To Go (The Perfect Cup #2)

Chapter 1

Stella

Regret is not a feeling I’m personally familiar with.

I prefer to live life to the fullest and embrace it for all its faults.

However, I believe I’m beginning to understand the sensation as I let a mildly sweaty stranger lead me away from the throng of dancing people to a more secluded area of the club.

It’s not a bad decision, I tell my intuition. You’re just nervous. He’s not ugly by any standard, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

It starts as a twisting in my stomach, a sense of not-rightness as he leads me to a darkened part of the club and presses me up against the wall, trapping me.

He looks down at me hungrily, licking his lips before descending on me, capturing my mouth with his.

I try to move with him, to let him guide me, but I fear he may need a map.

This is… messier than I anticipated.

Maybe it’s my lack of frat party experience that’s making getting blasted out of my mind and tonguing a stranger seem unfun and a little gross. Maybe it’s the onion sandwich I’m guessing he had for lunch.

Beyond the criminally bad breath, the sloppy flop of his tongue in my mouth is off-putting. I wonder if he’s trying to show me what else it can—or can’t—do. He pulls away, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

“We are going to have so much fun tonight,” he says as he pushes his thumb.

Into.

My.

Mouth.

Oh my god! Dirty fingers! Dirty fingers! I’m trying not to gag as he shoves it further into my mouth, like he’s trying to evaluate my tonsils.

Is this supposed to be hot? Because I’m nauseated. I don’t care how new I am to this, I know he’s doing something wrong. He probably wouldn’t even wash his hands before fingering me.

Yup. There goes my libido. I quickly extricate myself from his hold.

“Where are you going, sexy?” he asks, his touch trailing offensively down my arms.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I shout over the music, putting as much space between us as possible.

I’m sure he can take one look at my disgusted face and see that I’m lying out of my ass, and I don’t care at this point.

I’m relieved to get away from him, even if disappointment tinges the edges.

I really thought this could be the night.

One thing is for sure; this is the first and last time I will ever let Hazel and Nessa talk me into going clubbing with them.

I love them to death, and I would do anything for them, but this freaking sucks, something my friends didn’t seem to understand when I protested on my way out the door, and don’t seem to understand now that they’ve abandoned me for the dance floor, leaving me to the whims of sloppy-tongue-gross-thumb boy.

Truthfully, I was simply looking to make the best of an awkward situation.

Now that I’m officially nineteen, my friends have been determined to get me “out there” to get more “life experience.” While I’m not necessarily opposed to that, I’m not convinced I love their methods.

I’ll admit that they’re right in that I don’t get out much lately.

It seems I’ve been chained to work these days.

Not that I don’t love my job, it’s that it’s become all consuming.

But I came here tonight with a purpose.

Experience.

With the pounding beat and the undulating bodies, the constantly changing lights, the discombobulating music, and the looming anxiety, it was difficult to distinguish between a guaranteed good time or a lesson in bad decisions.

Hazel and Nessa are dancing with each other when I find them, taking full advantage of girls’ night. The benefit of dancing with each other is that they don’t get strange men approaching them trying to shoot their shot.

I, however, have not been so lucky. As luck would have it, I’m a loser magnet.

So far, I’ve attracted a much, much older, balding gentleman who tried to get as close as physically possible while still talking directly to my chest. One guy sat down at the bar next to me and complained about his current girlfriend before he asked if I would help make her jealous, which I quickly declined.

And there was one, very attractive, very drunk girl who, if I did swing that way and she wasn’t halfway down a bottle of tequila, I may have hit it off with.

But the pickings have been slim.

Hence, thumb-in-mouth boy.

I push my way back through the crowd to Nessa and Hazel who have gathered quite a few spectators by this point. Hazel turns her smiling face to greet me, takes one look at my expression and follows me directly out of the club, dragging Nessa behind her.

Only an ounce of moderate guilt itches under my skin at pulling the girls away from their fun early. It’s been a while since we’ve been out, and I know Hazel was apprehensive.

After all the times Hazel was terrorized by her ex last year, she’s kept a very low profile, usually only venturing out in less crowded areas, or with larger groups. Nessa said that her brother—John, I think—occasionally had to play guard dog a few times.

We sure could have used that guard dog energy tonight, I think to myself as I shudder at the memory of finger-mouth boy.

I’ve never personally met John, but apparently he’s a drummer, he’s massive, and he beat the crap out of Hazel’s ex when he assaulted her at work last year. He sounds terrifying. Whenever Hazel’s current boyfriend talks about him, I swear, a little pee comes out of him.

I’ve only heard stories here and there of the incident, but I was an unfortunate witness to some of the instances leading up to it.

When Hazel dumped Justin, none of us expected him to go full psycho.

I’ve seen friends get nasty texts from their ex-boyfriends, but I’ve never seen one show up to their work belligerent, threatening everyone, and then demanding to get back together.

Bit of a drama queen move if you ask me.

Despite the somewhat disgusting end to girls’ night, I’m sort of glad we went out. Since moving to Toronto, it’s been challenging making new friends, and these two swept me up into their circle before I had a chance to say no.

“So, you gonna fill us in on why we ran out like the building was on fire, star girl?” Nessa calls sloppily from ahead of us. I don’t flinch at the nickname, even though I want to. They don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell them if they asked.

Nessa wobbles as she walks down the street with her arms stretched out at her sides, pretending to tightrope walk the lines on the sidewalk. I wasn’t counting her drinks. She seems to be pleasantly drunk for the moment.

“Did it have anything to do with the guy who put his tongue in your mouth?” Hazel tosses her arm around my shoulders as we walk towards the subway station. Her calm demeanor balances out Nessa’s wildness, or her ‘chaos goblin energy,’ as Hazel puts it.

The odd beginning to their friendship is inspiring—though I’m sure neither would recommend sleeping with the other’s boyfriend and catching them in the act.

Thanks Justin, for that. Even though they’re a bit older than me, the disconnect one might expect isn’t there.

I’m as much a part of this group as they are.

When I’m finally able to travel the way I’ve been dreaming of, I’m going to have to ensure that I come back frequently.

I doubt they’re going to willingly release me from the bonds they’ve thrown on me.

I don’t mind one bit.

“Stella Moore!” Nessa exclaims, “Were you about to finally get some? Why the hell did we leave then? I thought we decided that tonight was the night you would get sexed up?”

I choke out a laugh, regretting ever telling them my body count, which is exactly zero. It’s not like I’m saving myself, I simply never had the urge or opportunity.

I grew up in a small town right outside of Hamilton, Ontario where everybody knows everybody. Could I have hooked up with one of the twenty boys in my graduating class? Probably. Would the entire town have been gossiping over every detail of it? Absolutely.

So yeah, not exactly worth it.

Then, once I graduated, I had to help take care of my dad, and that’s been my life up until last year.

That’s when I moved to Toronto permanently.

I couldn’t bear to stay in the same place, with the same people, the same stories, and the same possibilities anymore.

I needed more. More adventure, more novelty, more experiences, more freedom.

Less baggage.

I cringe, my face pinching as I hesitantly admit to them, “He wasn’t the best kisser…

It was actually incredibly gross.” I huff, tilting my head back to look at the stars.

“And then he put his finger in my mouth—” Nessa fake gags.

Or real gags, I’m not sure. “And it was dirty! Then, all I could think about was where else he would put his disgusting fingers and got the heck out of there.”

“Probably a good call,” concedes Hazel. “Sorry that men are gross.”

“I’m sorry you don’t like women,” Nessa adds.

“It would make the whole ‘men are gross’ problem a lot less of an issue.” We all laugh at that.

Nessa likes to play the field with both men and women, and with the stories she’s told us…

I’m a little sad that I’m not attracted to women too.

They definitely appear to be the better option.

“I just need to find a guy who’s not gross and rip off the band-aid.” I kick an empty can off to the side, earning a glare from Hazel who picks it up and runs it to a nearby trash can. I roll my eyes.

“Or you could date and see if there’s anyone actually worth sleeping with instead of trying to get it over with?” Hazel says gently, falling back into step.

I nod noncommittally. She’s not wrong, I could. It doesn’t mean I want to.