“You’re looking good, Fable.” One of the senior football players—I think his name is Tad? Ty?—eyes me, his mouth curved in a knowing smirk.
Knowing because yes, he’s a shameful moment from my past. Barely out of high school and so eager to please, I used to watch the team practice, sitting on the sidelines in the heat of the summer in my too-short shorts and my skimpy tank top. Tad, Ty, whatever his name is asked me out, and I accepted and ended up giving him a blow job while in his car on our first and only date.
Not one of my proudest moments. But at the time, I cherished the attention he gave me. I was so needy, so foolish.
Of course, the jerk never called. Not that I would’ve gone out with him again. One awkward blow job was more than enough between us, thank you very much.
“Thanks.” I smile, pretending I don’t know him. “Would you like to order something else?”
“Yeah.” He moves in close. He’s tall and broad, all muscle, with dark hair buzzed short and a nasty gleam in his eyes. I step back and he grabs my arm, holding me close to him. Dipping his head, his mouth is next to my ear as he asks, “How about another blow job later tonight?”
I pull out of his grip, anger blazing through me so strong my body’s shaking. “Fuck off,” I mutter and turn away from him, his gritty laughter following me as I push through the throng of well-muscled athletes that crowd the room.
All the while I’m trying my best to avoid Drew. I can feel his eyes on me. I know he sees me, is watching me, and I don’t want to approach him. What would I say? What would I do? I both want to throw myself into his arms and throw a right hook into his perfect square jaw.
He asks me to rescue him and then he ditches me. Tells me he loves me in a note and never replies to my calls or texts. He’s a jerk.
He’s an asshole.
I’m in love with a jerky asshole and damn, that’s painful to admit.
Gathering my bearings, I take orders, clear empty bottles and glasses, and lollygag enough in the hope that I won’t make it to the back left corner. I finally flee the stifling room minutes later, leaning against the wall for a few seconds, desperate to catch my breath.
I didn’t expect this, yet part of me did. I thought I could handle seeing him, but I can’t.
This situation I’m in is hopeless. I hate that he didn’t approach me and I’m so thankful he didn’t. I probably would’ve done something really stupid. Like beg him to tell me why.
That’s all that keeps running through my head as I stand at the bar minutes later, waiting for my orders to be filled. Why did he leave me? Why didn’t he ever call me back? Why didn’t he text me? That was the absolute least he could have done. Text me back a simplewe’re done. I would’ve let him go. I would’ve been hurt, angry, and sad, but I could’ve handled it.
It would have been better than how he actually did treat me. The asshole.
Why, asshole?That might be a fun way to confront him. But knowing Drew, he’d run.
He’s real good at that. Running.
I take my full tray of drinks back into the party room, the anxious nerves running through me making my knees shake.The guys are even rowdier than when I left them only minutes before, giving me an endless bunch of grief, talking dirty, talking loud. They’re keeping a running tab; Logan’s parents arranged the party since they’re bazillionaires who live in Marin County, and I bet they’re going to end up spending about two months of my wages tonight in a matter of hours.
Crazy.
“So, Fable.” It’s Ty again. I heard someone call him that, not Tad. Nice that he made such an impression I can’t even remember his name. “I promised Logan you would give him a special birthday present.”
I roll my eyes, offering a sweet smile to the birthday boy. I’m not about to insult him. His parents are spending the big bucks so he can celebrate like a drunken frat jock. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ty.”
Logan laughs, his gaze never leaving me. He’s wobbling on his feet, his eyes are bloodshot, and I know he’s good and drunk. No surprise, though, since he just turned twenty-one. This sort of drunken evening celebrating a twenty-first birthday is a ritual in these parts.
“I told him I’m sure I could arrange a blow job just for him.” Ty smiles, though it never reaches his eyes. “From you.”
My smile fades, replaced by a scowl. I want to sock this asshole in his smug face, but I restrain myself. I’ve worked here only a week. I can’t screw this up. The money is too good. And this place is way classier than La Salle’s.
But still full of drunk jerks. I can’t escape them no matter how hard I try.
“Very funny,” I say, trying to keep it light. I turn awayfrom them, ready to gather more discarded glasses and bottles, but Ty reaches out and grabs my arm. Again. Stopping me in my tracks.
I glare at him over my shoulder and tug. “Let go of me.”
“Say you’ll do it.” His voice is firm, his gaze like ice. “Say you’ll give Logan a blow job. It’s his birthday. A hummer is the least you can give him.”
“No.” I try to escape his grip but it’s like a vise. “Get your hands off me.”
