Chapter Four #2
Dad offers to buy us a new one at least once a month, but I can’t part with it.
It was the first real adult purchase I ever made, and the worn-out green fabric reminds me of a dress my maman used to wear for every special occasion when I was growing up.
Though her dress was a hell of a lot nicer, and this couch isn’t making my knockers look nearly as good as that dress had for her, but c’est la vie .
“Alright, let’s get started. I have big plans to drag you putas out to that new club tonight,” Letty says.
“What part of ‘I have an exam on Monday’ didn’t you understand?” I ask, rolling my eyes, but knowing damn well I won’t be here, studying all night. Not on a Friday. Especially not one of the only free Fridays we get during the season.
“You’ve got three whole days to study. We’re going out. A little relaxation will do you good,” she says with a nod as if it’s confirmed. No one says ‘no’ to Letty, so it might as well be. That's the perk of being the goalkeeper.
“Fine,” I grumble for the sake of being a brat. I love clubbing, so it’s no real hardship.
Chelsea heads to the kitchen. “I’m grabbing some water. Y’all need anything?”
We all tell her “No thanks,” but her gaze meets mine with a seriousness that crinkles the edges of her eyes. “You take your meds today, or do you need me to bring them to you?”
I wince at the question. I forgot, again . The guilt gnaws at me, a reminder of how I’ve let it slip too many times. Someday, I’ll get it together. I hope .
"I had a busy morning," I explain, my voice quiet, though I know she’s only asking to check in, not to judge. Still, the weight of it hangs over me. I feel like a burden, like I should be better by now. She shouldn’t have to mother me, and neither should anyone else.
It’s me who’s judging me. “Bring them over, please.”
She nods, grabbing another glass of water and counting my pills out for me. “A busy morning, huh?” she asks, her brow quirked, and a smirk plays on her lips.
“Yep, super busy,” I tell her, my eyes dancing.
“By ‘busy’ you mean you were getting railed, right?” Adhira asks, blunt as ever.
“Yep,” I quip, smiling broadly.
We all laugh in unison and fall into an easy rhythm of studying with practice questions and a speed round before getting ready for a night out.
“The black dress or the dark-blue one?” I ask, unsure of what to wear tonight.
“I’d say the dark-blue one because it brings out your eyes, but we’ll be in a dark club, so it won’t matter.” Chelsea grabs the dresses from me and tosses a pair of leather pants, hitting me right in the face with them.
“ I’ll wear the blue dress, and you can wear the leather pants and matching corset. It brings out your ass and tits, which are far more important than your eyes.” She chuckles, waggling her blonde brows at me.
“Can’t argue with that,” I tell her, working the skin-tight pants up my long legs. “Why a dress for you tonight?” I question, knowing she isn’t dressing me for my benefit alone.
“A dress is easy access, and I fully plan on getting fingered on the dance floor tonight,” she says with a wide, confident smile that shows off the single rhinestone glued to her right canine.
“You know, you own dresses of your own too,” I say with a smirk, the words laced with a playful challenge.
“Yeah, but yours are better.” She grins. “It’s like shopping without spending the money. Plus, you’re four inches shorter than me, which means your dresses are automatically shorter too.”
She has a point .
“Will you ever learn to use the metric system?” I chide.
“Unlikely.”
Once we’re both dressed, we head out into the living room to meet the other girls. Joey and Ria are leaning against the kitchen counter, chatting with Letty and Adhira.
“Hey, glad you guys could make it,” I tell our friends from the women’s rugby team.
“And miss out on probably our last free Friday night for the next several months? Never,” Joey says with a laugh.
“The Uber’s just arrived, let’s go,” Letty says, ushering us out the door. You’d really think she would be our team captain, but while she loves bossing everyone around in her personal life, she has zero desire on the field. That’s her time to play without any pretence clouding her fun.
The Uber pulls up to the club, its neon lights flickering like distant stars in the dark.
We thank the driver and slip out, joining the line that curves toward the entrance.
The air outside is cool; wind whipping past causes goosebumps to litter my skin.
I focus my attention on the little bumps, smoothing my palm over my forearm, doing my best to block out the chatter of the crowd surrounding me.
It feels too overstimulating, but I know that once we’re inside, it’ll be a nice reprieve from the heavy weight of my thoughts.
People-watching has always been something that effectively fills the spaces in my racing mind, allowing me to shut off the fire hose of too many emotions blasting me in the face.
The bouncer barely glances at us before stepping aside, letting us into the suffocating, dimly lit interior.
The club is alive with noise—voices, laughter, and the constant thrum of the bass that seems to seep into every corner.
The air inside is stifling, heavy with sweat and perfume, and the crowd presses in from all sides.
Bodies move to the rhythm, hands raised, faces lit by the unpredictable flashes of strobe lights.
It’s chaotic, like trying to navigate a dream that won’t sit still—something I know all too well.
We make our way through the crowd, finally finding a booth in the back, where the noise dulls just enough to catch our breath.
The air here is cooler but still thick, and the darkness wraps around us, a welcome contrast to the dizzying energy of the dancefloor.
We pile into the booth, our laughter cutting through the haze as we settle in, trying to find our place in this madness.
“Hey, ladies, I’m Shamir. What can I get you to drink?” a handsome guy I recognise from campus asks us.
“I’ll have a vodka martini, shaken,” I say, forcing a smile that feels more like a stretch than anything genuine.
I’m acutely aware of how standoffish I must seem, though it doesn’t bother me much; I’m not looking to make friends outside of my inner circle.
But Shamir’s always been kind to me, offering a quick smile whenever our paths cross, so it feels like the least I can do to not outright glare at him.
He returns my smile with one that feels genuine, far more convincing than mine ever was, his cheeks darkening with a blush, and he quickly averts his gaze before moving on to take the rest of our orders.
Should you really be drinking? The nagging voice in the back of my head asks, a voice that sounds all too familiar to Rachelle’s, so I welcome it with open arms despite the pang it causes in my chest or the way it twists my stomach in knots.
I know I don’t need to respond, it’s not like she’s here, but I start my rant anyway I like to have a drink here or there, but I promise, I avoid overdoing it if I’m with the wrong crowd.
I don’t love feeling out of control, as you very well know.
Especially since I already feel that way half of the time , but I know my girls will keep me safe.
Between Adhira’s no-nonsense attitude, Letty’s ability to clear a room with a single look, and Chelsea’s mama bear instincts, I know I have nothing to worry about.
“Oh shit,” Chelsea whispers. “Is that the men’s rugby team?” she asks, signalling toward the bar with her chin.
A groan slips past my lips. “It sure is,” I whine.
“How is that a bad thing? I fully intend to be riding one of those juicy thighs before the night is over,” Chelsea clucks, her Southern drawl making an appearance.
“I don’t love the idea of a bunch of men who are essentially my dad’s indentured servants watching my every move at a club and potentially reporting back to him about my…extracurriculars,” I mutter, shifting in my seat.
“Your father is fully aware that not only are you an adult, but you’re definitely not a virgin. I assure you, the man isn’t keeping tabs on you. I’m gonna go dance, do as you please.” She rolls her eyes, pushing me out of the seat and heading straight toward the dance floor.
My eyes land on Rafael, unable to tear my gaze away as I commit every inch of him to memory.
His broad shoulders threaten to tear the satin material of his tight-fitting button down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and thick veins run the length of his tan and taught muscular forearms. I catch a glimpse of his firm, round ass and wide thighs stretching his black trousers, but the sight is gone too soon as he slides onto a leather barstool, dipping his head for one of his teammates to speak into his ear.
His posture turns rigid, and the teammate who I recognise as Jelani Hazzel flicks his gaze toward me. I’m quick to duck my chin and slide back into the booth, doing my best to focus on any one of the hundreds of people in the crowded club besides him .
The attempt becomes more and more futile as the hours pass by, my inhibitions lowering with every martini Shamir brings me.
I’m three martinis deep and absolutely feeling it. I hadn’t anticipated drinking so much, but without the dance floor to keep me occupied, I fell into a pattern of drinking to keep my hands and mouth busy.
I’ve been watching my friends dance for hours now, sulking in this booth, not wanting to find myself too close to any of the rugby players. Is that really what you’re doing back here? That same voice questions, and I roll my eyes, hating that my inner monologue sounds so much like my sister had.
Unfortunately, no, that is not the only reason. I’d prefer to hover back here than have my new coach running his mouth to my dad. It isn’t that I’m embarrassed by my actions, it’s more that if he’s going to know about them, I want to be the one to tell him.
And on that note, I reach into my back pocket, tugging my mobile free, typing out a message to the man in question.