she’s right. I’m different tonight, less guarded. Why? Could it be the wig that’s helping me feel more in control?
“So why is it always hiding?”
The reminder of the reason is like a kick in the gut, but I’m having fun. I refuse to give into the fear and anxiety trying to claw their way to the surface. “I just needed to remember life isn’t all work.”
Her smile falters. “It’s obvious that Rob’s interested in you, but he’s not prone to commitment, so tread lightly there.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise.
“My cousin goes to Southern too, and she dated him a year ago. He’s a great guy and at least he’s upfront about his desire to play the field.” She pauses. “But you’re on the rebound from Brandon and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Thanks, but I’m not looking to date anyone anyway. I’m too busy.”
“Says anyone who can’t get a date.”
I put my hand on the table and lean forward. The alcohol has made me bolder than usual. “I can get a date anytime I want.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her eyebrows lift in a challenge. “Prove it.”
Rob returns with three drinks—one for me, one for Sylvia, and a bottle of beer for himself. After I’ve finished half of mine, I flash Sylvia a smile. “Are you coming out with everyone tomorrow night, Rob?” I ask.
He grins and rests his arm around the back of my chair. “It depends on who’s coming.”
“And if I said I was coming…?”
“Then I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
A huge grin spreads across Sylvia’s face before I get up and leave him at the table and dance with the rest of our friends. Rob shoots me curious glances until Sylvia and I leave an hour later, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m playing with fire.
Chapter Five
Ben
Sabrina is next to me, her long, sleek black hair hanging over her shoulder, the ends skimming her nearly naked breast. I feel myself get hard at the sight of her even though I know I’m not supposed to react this way. Sabrina is a conniving bitch who will use anything and anyone to get what she wants, regardless of who pays the price.
But my dick doesn’t care about that.
She reaches for me, her blood-red nails crawling up to the top button of my shirt. Her face leans into mine and her lips part as though she’s about to kiss me.
That’s when a blaring alarm blasts out of her mouth.
I jolt upright in bed. Five-forty. I turn the alarm clock off and scrub my eyes, trying to convince myself it’s a bad idea to lie back down and go to sleep. Who in their right mind thinks showing up for work at six a.m. on a Saturday morning is a good idea? But this is an easy, no brainer job and it pays better than my other two. I don’t dare fuck it up.
I climb out of bed, my erection demanding attention. It pisses me off that I’m hard for that bitch, but she knows what to do with that body of hers and my dick remembers every last trick. Thank God I told her no the last time I saw her. Otherwise, I have no doubt I’d be sitting in a jail cell right now, awaiting my trial.
I grab a pair of jeans off the floor and pick up a T-shirt, sniffing it before I pull it over my head. The beauty of this janitorial job is that I don’t have to wear a uniform. The office building I clean is empty, so as long as I’m wearing clean clothes—questionable at the moment—my boss doesn’t care if I show up in jeans and a T-shirt.