Under My Skin

  I’m only marginally satisfied. “You’re such a softie,” I hiss, but my words have no mettle behind them. Truth be told, I’d have probably done the same thing because Charlotte is so sweet and cute and it’s just plain hard to refuse her.

  Hence my reason for not picking up her calls or returning her messages.

  She’d want to talk, and I’m just not at a place where I want to. I don’t think I’ll ever be there, truthfully.

  “So it’s okay that she comes right?” Sophie asks.

  I hand her my gin and tonic wordlessly and grab the second sluttiest thing I own from my closet, then I turn to her and smile evilly. “You can make it up to me by wearing this.”

  Her mouth drops open, but I pay no attention to the grimace she’s got going on because my hands are reaching back into my closet to grab the sluttiest thing I own.

  “Cheer up buttercup. You could be wearing my outfit instead.”

  Liz

  The plan is for everyone, a.k.a. Clarabelle and Charlotte, to meet us at our place so we can get our lush on before we head out. This is a necessity given that we’re all still in school and on student budgets.

  Despite my bravado, I keep thinking it’s going to be terribly awkward when I see Charlotte, but the second she walks through the door, she immediately pulls me in a tight embrace and whispers in my ear, “I love him, but my dumbass cousin is the biggest fuckwit on planet Earth.”

  Have I mentioned that I love this girl?

  Her words make me want to laugh and cry, but instead my lips stretch into a wide smile. “What cousin?”

  She giggles, but her eyes aren’t laughing and they stay glued to my face for a second longer than I find comfortable. I’m grateful when she leaves it at that. “Let’s get drunk and dance our asses off!”

  Her enthusiasm is catching, and by the time we pile into the cab, we’re well on our way to the glorious state of tipsy. Maybe me a little more so than the others, but I’m beyond caring because I’m a woman on a rampage err—mission.

  When we get to Luxe, I realize something that’s been nagging me in the depths of my consciousness. My hand shoots out and I grab Charlotte. “Can you come in with us? I think this place is twenty-one and over. Aren’t you only nineteen?”

  She winks at me and whips out a fake ID. I survey it closely. It’s a good fake. Even if I wasn’t inebriated, I would know this is a good one because I can spot fakes a mile away, doesn’t matter if it’s a fake ID, fake designer handbag, or fake person.

  I hand it back to her. “I’m impressed,” I tell her. “That one looks way better than the one I used to have and mine worked like a charm each and every single time.”

  “Guys, come on,” Sophie yells. She’s at the front of the line with Clarabelle, busy talking to the bouncer, who just so happens to be giving me appraising, appreciative looks.

  I look at him from underneath my lashes and give him a slight smile. Just enough to convey interest but subtle enough to show I’m not desperate or cheap. He’s cute in a dumb-jock, caveman sort of way, and the way his eyes light into mine causes my brain to project images of me crawling up and on his body. But my fantasy quickly encounters a major problem when the characters on my mental casting couch change, and it’s Mark’s amazingly hard, cut body I’m using to bring both of us pleasure.

  Fuck.

  This is completely unfair, but I don’t have time to dwell on it because Sophie and Clarabelle are motioning frantically for Charlotte and I to catch up. It’s always nice when we look good enough to forego waiting in line.

  When I get to him, Hot Bouncer’s eyes gleam. He glances down at the ID I thrust at him, nods, and then shakes his head no when I try to give him a twenty.

  Apparently we look good enough to avoid paying the cover charge too.

  “You look good mama,” he says in a gravelly, low voice, the impact of which travels straight between my thighs. Somewhere deep inside me, on a cellular level, the Pied Piper is playing a wondrous tune to my hormones and they are happily following along.

  There it is. Proof that I’m not immune to the charms of other men.

  His lips tilt on one side when I beam at him. “Easy inside there, ‘kay?” he cautions me. “Hope to hell you don’t got a man coming ‘cause I don’t want to break up any more fights tonight if I don’t have to. Although,” he says, a considering look on his face, “if your man is dumb enough to let his girl walk out of the house looking like that,” he motions to my body, “then maybe he deserves to get the shit beat out of him.”

  I’m wearing a black dress. It’s one of my favorites, and because it makes me feel like the sexiest bitch in the world, I only wear it sparingly so I can keep the feeling fresh. It’s all black lace, with enough of a lining underneath to keep it from being completely indecent. The sleeves are long, ending with gently flared bells at my wrist and the neck is high, fashioned like a mock turtleneck.

  But that’s where the modesty ends.

  It’s insanely short, hitting me right before my mid-thigh and the back is non-existent.

  Non-existent as in other than the gatherings of fabric at the back of my neck and at the base of my spine, just above the twin indentions on top of my ass, there’s probably less than a foot of fabric covering the back of my person.

  “I don’t have a man,” I assure him, although each syllable leaves my mouth tasting bitter.

  He gives me a look, one that I’m beginning to recognize. I saw it on Sophie’s face earlier, and then Charlotte’s.

  It’s that look that says bullshit.

  “Liz!”

  The other three are waiting for me near a dark alcove that’s just before the hallway that leads to the inside of the club.

  “My friends…” I trail off lamely.

  He tips his chin at me. “I’ll come say hi a little later on.”

  I tip my chin back at him, and he laughs. “Bye,” I wave to him and my feet carry me to where my friends are. There’s something unfurling in my chest, it’s warm but piercing at the same time.

  Bittersweet.

  The taste of moving on.

  Regardless of whether or not Hot Bouncer ends up being a one-night stand or a few nights’ walk or just a handsome guy who expressed his appreciation for my physical form, it’s a hallmark for me.

  Closing one door and turning the knob on a new one.

  I become annoyed with myself and my overly philosophical state of being, so I decide to lead our pack to the bar. I put my credit card down, inform the bartender to keep my tab open, and start off the night with cherry vodka sours for each of us. It dawns on me that this perhaps isn’t the wisest way to start, given the number of gins and tonic consumed earlier, but we’re standing in a bar and when in Rome…

  It’s easy to get in the mood in this place. It’s filled with people—all dressed to the nines and clearly having a great time. The music is better than good, so much so that at some point, I realize my hips are already shaking to the beat. Strobe lights streak across the floors from time to time, causing everything to be illuminated in slow-mo before flashing into darkness.

  I finish my first cherry vodka sour and stare hard at the cherry in the glass. The other girls are still sipping at their drinks, but I focus on this piece of fabricated fruit and the singular thought that I literally gave mine to someone who threw me away.

  Time to blow it out of the water.

  I pick the cherry up by the step. “Who can tie the stem into a knot with their tongue?” I screech.

  Thankfully, my screech is not annoying because the music is so loud. The girls all have interested looks on their faces and Charlotte breathes, “What? Really?”

  I grin. “Let me demonstrate.”

  She stares at me while I pop the cherry into my mouth and chew the fruit, holding the stem aloft. Then I slip it into my mouth and curl my tongue so that each of the ends of the stem touch. I feel around with the tip of my tongue to make sure they intersect at the right place before I purse my lips
and push against the stem, wiggling the tip around so I can push one end of the stem through the loop I’ve created.

  Success!

  Triumphantly, I reach into my mouth and extract the perfect knot from my mouth. “And that ladies, is how it’s done!”

  Sophie looks slightly mortified while Clarabelle and Charlotte are duly impressed.

  “I want to try!” Charlotte cries excitedly.

  We let her try for ten minutes, but she’s unsuccessful. I sympathetically pat her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s really just a cheap parlor trick that means you’re supposed to be good at BJs.”

  When she looks at me with big eyes, I quickly raise my hand and signal our bartender. My cherry vodka sour isn’t working quickly enough for me, and given the freaking maelstrom whirling around in my head, I need major reinforcement.

  “Long Island Iced Tea,” I order, shifting from foot to foot.

  He gives me a look, and I decide I’m done with all the naysayers. I crook my finger in my direction so he leans toward me. “Long Island Ice Tea,” I shout again, this time obnoxiously loud and in his ear.

  He pulls back sharply and glares.

  Asshole.

  “Want me to repeat my order?” I yell.

  He scowls and shakes his head but he moves to pull out the triple sec, vodka, tequila, rum, and gin. I stare at all five bottles of hard liquor and briefly wonder if this is really a good idea before shoving that unproductive thought out of my mind. Thirty minutes later, my mind is on its way to a happy blur. I’m lost in the lights, the vibration from the music, and while my hips sway to the rhythm of sound, I feel limber and lighthearted.

  “I love how alcohol makes you happy,” I shout at Sophie, who is shaking her hips to Shakira like it’s nobody’s business. She rolls her eyes at me, and I just smile and throw my hands over my head so that they move in the opposite direction of my hips.

  It occurs to me in that moment that I just might be happy again.

  Hell, I’d better be happy again soon. I can have a lot of fun right now because I’m young, hearty, and flexible. Once gravity hits, I won’t nearly have as many opportunities to get my freak on. Before I blink, I’ll be ensconced in a luxury, high-end nursing home where my only appealing feature to potential suitors will be how quickly I can get my dentures off.

  I decide I just have to share this gem with Sophie and Charlotte so I shout my reasoning out loud for them to hear. I’m greeted with hoots of laughter and eye rolls. I would share with Clarabelle, but she’s off getting hit on by some preppy frat boy in a shadowy corner. Our eyes meet for a brief second and she winks at me before turning her attention full blast back onto preppy frat boy.

  The alcohol has me feeling warm and loose, and I decide she’s a good egg.

  Annoying as hell, but a good egg, nonetheless.

  I'm swinging and shaking and having a great time but when Sophie focuses on something behind me. Her eyes widen in alarm and I pause in confusion. Music and lights blare all around me but I’m suddenly longer standing where I was because a thick forearm has wrapped itself around my waist.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing," someone growls deeply into my ear.

  What the hell?

  Everything—including the good time I was having, comes to a screeching halt. Rage and reluctant excitement start to thrum against each other, low in my belly and suddenly I feel dizzy, heady with the rush of feeling that assaults my senses because he’s so close to me and I’m addicted to him. Even when we were together, I craved it, I needed him like I needed my very next breath and first thinking that I’ve lost him, and then having to deal with his absence in my life for the last month has been agonizing. My senses, my body, every single part of my being down the most granular cellular level is hungry for him, greedy for him.

  The only reason I’m even able to maintain some semblance of my dignity is because my heart hurts so damn bad.

  I spin around and all five of my senses go into sensory overload. His body is pulsing, not with the music, but vibrating with barely concealed anger—anger directed toward me, which only serves to piss me off further. ”What the fuck am I doing?” I shout, quickly descending into hysterics. No, screw that. I’m already hysterical. This isn’t supposed to happen. He left me, he was the one who chose to exit my life and now he’s standing in front of me, acting like I’m the one who’s done something wrong while the only thing I’ve been guilty of is hurting so fucking bad sometimes it’s painful to peel my eyes open in the morning—and that’s his fault. “As if I owe you any explanations asshole. You’re un-fucking-believable, you know that?” I shout over the music, stabbing one pointy fingernail in his chest. "What the fuck do YOU think you're doing? You’re not cashing in on any random hookups with me. I meant it when I told you, no!” I end up screaming the last word at him.

  He’s silent, but his glare gets harder with each second that ticks by because he’s spending those seconds raking his eyes over my body.

  Seriously, what the hell.

  I’m not dealing with this anymore, but I can’t leave because his body is blocking mine from the only open path that leads to escape from the dance floor. I try shoving him out of my way, but he’s built like a brick house and trying to move him feels like it.

  His fingers wrap around my wrist. “You’re not leaving here until we talk.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” I snap while I try to tug my wrist away from his grip.

  It only tightens, and so I look for my girls because I need reinforcements.

  Clarabelle is still in her shadowy corner, but she’s useless because she’s now busy making out with the preppy frat boy. I can’t even muster up the ‘you go girl’ because that’s just how pissed I am.

  Sophie still has that look of alarm on her face, except now she’s no longer on the dance floor. She’s standing next to Charlotte who is leaning on the bar watching me and Mark with an expression of…apprehension, hope, and guilt.

  And all it takes is that look for me to know she was the traitor who sold me out. Why the hell would facilitate something like this, why would she bring Mark here?

  “Sorry,” she mouths at me.

  I give her a look that promises retribution before turning my attention back to her cousin.

  Fine. If he wants to engage in this supremely weird battle of wills, I can oblige him. The music changes and I start to dance

  And when I say dance, I mean dance.

  I took jazz and ballet until I was sixteen years old. I danced hip-hop before they even started teaching it as a class. My fingertips tease the hem of my dress, almost as if I’m going to pull it up.

  His eyes darken and suddenly they’re blazing like a fire because my hips are swaying from left to right and back into left as I trail my hands up the sides of my thighs, my waist, and my breasts before they tangle in my hair. I lower my eyelids some and stare at him, hoping that my look is seductive and not cross-eyed.

  I guess it works because his muscles tense like he’s suspended in a live wire.

  I crook my finger at him, and he moves toward me. When he reaches me, it’s magnetic, the way my body automatically clings to his. I want to sink into him and erase the last month.

  But I can’t. Even in my inebriated state, this is the perfect opportunity for revenge.

  Well, it’s only perfect because I’m not really sure when the opportunity will present itself again.

  I loop my arms around his neck all the while moving my body sinfully against him, but I falter when I’m presented with tangible proof of just how he’s feeling. Big hands grip my waist, nestling me even closer so that his erection, huge and hard, presses into my belly.

  His grip on me tightens as I tilt my head up and start to press soft kisses along his rugged jawline. It’s too loud for me to hear his groan, but I can feel it rumble through him. Even though I’m wearing heels, I still have to stand on my tiptoes so my lips can trail up the side of his face, and then I lightl
y nip his earlobe.

  A slight shudder runs through his body when I open my mouth and teasingly trail the tip of my tongue along the shell of his ear. Then I go in for the kill.

  “I love your cock…and I know you do too. If you have any desire to procreate in the future or even just keep your member intact, you will stay the fuck away from me.”

  My timing could not be more perfect. A strobe light hits his face right when my knee rises up to crash between the apex of his thighs. Thanks to the trippy white light flashing on his face, I can see his mouth drop open like a fish while the color of his skin changes from red to…green?

  Oh well, not my problem.

  I smile widely, give him the finger, and stalk off to go corral my traitorous girlfriends.

  ***

  I make it maybe five feet from where I was standing when I kneed Mark in the family jewels before long fingers circle my wrist and yank me backwards into that same hard male wall. I note with savage satisfaction that his erection has gone on a sabbatical, although I should probably be focusing on my escape. I’m not really surprised that he’s come after me so quickly.

  Yes, his face had turned green, but his eyes were hard, glint, and seething with anger.

  I struggle against him. “Let me go, you brute!”

  Suddenly Hot Bouncer is in front of us, and his eyes are hard too.

  I don’t see good things in my immediate future.

  I shiver when Mark presses his lips against my ear. “You can start playing nice right now or I can get dirtier than you’ve ever seen Princess. Your choice.”

  My eyes close for a second, and I relax into his large body. I tell myself that it’s because I’m trying to play possum and fool him into thinking I’m going to do what he wants.

  It certainly isn’t because he feels so damned good.

  That jarring thought has me struggling again. “He’s bothering me,” I inform the bouncer.