Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Half an hour before the end of my shift, I find myself in a nearly empty bar with only Thomas still sitting at his table. Matt and the others have already left and, to tell you the truth, I’m surprised that Thomas didn’t take the opportunity to go back to campus with some new bedpost-notch.
Irritated, I join him at the table. “Thomas, I’m about to close up. Go home.” I gather up the last empty glasses on the table and leave his, still full of amber liquid.
“Don’t feel like it.” He turns a cigarette over in his hands.
“Maybe you don’t know this, but a bar is really the last place you should seek refuge when you’re feeling sad.” I look at him and see nothingness in his gaze.
“This is not a real bar,” he snorts unhappily.
“Same concept.”
“What makes you think I’m sad?” he asks in a teasing tone.
Your goddamned eyes.
“Are you?”
He shrugs in response, avoiding my gaze.
“Why did you come here?”
He sighs and straightens his spine. “For this.” He raises his glass. “And these.” he looks at my legs, brushing my right thigh with his knuckles. I wince, ready to move away immediately.
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you drunk?”
“I don’t get drunk, Ness,” he insists with a mocking smile.
“Yeah, sure. How many have you had since you got here?”
“Five or six. No, maybe eight or nine. I lost count… I’ve been here a while.”
“You’re definitely drunk. Let me take you home on the bus, it’ll be for the best.”
“There’s no way I’m leaving my car here. I’d find it stripped to the wheels tomorrow, maybe not even those.” He gestures slowly.
“Are you planning on spending the night in here? I’m warning you, Derek won’t be pleased.”
He pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket and dangles them in the air. “Drive me.”
“Thomas, if I drive you, I’ll miss the midnight bus. The next one doesn’t come until one o’clock. I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ll call you a cab.” I pull out my phone and start dialing, but he blocks my hand.
“I said I won’t leave the car here. Forget it. I’ll get back to campus on my own.” He gets up, wobbling a little, and downs the last bit of Jack Daniel’s before heading for the exit.
“Where are you going? You’re in no condition to drive!” I shout.
He turns toward me just enough for me to see him smirk. “Suppose I’ll have to do it anyway.” He opens the door but then, as if suddenly remembering something, he marches back inside and walks up to me. “F-forgot to pay,” he mumbles. He pulls a couple of bills from the pocket of his jeans and lays them on the table. He folds one, places it between his middle and forefingers and then slips it into my cleavage. “Just the way you like it.” He grins, so pleased with himself that, if he weren’t drunk, I’d gladly slap him in his smug face. But as he can barely stand upright, I take a deep breath and keep my composure.
“You’re completely out of it… Sit down. I’ll take you home,” I order sternly.
He doesn’t object. He does what I tell him and sits down, crossing his arms and resting his head on top of them.
I go back to the bar, thoroughly irritated. I wipe it down one more time with a damp cloth, take out the garbage and recycling, and put the last of the dirty glasses in the dishwasher. I grab a small bottle of water from the refrigerator and bring it to him.
“Here, pretend it’s Jack Daniel’s. My shift ends in twenty minutes. Then we’re leaving.”
He lifts his head and two shiny, reddened eyes look at me. He slurs something, but I don’t catch half the words.
After counting the cash three times, I put the money in an envelope and scribble the date on the outside before putting it in the safe. I collect my tips and Logan’s box of chocolates, and I head to the changing room downstairs. I try to grab my spare clothes from my backpack but I notice that they are damp. I don’t believe it. I left a water bottle in my bag without checking to make sure it was fully closed. Good thing I didn’t bring any books. I resign myself to the idea that I will have to go home in this damn cheerleading uniform and slip on my jacket. I untie the stupid pigtails and join Thomas at the table.
“Wait here for me, I’m going to throw these away,” I tell him, nodding at the garbage bags I have in my hands.
“I’ll take care of it.” He starts to get up, but I push him back down.
“No way, you can’t even stand up.”
I don’t give him time to answer back before I’m already outside the bar.
The air is cold and biting, though I suppose that being basically half-naked doesn’t help at all. Looking around the Marsy’s parking lot, I see a black SUV. I guess that’s Thomas’s, as it’s the only car left. It looks like it just rolled out of the shop, so shiny and perfect. One thing is certain: if I scratch it up, he would deserve it. I resist the urge, however. I’ve had enough trouble today already.
I duck back inside the bar and signal for him to follow me. “Come on, let’s go.” I want to sound stern, but there’s a softness in my voice that betrays me.
“You leave work dressed like that?” He looks at my uniform with disapproval.
“I don’t have a choice. My change of clothes is in here, and it’s soaked,” I say, showing him my backpack. With one hand I help him up, but he falters. I put his muscular arm around my shoulder to support him. “You’re so stupid, Thomas.” I shake my head. It’s not just anger that moves me to scold him. The truth is, I don’t like seeing him reduced to such a state.
“Once at a party, I met a pretty okay girl who had more alcohol than blood in her body. When I told her she was stupid, she tried to knock me out with a punch,” he whispers in my ear, bringing back the memory of the night I got wasted at Matt’s frat house.
A hit, a very palpable hit.
“Well, I’d say you were both stupid, then.” I look at him, stifling a laugh.
Thomas rests his cheek against my head and mutters something unintelligible in a thick voice. I load him into the car and I lean over him to buckle his seat belt. “Always so cautious…” he teases me with a slightly crooked smile on his face. Even dead drunk, he remains irresistible.
“You can never be too careful,” I tell him firmly. I turn my head in his direction and find myself just inches from his face.
“I agree. Why don’t you stay in this position and make sure everything is…rock solid,” he murmurs, reducing his voice to a sensual hiss.
What?
It takes me a few moments to grasp his meaning, but when I get there, I immediately pull myself out of the passenger seat, banging my head against the roof in my haste.
“Ouch!” I rub my head, wrinkling my nose. He explodes with laughter. “You’re such a pervert!” I say, punching him lightly in the shoulder. I walk around the car and get in the driver’s seat. There’s a huge gap between my feet and the pedals, so I slide the seat as far forward as I can, raise the seat higher and then I adjust the side mirrors.
“You’re messing up my whole situation,” he protests, frowning.
Listen to him—I’m messing up his “situation.”
“Maybe you’ll think about that next time before you get wasted at my workplace,” I admonish him.
He doesn’t answer but only closes his eyes and rests his head against the slightly open window. I place Logan’s chocolates in the center console and notice Thomas looking at them askance.
“Who gave you those?”
“Logan.”
A kind of angry huff escapes from his throat. He grabs the box with his usual casual entitlement. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to fling it out the window. Instead he flips it over. “ Caramel…” he mumbles. “He doesn’t know shit even when it comes to chocolates.” He opens the box and, without asking permission, unwraps a piece and brings it to his mouth.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“He got those for me.”
“I’ll have to send my apology in writing,” he taunts, plucking another one.
“Didn’t you just say they sucked?”
“I need the sugar.”
Sure, right. He devours each chocolate with a sinister satisfaction that gives me the shivers. It’s as though the box of caramels has somehow wronged him.
I decide not to push it. Thomas is drunk, and I don’t really want to argue.
The trip is smooth, the streets are empty and silent, and this car drives like a dream.
“Ness, you need to know something,” he mutters after a while. “Something that’ll piss you off. A lot.” He takes a pause and I see him looking at me sideways.
“What?” I demand with my eyes fixed on the road. Now I’m on high alert.
“This afternoon, while you were sleeping… That dickhead wouldn’t stop calling you.”
It only takes me a few seconds to understand what he’s saying and, before he even finishes explaining himself, I’m braking hard. The wheels slip on the asphalt, and the car skids slightly.
“What the fuck, are you crazy?!” He straightens up, pale, and looks wildly in all directions. “Somebody could have run into us! Get out, you’re a hazard. I’m driving!” He fumbles with his seat belt and moves to get out of the car, but I activate the child safety locks and stop him.
“Don’t you dare get out of that fucking seat, Thomas!” I yell, surprising him with my language. I pull over, unbuckle my seat belt, and lean toward him, my eyes smoldering with rage. “Did you or did you not put your hands on my phone?”
“I was trying to tell you.”
I look at him in shock for a handful of seconds, silent, just blinking. “You…you…you’re joking! Tell me you are joking! You took it upon yourself to reject calls from the guy I’m dating while I was asleep? What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know why I did it, okay?” he says, annoyed.
Annoyed. He’s annoyed. Suddenly I am overcome by a blind fury. I leap over the seat and perch on his legs. I lash out at him, hitting him repeatedly in the chest.
“What the fuck are you doing, stop it!” he shouts at me, in shock.
“No, I won’t stop it! You’re sick! Presumptuous! Possessive! Who the hell do you think you are, huh? You reject calls for me on my phone, you threaten Logan, you punch him.” I hit him again, for emphasis.
Thomas tries to grab my wrists but fails. His reflexes have been deadened by alcohol. “Calm down! You’re overreacting!”
I know, I’m going crazy because of you!
“Tell me why you did it!” I scream, ready to hit him again but he finally manages to grab my wrists, pinning them both behind my back.
“Because I can’t stand to see you with him. I can’t stand seeing you with anyone,” he confesses forcefully, his mouth inches from my own.
I freeze instantly, breathless. Thomas releases my wrists. I could try to parse that sentence, but I won’t. Instead, I rub my face and tuck my hair behind my ears. I take a breath to calm down, and only then do I realize that, caught up in my outrage, I have straddled Thomas. His hands are resting on my thighs. I look up and realize that he is staring at me with eyes full of desire. I feel that strange tingling in my belly that only he seems to cause. I know what is about to happen. But no. I won’t allow it.
“Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?” He challenges me with his usual smartass look, sinking his fingers into the exposed flesh of my legs.
“Don’t kiss me. Don’t touch me. You’re drunk and clearly worked up about something. Don’t use me as a release valve. Do it with the other ones, but not with me.” It’s almost a plea, because there is a part of me that desperately yearns to be kissed by him, but the rest of me knows that would be a grave mistake.
After lingering for a few seconds, Thomas lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs in frustration. He removes his hands from my legs as if it costs him a great deal of effort, and I get back in the driver’s seat, adjusting my skirt. I sit motionless for a moment, staring out at the dark, empty road ahead of me, trying to put my thoughts in order.
“Why did you tell me?” I ask finally, gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands.
“What?”
“About the phone. You could have not done it, pretended not to know anything…”
“That was my plan,” he admits. I turn to look at him and watch his Adam’s apple bob. “You said you don’t trust me. And I don’t blame you, I pull a lot of shit, I’m unreliable and unmanageable. But I want your trust. Being honest with you is the only way I can think to get it.”
He secretly deletes calls and messages from my phone and then he wants me to trust him… My God, it’s so hard to keep up with him. I can’t pretend that I didn’t appreciate his honesty, though.
“Will you do it again?”
“Probably.”
“You are hopeless.” I shake my head resignedly. “I’ll take you to campus.” Thomas slumps back against the window. We drive in silence but, from time to time, I can feel his burning gaze on me. “Every guy in that bar was drooling over your legs. You’ve filled their spank banks for years to come,” he says suddenly, brazenly, giving my legs a sneaky look.
“Come on… It’s just a work uniform.” I shrug it off, embarrassed.
“It took all the self-control I have not to grab you and slam you down on a table every time you passed by. Give every creep in that place something to really look at.”
His vulgarity takes my breath away. His insolence makes me blush. My body, though, quivers at his words, at the possibility of them becoming a reality. Is it possible that some part of me is secretly attracted to this barbaric and shameless side of him, so at odds with my own preoccupation with decency?
I clear my throat, trying not to let any emotion show. “That’s because you’re a primitive troll.” Arriving on campus, I put it in park and turn off the engine. “We’re here.” I get out, walk around the car, and try to help him get upright.
“I may be a primitive troll. But you…” he whispers, his lips pressed almost to my ear, so close that I shudder. “You are too beautiful.”
I bite my lip, trying to keep the storm inside me at bay. The little voice in my head comes to my rescue, it reminds me that he is drunk and that I must not under any circumstances make the same mistake again.
“I’ll take you back to your room,” I tell him in a low, trembling voice.
“That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” he snickers, grinning arrogantly. I ignore him and lead him past the common area, which is completely deserted. We take the elevator up to the fourth floor and walk down the hallway until we reach his door.
“The key is in the back pocket of my jeans. You have to get it, I can’t reach.”
I snort. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” I tease.
Not that the idea of touching his butt bothers me all that much, actually. He smiles faintly. I open the door and I realize that his dorm suite is huge. The living room is furnished with a coffee table, a sofa under the window and a small kitchenette. My room was a hole in comparison.
“Where do you sleep?”
He nods to a door on our left.
The opposite room belongs to Larry, who is asleep and snoring loudly. I was expecting a pretty macho space, but instead I find myself in a sterile, white-walled room with a basic bed, a desk, and a shelf with a picture of Thomas and Leila hugging each other. She is smiling, he is not. The frame is pink and glittery, and I can tell right away that this photo is only here at Leila’s behest. I smile to myself.
I hear Thomas fumbling around behind me so I turn to help him out of his jacket. His movements are slow and awkward. Light-years away from the way I usually see him. He throws himself onto the bed still fully dressed and stares blankly at the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” He shakes his head but doesn’t answer. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.” I meant for it to be a question, but it comes out like a statement. He ignores me and closes his eyes. A clear signal: it’s time for me to leave. “Suit yourself. It’s late, I’m leaving.”
“Wait.” He lifts his head and throws me his car keys, which I surprisingly manage to catch. “Here, bring it back to me tomorrow.”
“I’m not taking your car.” I chuckle.
“I’m not letting you take the bus at this time of night, dressed like that. Take the car, end of discussion. Or stay here. Your choice.”
“I choose the car.”
“Careful with the paint job.”
I roll my eyes. Before I leave, I bring him a glass of water and fish out a bottle of painkillers from the cabinet in the bathroom. I set it all on his nightstand along with a packet of tissues. I retrieve a bowl from the kitchen and put it on the floor next to his bed. Finally, I slip his phone out of his jacket pocket and rest it beside him. As I am doing all of this, I feel his eyes on me and do my best to not blush.
“What are you doing?” he asks cautiously.
“Uh…um…I’ve put some things in easy reach for you. You know, if you need to throw up, you’ve got it all right here.” I worry the ends of my hair. I must seem like a complete idiot to him. I’d better disappear before he starts making fun of me.
He sits up with his knees slightly apart and reaches out a hand toward me. He pulls me closer, into the space between his legs. “You’re sweet…” He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his forehead to my partially exposed midriff. The skimpy uniform shirt ends just below my ribs. Suddenly I feel the need to give him a hug, to comfort him. I slide my hands into his hair and stroke his scalp. I can feel his mouth curving into a smile against my skin. Before I realize what he’s doing, his lips are on my belly. I startle, and the heat is rising again, under my skin and between my thighs. Unable to react, I narrow my eyes and watch him trace a trail of slow, wet kisses down my belly. His hands slip eagerly under my skirt, until he reaches my butt; he squeezes it firmly and pulls me down, forcing me to sit on his lap. He rests his forehead on mine, sinking his fingers into the flesh of my buttocks. An electric shock runs down my spine. I grip his hair tighter and he grinds me against his pelvis. The friction makes me moan. My body is drunk on the touch of this tattooed, arrogant, tormented boy. He is like a drug for me, impossible to resist.
“You are not a release valve,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Then he kisses the hollow of my throat and the contrast between his warm tongue and the cold metal of his piercing scrambles my brain. Our breaths quicken, excitement grows inside me and merges with his, but when his tongue moves dangerously close to my lips, the smell of alcohol calls me back from the edge I was about to pitch over.
“Thomas, stop…” I put my hands on his chest and push him away. His eyes, pupils dilated, fill with bitterness and frustration.
“Fuck,” he murmurs in a soft voice, as if aware that he was in the wrong. I get up and adjust my skirt.
“I-it’s okay. You’re not yourself right now.”
With a frustrated sigh, he buries his face in my belly again and clenches his fists against my back. He has the body of a broken man, but the soul of a lost child. Seeing him like this destroys me. “What’s wrong, Thomas?”
“I’m grieving, Ness. And it’s my fault.”
My blood runs cold. I take his face in my hands and force it up to look him in the eye. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Go home,” he orders. He lies down on the bed and collapses immediately into a deep sleep.
I remain paralyzed before him. What the hell does that mean?