Chapter 27
Charlotte
Okay, it probably should have occurred to me that Saturday night, outside of a University, would lead to any restaurant being packed as fuck. Walking up to the entrance, the line is at least ten people deep, and that’s outside the doors.
Pulling my phone from my back jeans pocket, I hit the side button to illuminate the screen. I’m ten minutes early. I quickly scan the line and don’t see the tiny statured brunette.
I join the line, so maybe we’ll be close to the door by the time seven o’clock rolls around. I lean my back against the rough brick facade of the building and open up a new Snake game on my phone.
I’m just about to clear the screen when someone bumps into me, and the snake touches the edge of his motherfucking tail. Sonofabitch ! I whip my head to the left, ready to let loose on the jackass that made me lose my game, when I’m met with a bright, shiny, and smiley Rebecca.
“Hey, Charlie! I’m uber sorry I’m late. I had tutoring before this, and it ran a little over, so I had a late start getting back to my dorm to get ready. I didn’t mean to startle you. Didn’t you get my text?” she asks. Of course, I didn’t see her text. I was a little busy taking ass and kicking names at Snake. Don’t be a bitch to your new friend, Charlie.
“I was a little distracted.” I offer with a slight smile, shaking my phone between us, hoping it masks my irritation. If it doesn’t, Rebecca doesn’t let on to it. She simply smiles back, nodding in understanding .
Twenty-four long minutes later, we are finally let into the restaurant and taken to a table. We perused the menus and settled on one pizza to share—Hawaiian with chicken added—and a basket of fries to split. We also order two totally separate chocolate milkshakes because if her lips touch my straw and she backwashes in my drink, I may have to stab my new bestie. I do not share milk products. Period.
My phone buzzes on the table. I don’t want to be rude to my meal companion, so I pick it up and turn the ringer on silent when the text makes my heart race. Heat creeps up my body and settles right in my pussy.
Zee : Hope my girl’s ready for some phone dickin’ tonight. I’ve had a long day, darlin’, and I got an ache only you can fix.
“Oh, girl, what is that about?” I look up at her. She makes a circle at my face with a french fry.
I quickly place the phone back on the table. Nervous laughter bubbles out of me. I can’t tell her what “that” is about. Zach has been insatiable lately.
“Oh, um, just my boyfriend checking in.” I offer flippantly, hoping she won’t ask me any details about the text. I’m not ashamed of having an active sex life with my boyfriend, whom I love, but it makes me feel itchy inside to think about delving into specifics with a stranger.
“Boyfriend, huh? Does he go here?” she asks while looking aimlessly around the room.
I shake my head no and suck down a little of my milkshake. “No, he goes to Bama.”
She makes a sour face. “Oh, so you’re really trying out the long-distance thing?” she asks like it’s a sure thing to fail. I bristle at her question. “We are committed. I trust him. He trusts me. That’s all there is to it. We make it work.” I respond with less bite than I feel, making me proud of myself internally for not flipping out on her.
I have to remember not everyone has bad intentions.
Rebecca nods and takes a drink of her own milkshake, “That’s great. I’m so happy for you. Most of the boys here are total dogs. They smile in their girlfriend’s faces and then have their hands up a co-ed’s skirt in the stacks an hour later.”
She must have seen the surprised and disgusted look on my face at the reference to rampant cheating. “Oh, but I’m sure your guy isn’t like that. I’m sure he’s honest with you and isn’t just hanging around a bunch of girls all the time.” She offers, and I can’t decide if it’s to make me feel better or worse.
“Yeah…” I trail off and look around the room. I spot a hallway with a Restroom sign above it and nod my head in its direction. “I’ll be right back. I gotta pee.”
Closing the stall door behind me, I lay my forearm against it and prop my head on it. Inhaling the clean scent of my detergent to ground me. Don’t listen to her, Charlie. You trust Zach. He doesn’t hide things from you. He’s not him. He wouldn’t do that to you. You trust him . I reach down to respond to his text and realize I left my phone on the table. Well, shit, I’ll get back to him when I get back to my room then.
I do my business, wash my hands, and head back out to Rebecca.
“Hey, I’m sorry if I overstepped. Sometimes, I babble when I’m nervous. I truly didn’t mean anything by it.”
I let out a sigh and smack a smile on my face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no biggie.” I wave her apology off and grab another fry to pop into my mouth as I settle in my seat.
“So, what fun things are there to do around here?” I ask, changing the subject to hopefully something with less tension.
She chews her fry faster, wiping off her hands to prepare to speak. I’ve noticed that about her, she talks with her hands. A lot. It’s a cute little quirk she has. See, you can be nice about something that’s fucking annoying.
“So there’s a bowling alley just down the street. But you want to avoid it on the weekday evenings. They have leagues, and they get uber-serious about their bowling and can be complete dicks. There’s a movie theater about a mile away. They have great matinees during the week starting at ten in the morning. There’s a club close by that’s eighteen and up. Wait, how old are you? ”
“I’m nineteen. But if you look at a certain ID that I have in my possession… I’m twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two? Why not twenty-one?” she laughs.
I toss a fry at her, “Every idiot with a fake ID puts their age at twenty-one. So obviously fake. I figure no woman wants to age herself as much as possible so they’ll believe twenty-two over twenty-one.”
We both laugh and tuck into our food. Even though we had a bit of a rocky start, I’m starting to enjoy my night with Rebecca.
* * *
Zee : Send nudes!
Me : In your dreams
Zee : Sad face emoji
Me : Sends full body pic of me in the skin-tight, black bodycon dress Rebecca picked out for me to wear to the club tonight.
Zee : Hot damn, darlin’. I need you somethin’ fierce girl. Why don’t you go on and gimme a video call? I need to see what that sexy as fuck dress looks like on your floor.
Me : Can’t. Meeting Rebecca @ the club, gotta jet in five, or I’ll be late.
Zee: #1- What in the sam hell am I supposed to do about this ragin’ hard-on you just gave me? #2- Not a damn person better put their hands on you tonight. You. Are. Mine. Is that understood?
Me : LOL. Only yours, baby. What are you up to tonight?
Zee : Good girl. Morgs and some of the guys are comin’ to mine and Tuck’s room for a game night.
Me : BORING! Have fun with your Scrabble, old man.
Zee : For your information, sassafras, we are playin’ poker. Maybe strip, who knows. Could get wild in here.
Me : LOL, a bunch of dudes sitting around naked with each other playing games… sure. Send pics!
Me : Maybe take it a little easy on the adult bevs ?
Zee : All good baby.
Me : KK, gotta head out. Love you!
Zee : Love you more, Little Bit.
Every bag I own clashes with this outfit. Frustrated, I fling each of the mismatching clutches around the drawer they live in. Fuck it. This is why God gave women boobs. I tuck my debit card, coin, and fake ID into my left bra-cket and my phone into my right one. Checking over my reflection in the full-length mirror, I smooth the dress down. It stops mid-thigh. A bit more risque than my typical wardrobe allows, but I promised Rebecca she could choose, and this itty bitty excuse for a dress was her choice.
I tie up my platform MJs to complete the look. Like fuck am I attempting heels at a dance club. I’d like to avoid face-planting on that nasty ass floor. No, thank you. I can move in platforms. I have been rocking the Baby Spice’s since middle school.
I pull out my phone to text Rebecca, letting her know I’m on the way to meet her in the parking lot downstairs and bypass the matching black faux leather jacket. It may be November and a balmy sixty-five degrees to these Alabamians– Alabamans? –, but sixty-five to this Alaskan this late in the year is freaking heat wave weather. Hell, Alaskans are still wearing t-shirts and shorts right now in our thirty-degree weather.
My jaw nearly unhinges from my face when I get a look at my friend. Ho-ly shit. Her normally mousy, straight hair is layered around her heart-shaped face in waves. Deep lines of black frame her glittery eyes. The black bandana top shows off her surprisingly taut midriff. The bottom point skims just over the top of her belly button, which is on full display thanks to the very low, hip-hugging white jeans that seem to be plastered onto her petite body. Her stature is towering higher tonight from the hot pink stiletto heels on her feet.
Who the fuck is this?
She hasn’t seen me walk over yet, so I observe her in stalkery freedom through the shadows of the parking lot. Her body rests against a jet-black sports car. Whose ride is that? Has my new companion been body-snatched by a porn star ?
“Damn girl, I’m gonna call you Paula ‘cause you are America’s idol in this getup!” I shout as I get closer, catching her attention. She pushes off the car and tucks a lock of hair behind her right ear like she does when she’s nervous.
“Nu-uh. No ma’am. You look hot as sin tonight. Strut it,” I dare her, cocking an eyebrow in challenge and wave my arm down the sidewalk.
Rebecca giggles and tries to brush me off. Ha. Not in this lifetime, sis. “Becky with the fly hair, you better strut your sexy butt down this sidewalk right now.”
She humors me and makes a halfhearted attempt at a catwalk before rushing me into the backseat of the car as she climbs in the passenger side. Uh, WTF?
“‘Sup.” is the only greeting I get from the dude behind the wheel. He looks familiar. I think we have psych together.
I nod back when I catch his eyes in the reflection of the rear-view mirror. “Hey.”
Yep. It’s definitely psych guy. Hunter. I recognize those beady eyes.
Why is Rebecca with this guy?
I scoot myself as modestly as I can to the middle of the back seat so I have a clear view of the front and windshield. Psych dude turns the volume up on some electronic mix that has my ears wanting to puncture themselves, and we fly out of the parking lot.
The club isn’t too far away, maybe ten minutes at the speed of the fucking Delorean here. The lights from remaining open businesses pass by in a blur, movement from the front pulls my attention from the lightshow out of the window.
What the hell?
Psych dude just slid his hand across Rebecca’s leg and landed it firmly against her crotch. I know for a fucking fact he has a girlfriend. I’m subjected to their makeout sessions in class on a weekly basis. Unless they broke up four hours ago, this guy is a scumbag. And why is Rebecca letting it happen? She doesn’t seem fazed at all. Maybe she doesn’t know he has a girlfriend?
I’m torn. It’s not my business. But man, I really want to whomp him on the side of his head for being a philandering dill hole. If we wouldn’t crash and die, I just might.
Before I have too much time to dwell on it, we come to a screeching halt outside of Skin, the eighteen-and-up nightclub. I fling open the door and launch myself out, wanting to get away from the sleaze ASAP. I right myself at the curb, taking in the long line. I’m glad I wore more comfy shoes since we have to stand for God knows how long.
Rebecca still hasn’t gotten out of the car. The windows are tinted so dark I can’t see anything through them.
Finally, she stumbles out, jerking her bandana top in place. She closes the door without looking back at the driver, who promptly tears out like a bat out of hell.
Not your circus, not your monkeys. Let it go, Charlie.
I shake off my judgment and curiosity and start to head toward the back of the line. Rebecca latches onto my bicep, her sharp nails pinching into the soft skin with a bite of pain. “Where are you going?” she asks. I point my eyes toward the end of the line like my actions are obvious. She shakes her head at me as if I’m a silly child and pulls me towards the front door.
A large, burly, biker-looking dude stands guard, and Rebecca struts right up to him with her hand on her hip. She says nothing as his lecherous gaze roams over her figure. He tips his head up in approval before lifting the red velvet rope, letting her pass. I’m hot on her heels until he reaches a hand out, stopping my movements, “ID?” he demands in a gruff, no fucking around voice.
I pull it out and hand it to him as he eyes my tits in wonder. Clearly, he is ignorant of the ways of the bra-cket. He barely glances at it before tossing it back to me and letting me pass.
It’s my first time here. I thought it was both of our first times here, but apparently, Becky, with the fly hair, has got some secrets. It’s like she has two totally different personalities.
She drags me through the throng of bodies gliding against one another to an empty, tall, neon-lighted table. “I’ll go grab us some bevies. You have a preference?” she shouts the question into my ear, and still, I barely hear it over the pulsing bass filtering through the air .
I shake my head, “Suprise me!”
As Rebecca is absorbed into the crowd, I let the beat flow through my body. I need to chill. Between class, fitful sleep and missing the hell out of my boyfriend, and the bodily relaxation he gives, I am wound tighter than a snug hug from a nope rope as he squeezes the breath from his vermin victim.
My body gently sways with the rhythm, and my fingers drum along to the beat across the table’s hard surface.
The proximity of all the bodies creates a palpable heat that clings to the air like a heavy blanket. Where’s Rebecca with our drinks?
Like I manifested her return, she comes out of the gyrating horde a bit breathless as she places our drinks down. Hers is a delightful display of bright yellow and red layered slush topped with a pineapple wedge. Mine is an entrancing midnight blue slush with a swirl of neon green, topped with a lime slice.
Yum. As I pick up the crazed hurricane glass and bring it to my lips, Rebecca’s hand covers the top of the drink. I pull back and look at her, perplexed. “You gotta stir it, hun.”
“Oh-kay…” I exaggerate but give the little black straw a spin around the glass.
“More.” She instructs, a little on the forceful side. Why is she so weird about how my flavors mix? I laugh at her and stir it harder than necessary, looking at her for approval. When she gives it, I tip the glass up and drain half of it in one go. Mmm, blue-motherfucking-raspberry.