I take a step back when Meghan and Clay open the bathroom door. My first thought is Ew, bathroom sex, but then I see her red, puffy eyes and the streaks on her cheeks. Clay’s eyes are looking everywhere but at me, and since he’s avoiding me, I can’t resist antagonizing him after Meghan squeezes past Becca and me.
“Damn, Clay. Sex with you is making the ladies cry now?” I smirk up at him, but when his eyes finally land on me, I regret saying anything. I thought he was just avoiding meeting my eyes because he was caught having sexy time in the bathroom. That’s not it, though. I don’t know what’s going on, but he looks almost as miserable as Meghan did.
I open my mouth to apologize, though I don’t know why I’m feeling bad for doing exactly what he would do to me. He holds up a hand, effectively shutting me up before he walks away. I’m left staring after him as he heads for the keg across the hall in the kitchen. He grabs a drink, and after chugging it quickly, picks up one of many shot glasses sitting on the counter and slams that back too. Clay disappears soon after that, and Becca leads me over to grab a drink. Drinking isn’t my thing, but I feel off after the non-interaction with Clay, so I accept the lukewarm beer and take a tentative sip.
“Ew.” I push the cup back towards Becca. “This stuff is nasty. Why would anyone drink it?”
She laughs, shaking her head, and refusing to take the liquid back. “Trust me, after you’ve had enough, the taste won’t matter.”
That might be true, but I don’t know how I’m going to get past the awful smell and taste to get to the point where I don’t care anymore. Becca suggests holding my nose and drinking as fast as I can, so I try that. It still isn’t great, but at least I can’t smell it anymore. When the cup is empty, she hands me a new one, then grabs me by the hand and leads me out to the back porch. Thankfully, it’s not as crowded. Inside, the smell of sweaty bodies and a myriad of different perfumes and colognes permeates the air. The music is muted out here, which makes it easier to talk.
“What do you think the deal was with Clay and that girl?” Becca asks, staring through the sliding glass door leading into the living room. I can’t see what she’s looking at since my back is to the door, but I can guess. Clay’s a douchebag, but he’s a hot douchebag. Just because I don’t want anything to do with him—or his junk—doesn’t mean no one else does.
Trying to appear nonchalant, I shrug one shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe he told her about the herpes he passed on to her.”
Becca chokes on her drink at my explanation. “Herpes? You’ve got to be kidding—“ her words are cut off when his voice intrudes.
“Kitty Kat does have quite the sense of humor,” he says sarcastically.
This time, I’m the one who chokes on the nasty beer. I spin around to see him leaning against the open sliding door, one hand hanging loosely where he grips the top of the frame. “Oh shit.” My mind is so muddled that’s the only reply I can get out. Why didn’t Becca tell me he was close?
“I don’t get why you’re so hung up on my sex life, Kat. Are you just jealous? You wish you were Meg? Is that it?” I gape at him as he lets go of the door frame to walk over to me. He stands so close our chests are almost touching. His lips brush my ear when he says in a low voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, “I’ve told you before, baby. That can be arranged.” I sway toward him involuntarily, and he grips my upper arms to steady me.
My vision is fuzzy when I look up at him, but I can still see the smirk on his face when he releases me. “Come find me later. I’ll do all those things you wish Max would.”
The mention of Max’s name is like ice water being dumped on my head. I stumble back from him, my palms tingling with the need to hit him, but I keep my cool. There’s no way in hell I’m going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth,” I grit out, watching as his eyes light up. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“Aw, but Kitty Kat, didn’t you tell me that you were ‘down for a good time’ just the other day?” My face burns when he reminds me of what I said at Ruby’s, but he continues before I can come up with a response. “I don’t see you proving that statement.”
He’s daring me to react, to do something he thinks I won’t, and I’m just drunk enough to accept his challenge. This time, I’m the one to step forward, to invade his personal space. “Don’t worry, Clayton. I’m not the one who will be going home alone tonight.” He grins at me, then steps aside, gesturing for me to walk into the house.
I hold my head high as I walk past him. This time, I’m the one dragging Becca behind me. The interior of the house is full of guys, both hot and decidedly not, but I know for this to work, the hotter, the better. If I pick up a guy who isn’t better looking than Clay, he’ll never let me hear the end of it. I chance one look back to see him watching me warily. Huh. I wonder if he’s regretting taunting me. The thought makes me brave. I chug the now-warm drink in my hand for more liquid courage as I walk through the room looking for my victim.
There’s a group of guys standing just to the side of the keg in the kitchen bumping fists and discussing some sport. I don’t pay much attention because all of them are good looking. Maybe not Clay’s level of hot, but they’ll do with their muscular chests, big arms, and thick thighs. They’re every girl’s wet dream. The type of guy you read about in books––the bad boys who end up having a heart of gold when they meet the “right” girl. Okay, I might be just a little drunk.
The first one to turn and face me reminds me a little bit of Clay. He’s got dark hair that flops over his forehead and blue eyes that roam my body in a way that makes me feel almost dirty. I know he’s imagining all the things he’d like to do to me, and if I hadn’t had three glasses of beer tonight, there’s no way I’d approach him. Becca goes straight for one of his friends, but then he speaks to me, and I forget all about her.
“Hello beautiful,” he says in a deep voice, smiling down at me from where he stands at least five or six inches taller. I wonder fleetingly if he’s a basketball player. With his height, not being on the team would be a tragedy.
I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn’t help. I’m thinking all these random thoughts that don’t matter, but I can’t seem to stop. I go from muscles, to height, to wondering how it would feel if he put his arms around me. It’s been so long since someone held me like this. Not since prom senior year, right after my two-pump date collapsed on the bed next to me. I didn’t even have enough time to work up a sweat … it was that fast.
I’ve been in my head so long, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome is looking at me like I’m a psycho chick, one who’s about to offer to have his babies or drop to my knees right here in the kitchen and offer my services. Well, maybe not those opposite sides of the spectrum. I’m sure he’d say no to the babies but yes to the blowjob. Instead of responding to his hello, I gather all the fake courage sloshing uncomfortably in my stomach and stand on my tiptoes to slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down to me.
As soon as our lips touch, he takes over the kiss, thrusting his tongue in my mouth and wrapping his strong arms around me. I melt into him, enjoying the attention, and reveling in the fact that he’s kissing me back. He presses into me, right there in front of his friends, and I can feel his erection lengthening against me. What am I doing? My brain is foggy, but not so foggy I don’t realize making out with some random dude is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. I don’t even know his name. For all I know, he’s the type of guy who will pump twice and be done, or he’s taken so many steroids my pinky is bigger than his appendage. Okay, that’s probably not the case considering I can feel it, and it doesn’t feel tiny. But still, I digress.
I start to pull away from him, and he hauls me back against him, not releasing my mouth. He thinks this is part of the game. I put both hands on his chest to try to push him away, but he’s much stronger. I don’t think he even notices my movements. Panic starts to set in. What am I going to do now? Do I kick him? Bite the tongue that is currently exploring the roof of my mouth? I just. Don’t. Know.
As close as he was, it’s a shock when he’s no longer there. His mouth is ripped away from mine so fast I’m left standing with my hands still in the air and my mouth wide open. I lift a shaky hand to my swollen lips as I close my mouth and look around to see where he went. It only takes a few seconds for me to find him.
Clay has him pinned against the wall, his forearm against his throat, and even though my mystery guy is a couple inches taller, Clay looks way more intimidating. My tonsil hockey partner has both hands up in the air as he attempts to talk Clay down, and when he finally releases him, mystery guy quickly heads in the opposite direction from where I am. I watch as Clay approaches, remorse and regret clear in his eyes, a much darker blue than they normally are. The closer he gets, the more dizzy I become, and I watch the look in his eyes change to concern just before darkness overtakes me.