Chapter 16 Ash #2
He rolls his eyes and smiles, getting up. Carter joins him. “You’re the fuckin’ goofball,” he offers as a parting shot before they both head for the counter.
My head swivels to watch him walk away. I don’t realize I’m doing it until Stacie goes, “Are you guys fucking?”
I pick the roach out of the ashtray to smoke whatever’s left. “Whaaaaaat?”
“I wouldn’t blame you. He’s freakin’ gorgeous.” She’s rolling another joint and it’s messy, ugly; looks like a wet twisted up napkin and she should be kicked outta here for it. Jesus Christ, it’s horrible.
“Isn’t he dating Adriana still?” Brett asks with interest.
“No. They broke up when he visited.”
“Damn. Well, he always gave me those kinds of vibes, even back in school. Like, playing for both teams.” He picks up his beer. “I can tell. I’ve got gaydar.”
“Not a thing,” I object on principle.
“Totally is a thing. You’re pinging so hard right now. In my sonar.”
“Not-uh.” I’m laughing again. I feel like I’m melting around the edges like a grilled cheese. “Nothing’s pinging anything. You’re fuckin’ blitzed.”
“I can, dude.”
Sam comes back, engaged in deep conversation with Carter. “—both do it? Like you swap around?”
“Duh. The cum button is in your asshole.”
“It just seems—”
“You’re missing out. All I’m saying.”
He hands me a bottled water. “Hear that, Ash? In your asshole.”
“Babe,” I say, “I know.”
It’s a blur, mostly. The rest. Flickering shots like a movie reel.
Laughing, a lot of that, too loud and too often.
Jokes that don’t quite make sense. Devouring crab cakes—dunno if they’re actually that good or if it’s just the munchies talking—and then flinging what’s left out the window for the fish while Carter and Brett argue if they’re catfish or not—“Catfish don’t live in salt water dude, you’re tripping”, “Yes they fucking do, you dipshit”—and I’m mesmerized by how quickly it all disappears into their gaping mouths. Like they’re portals.
At some point we move from the bar to Carter’s Corvette, crammed in the back with Brett, where we smoke some more, and everyone but me is drunk and high, but the high’s so good it doesn’t matter.
At one point Sam leans over and breathes smoke directly into my mouth and I melt in his arms, moaning softly and forgetting where I am for a minute.
I’m so fucked up. I don’t even care Carter shouldn’t be driving. He gets us wherever we’re going in one piece, anyway.
We make it to a club somewhere down the beach and it’s all pulsing rainbow lights and the kind of music that punches through my chest and I don’t dance but Sam drags me onto the floor anyway, right in the middle of the hot, gyrating throng.
We don’t move in ways that make sense, or at least I don’t.
He looks great, wet, beautiful, and I lean in and lick a rivulet of sweat off his neck before I can stop myself.
He seizes my chin and kisses me, full on, and I don’t know if anyone notices or cares.
“We’re gonna fuck later, right?” he groans.
“We’d better.”
He draws me close. Haddaway’s “What Is Love” is pumping through the speakers at max volume. It’s amazing I can hear him at all, actually. “I’m so glad I met you, you know that?” he says. He’s being so cute right now. “Really fuckin’ glad.”
“Me too,” I say.
“Glad you came up to me in that gross-ass bar and not anyone else. I’d be so mad if you were off with someone else right now.”
“You’re drunk, Sam,” I say affectionately.
“What?”
“You’re drunk!” I shout in his ear.
He nuzzles my face. “How’s that saying go? ‘Drunk words are sober thoughts?’”
Dunno what to say to that.
Even though I don’t usually drink I make an exception for tonight, when we do shots at the bar. Just the one. Sam does a second. My head drops to my chest but he’s got a firm grip on me, not letting me fall out, but I don’t, anyway.
“Don’t worry,” he says to—someone. I have no idea who. “It’s just a thing he does. He’s fine.”
“I’m not having an attack,” I grumble, pushing away.
“Okay, okay.” He smiles at me.
I think I’ll regret this in the morning, but it’s okay for now.
In the dank little club bathroom Carter’s moved on to coke, doing rails off the sink.
Stacie’s in here too for some reason, her high-pitched laughter ringing off the walls.
It’s so humid there’s condensation dripping off the bright blue tiles and my hair’s soaked like I’ve been caught in a rainstorm.
The room’s sort of spinning. I don’t know where Sam’s gotten to and I call out for him blearily as I stagger to the urinal, bladder about to explode.
A hand smacks the tile above my head. I think-slash-hope it’s Sam for a moment, then I realize it’s too pale and the watch is too big. There’s a mouth on my ear and oh, nope, it’s fucking Butt-Head. “Fuck outta here,” I say, shouldering him away from me.
“I saw you out there with Sam.” His breath is a nauseating mix of alcohol and pot.
My heart is a panicked jackrabbit, jittering away at a million miles an hour. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek. “I’m gonna piss on your feet if you don’t get the fuck away from me.”
“Why are you being stingy?” he whines. “Are you guys committed or something? That’s not what it sounded like.”
I don’t know what it would’ve sounded like to him because I don’t remember us really talking about our relationship much, such as it is, but I’ve been fucked up most of the night. Who knows what either of us might’ve said?
From the corner of my eye I can see Stacie’s up on the sink, skirt hiked up around her hips, and Carter’s kneeling between her thighs. “Can I piss in peace, please?” I say to Brett. “Two sides of your triangle are right over there, you know.”
“Don’t worry about them. We’re open.”
“Good for you.”
He shoves himself up against me, pinning me against the urinal so hard it nearly knocks the wind out of me.
My knees and wrists bang against the porcelain.
I can feel him fumbling around back there, the sound of his shorts unzipping, and then there it is, his half-hard dick is pressed up against my backside.
My brain is starting to shut down, going off to that safe, white place where this can’t hurt me and leaving my body to function on autopilot. Freeze and fawn. My mouth tastes like metal. The sound roaring through my ears is like TV static.
Just do it, get it over with fast. Those thoughts are automatic also, not really mine.
They’re just so practiced that they come to mind anyway.
Always, when I’m being propositioned, when I’m being beckoned by a guy in a car with his window rolled down, or groped behind that one diner me and Mike always went to, or listening to a message on the answering machine from the few repeat customers who have my number—like Mr. Bigshot—just do it fast and get it over with.
But I don’t have to do that anymore, do I? I’m done with all that. Made my choice, and that’s Sam. At least for now, as long as he’ll have me, however long it’ll last. He is the only person I want to say yes to.
Brett’s trying to shove me down onto my knees but I’m not budging. I hold onto the edges of the urinal and, frustrated, he gives up. “Just—suck it,” he whines.
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to.”
Holy fuck. I did it.
I said no.
And Brett actually backs off. He shoves his dick back in his pants and wipes his nose on his arm. “Whatever,” he says. “That’s cool. No harm, no foul. Right?”
“Ooh, Carter,” Stacie moans loudly. “Keep doing the letter T. No wait—go back to S. Yessss. That feels good.”
I say, “Right.”
I piss and then wash my hands at the faucet behind Stacie, trying not to bash her with my elbow while I do. And then I set off in search of Sam, which takes me nearly twenty minutes of navigating the dark club and the loitering masses within.
But I do eventually find him. Surrounded by a gaggle of women, of course.
Short skirts or shorts and tops that leave little to the imagination, breasts all mounded up by their collarbones and they’ve all got some variation of the Rachel hair.
They’re giggling and pawing at him and he’s eating it up, a dizzy charismatic smile on his stupidly handsome face and even sweaty, high and drunk he looks absurdly good.
My stomach churns and roils. Suddenly I taste that shot of tequila in the back of my mouth and it’s even worse coming up than it was going down, burning like bile.
Because, oh right. This is why I can’t throw in with him.
This is exactly why. Women like him too fucking much and he likes them back.
How on earth am I supposed to compete with all that, anyway?
They’re all gorgeous and I’m, well, a hooker.
Run through. Passed around. Had by numberless men whose faces and dicks all blur together and to be quite honest I’ve lost track at this point.
I used to count, back when I was seventeen and I thought it was funny to do, but that stopped when I reached triple digits.
It’s so stupid, though, being jealous. I don’t know why it keeps happening.
I don’t have a claim in the world on this man.
There is no alternate dimension where we could actually be a thing.
And for fuck’s sake, I’m not in love with him.
Maybe I should’ve just let Brett fuck me after all. Least I wouldn’t be the odd one out.
“Ash!” Sam’s weaving his way around them, coming after me. I stand there like a very stupid deer caught in his brilliance, the brightest pair of headlights of all, until he reaches me and grabs my shoulder. “Where were you?”
“Bathroom.” Even one word sounds curt and strangled.
“Really? You were in there for ages. I was wondering if you got lost.”
“Well—” Do I tell him? What’s the point? I’m still shaky after that. After having to say no and actually getting away with it. “You could’ve come after me.”
“I was about to.” And who knows if that’s true. He reads the displeasure in my face, or whatever else is there, and he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ears. “Are you okay?”
“I dunno,” I say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Interrupt…?” He blinks at me, then glances over his shoulder.
The girls have already moved on, dispersing across the dance floor because one of those popular Ace of Base songs is playing: “All That She Wants.” Well, all that I want is to get the hell out of here.
“Wait, Ash, really? I was just talking to them.”
“Okay.”
“No way. You don’t believe me?”
“Can we go home?” I say.
“Yeah. Sure. ‘Course. I was gonna suggest it.” He pulls me into a brief, one-armed hug. “We can just walk. It’s not too far.”
Relief, intoxicating, floods through me. “Okay,” I say. “Good.”