“Whoa, hot shot!” I gift him a firm shove off her person. My God, this place should be lined with panic buttons—what with all the loud music, the thick jungle of touchy-feely limbs we’re forced to wade through just to get to the bar—and how I pray they don’t card.
Those fake IDs we used to ram through the door have never been tested by an actual bartender. Sure, the club is twenty-one and up, but places like these can be fooled pretty easily. The bartender, however—God knows every bartender I’ve ever met could double as an FBI operative—they’re complete savants when it comes to spotting a fake. The last thing I need is getting tossed out on my illegal rear. I don’t know which I would loathe more—Harley for getting me into this debacle to begin with or the ripe humiliation of being stripped of my mask. But I digress. I really could use something lethally boozy right about now. I’m not a big drinker. In fact, I’m notoriously known to not handle my liquor, but something about this hovel screamsget drunk fast and speed up the night.
“Watch where you’re going or you’ll lose a prized appendage,” I shout at the idiot determined to get to second base with Harley. “I’ll give you a hint which appendage—you don’t use it to pick your nose or kick your dog.” I can totally tell he’s the kind of asshole who would kick a puppy when he’s down. Something about that bright blue T-shirt with the wordsWhat’s Up?printed across the front gives a lot away about the man beneath the cloth. Just below the words there’s an arrow pointing to his crotch as if that’s supposed to be ironic, but, in fact, it’s about as ridiculous as he is. He is not allowed to beupin any capacity around my newfound best friend.
He lifts his mask just enough to expose those doltish features, and I can’t help but gasp.
“Tyson!” Harley screams and dives over him in a maneuver that encompasses both a hearty embrace and a one-sided sexual experience that somewhat mimics the motion an enthusiastic dolphin might make. “I knew you’d show!”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Youknew? Youplannedthis? No, no, no! This is a girls’ night—read,vaginas only. I don’t care about how he looks in a basketball jersey or in that stupid inappropriate T-shirt. You are not ditching me for the night in this den of depravity.”
But Harley doesn’t hear a word. She’s too busy giggling over his mouth, laughing in his ear while his hands snake all over her body.
She turns slightly my way. “We’re headed to the Panic Room!” she shrieks over the music as they take off down the red hall of shame.
“Oh hell.” I kick my heel over the floor.
The Panic Room is the designated area for all the touchy-feely things you’d want to do to some total stranger in a mask, only Harley won’t be doing anything with a total stranger. She’ll most likely be doingeverythingwith that dimwit from Briggs. I’m not entirely sure why Tyson Swanson gets under my skin, but he’s been proficiently doing so ever since we met a few weeks back. Harley is a virgin, and I’d like for her hymen to still be intact by the time we leave this semen-infested sex club.
A part of me thinks she would have been safer with one of the roving strangers compared to Tickle-Me-Tyson, as he’s known around the sororities. It’s no secret that he’s a ladies’ man. He’s both a heavy flirt and a pretty big dick—not in any biologically complimentary way. As in a jerk, a first-class A-hole—someone you wouldn’t want one of your best friends bedding on a whim, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid will happen if I don’t bust a move and barrel into that Panic Room myself. But since I’m an astute listener, I distinctly remember that the rules explicitly state the Panic Room is a couples-only retreat. I’ll need a plus one to boot scoot my way into that horny madhouse. So I scan the area for a perverted prospect of my own.
There’s a tall lanky guy by the bar, drink in hand, scouring the crowd himself. He’ll do. Not only does he meet the desperate and lonely requirement—but I swear I could take him if I had to.
One of the first things Lex did when she found out I was at Briggs was enroll me in a self-defense class. I can twist an arm with the best of them among other far more gruesome things I can do to their groin.
Yes, it will be a rueful day for the man who thinks he can take advantage of me, and on a night like tonight when I’m more than a little pissy, I’m just dying to try out my ball-busting moves.
I head on over just as an equally tall blonde latches onto him, and they take off in a hurry. Strike one. That’s fine. I just as easily spot another hooded male slouched over a barstool sucking down a beer while bobbing his head to the music. His build is nice, and I must admit that hooded mask the males are all given to wear has my engine revving for reasons unknown, but is that—?
Oh, for shit’s sake. He’s wearing sweats.Sweats! What’s the matter, big boy? Mommy wasn’t around this morning to lay your clothes out? He looks as if he came straight from the gym. Who could take him seriously? It will be a no-brainer to shove him away once we crest that coital chamber. I’ll look for Harley in her hot pink disguise, and we’ll hightail it out of here as if the roof were on fire. And then, I’ll be sure to setheron fire with my rage. I can’t believe I let her talk me into this sweat suit-induced nightmare. I stalk my way over, and just as I’m about to tap him on the shoulder, he slumps over onto the bar and about ten different men in suits rush to assist him before hauling him to the door.
“Oh my God,” I hiss. I pray he’s not dead. I’d swear on my life those security guards were dragging him out of here like a bona fide corpse. It’s like I have the Midas touch, only nothing turns to gold—men die in my presence.Die.
At this rate, I’ll never lose my virginity. Having sex with me could prove lethal, and something deep inside of me suggests it will be. After my mother took off—an outright rejection that you don’t need to be Freud to read into—and my father bit the big one sitting at his desk at work—a small part of me started to believe that I’m people repellent. Sure, Lex didn’t leave, but she was too mean to even consider it, and I say that in the most loving way possible. Marlin was actually already gone at that point, married and divorced by the time my father died. I’ve always feared deep down inside that I was destined to be alone.
I take in a ragged breath as I look around this hall of horrors. The music only seems to grow louder and far more spastic, and my head begins to pound like an entire tribe of indigenous sex slaves was rioting to get to freedom. The body count in the room increases exponentially—of the living. My God, I will always have to quantify that now for the rest of my life.
A gaggle of girls bump up against me, causing me to strut back a few paces, and suddenly it looks as if I’ve joined their disorganized conga line as I gyrate right along with them. Well, I’m not.
I give the buxom blonde, whose fanny keeps pecking at my midsection, a firm shove, and I back into a body myself. I turn around, fully ready and willing to slam another torso to the wall if need be, but am met with piercing blue eyes and a smile twitching on a pair of dangerous lips. And, my God, is that a suit he’s donned? I suck in a quick breath, more than impressed with the selection at hand. I give his shoulder a quick tap, and he doesn’t keel over so that has to be a good sign. He seems to be impervious to my necrotic touch.
His eyes stray to his shoulder and he looks mildly confused by my bodily intro, but in my defense, it’s too damn loud in here for social niceties. Something tells me that small talk is neither wanted nor needed in this place. I tick my head toward the red hall of pain, and yet he doesn’t budge.
What’s this? The one and only true gentleman in a room full of walking dildos? It can’t be. It’s as if I’ve accidentally stumbled upon the equivalent of a unicorn out in the wild. But too bad for him and his conservative ways because I need to get my bestie back to Briggs before we both turn into impregnated pumpkins.
I lean in and nuzzle my body to his. I run my hand over his powder blue dress shirt and can’t help but note how firm his chest feels. His eyes never leave mine, and there’s a hint of familiarity about him. That warm spiced cologne intoxicates me on a deeper level than I expected, and suddenly I want to drag him into the Panic Room for far more nefarious purposes than rescuing Harley and her questionable virtue. Maybe it’s high time I deal with my own.
His hands glide up my waist, warm and strong, and a tiny groan works its way up my throat. He inches in close, and I do the same as our lips share a barely-there brush against one another. And that, my friend, is the sexual cue my quivering thighs have been waiting for. I snatch his hand and sail us down the dark cardinal hall as the lights dim ever so slightly the deeper we get. A giant neon arch blinks in bright red, readingPanic Room, and just seeing the seizure of spastic light insights a twinge of chaos in my stomach.
What in the hell have I gotten myself into? Note to self: think twice before allowing Harley and her questionable social decisions lead me anywhere. Sure, she’s in here somewhere making out with Tyson the notorious two-timer, but I’m holding hands with a venerablestrangerwith my heart pounding against my chest just begging for one more kiss from those ultra-soft lips. The Panic Room is dark save for the faint glow of red lights that line the floorboards. All I can properly make out is people’s shoes, and I’m pretty sure that won’t do me a lick of good in a lineup.
My God, what kind of shoes did Harley have on? Was she wearing shoes at all? At this rate, I’m liable to end up whisking the wrong girl out of here, and my night will end up in a holding tank with attempted kidnapping charges.
We pass another neon portal that readsPleasure and Painwith a rope dangling from the archway like a tantalizing threat.
The masked man I’m currently leashed to spins me around, and suddenly we’re slow dancing to fantastically loud and crappy music that is much more conducive to a mosh pit than our hip-hugging foray into erotica.
His lips expand into a devious smile as he maneuvers us deeper into the club. His mask, his body quickly becomes a shadow, and suddenly none of this feels real. It certainly feels like a fantasy, and every last part of my body is rooting for this fantasy to blossom into something dark and naughty—so I let it.
