Twelve - Serena

“You trying to start a war, babe?”

 

 

 

“This thing itches,” Alaric gripes, pulling at his Spider Man getup. “I can’t believe I’m even wearing this. You’re lucky I love you, bitch.”

I flip my compact shut and stick it in my clutch. “Quit whining. We wouldn’t have gotten in without costumes.”

Peeved, he asks, “You had to pick a geek to be your baby daddy?”

I laugh as I adjust my tri-colored wig. “Kholton is far from a geek, trust me. He’s just into this stuff.”

“Annnnd we’re crashing this lame-ass party in the hopes that you get laid?” He tugs at his costume again. “That right?”

I shoot him a look and he rolls his eyes.

The truth is, I don’t know what I’m hoping for by crashing this party. But I need to see Kholton. He’s taken a personal week off, so we haven’t studied for a while.

After days of stalking him via Instagram, I realized what the “personal week” was for—some big comic and anime convention in California. That’s what he blew me off for. Comics and anime.

I mean, seriously?  I’m trying to get knocked-up over here and he’s off living in a fantasy world. Ridiculous.

For the past couple of days, his Instagram has been flooded with pictures of this crap. And girls. Girls, girls, everywhere. All the time.

His last post is what tipped me off about this party. It features a photo of him and two girls outside LAX, with the caption:

Boarding the shuttle back to the real world :(

#boohoo #maytheforcebewithme

 

Someone asked in the comments if he would be attending the SoHo after-party and he replied, “Wouldn’t miss it!”

After digging around for information about this SoHo after-party, I learned it’s invite-only and costume was compulsory.

Alaric and I weren’t on the list, obviously, but I am Serena Bentley. I didn’t even have to bribe my way in.

However, I’m getting restless. We’ve been here over an hour and Kholton is nowhere in sight. The music is crap and Alaric is grumpy. Where the hell is he?

I’m going to be pissed if this turns out to be a bust, especially since I forced Alaric into a spandex Spider Man suit and went all out with my Harley Quinn outfit. In ripped fishnet stockings, two-colored bumper shorts, studded belt, holey cropped top, the whole works, not only do I look bomb as hell, I feel bomb as hell.

Sipping god-awful cheap Champagne, I scan the party. We’re in someone’s penthouse, with a glitzy wraparound vista, two portable bars, and a deejay who sounds castrated. Excitable costumed bodies and plastic golden goblets are everywhere.

“Listen,” Alaric starts before downing the contents of his goblet and swapping it for a full one as a cocktail waitress passes by, “if I have to be at this dumb geek party, then I’m gonna go find me a Mary Jane or a Robin Hood to give me a hummer.”

I make a face at him. “You’re such a slut.”

He gives me the side-eye. “Hey, don’t you judge me. I’m not the one tryna trick some poor schmuck into knocking me up.”

“You shut your mouth,” I grit out, shooting my fist out at him.

He dodges it with a laugh and backs off into the crowd. “Good luck!”

Emptying my own goblet, I grab a new one from the nearest waitress. Where the hell is Kholton?

Right on the tail end of that thought, I hear an excited shout of “Kholton! My man!” from the crowd. I choke on cheap Champagne as I straighten, searching for a head of stylish white hair. But I don’t find it.

It takes me a while to realize why. His signature white hair is covered by a dark hood. He’s dressed as Green Arrow. A green leather eye-mask wrapped around his face. A head taller than almost everyone else in the crowd, he looks dark, dangerous, and one-hundred-percent bangable.

A small group of people surround him as he bumps fists and doles out man-hugs. He’s clearly Mr. Popular with this crowd of geeks.

From my clutch, I get out my cellphone and type a quick text to Alaric.

 

Serena: He’s here. Sticking to the plan. Signal the deejay.

Alaric: *thumbs up emoji*

 

When I look up again, two Wonder Women are already crawling like cockroaches all over Kholton. I swear he’s like a freaking vagina magnet.

I tuck my phone away then snatch up my Harley Quinn bat from where I’d rested it against the wall. Then I maneuver to the kitchen, which has a long, marble-top island.

On cue, Ester Dean’s Drop It Low explodes through the speakers. A complete one-eighty from the crappy geek rock that’s been playing all night, thanks to a one-hundred-dollar bribe from me to the deejay. This ought to get everyone’s—his—attention.

I drain all the bubbly from my goblet, then shove it at a wimpy Batman leaning against the island. He looks down at the goblet with confusion, but before he can open his mouth, I let out a whoop and hop up onto the kitchen island.

Then, I am wild. I swing the bat over my head and transform into an ass-shaking club girl, making sure to appear as outrageous as possible. Before long, people begin gathering around, whooping and hollering. Some yelling, “Drop! Drop! Drop!” with the music.

Furtively, I search the crowd for the one person I’m embarrassing myself like this for. Where are you?!

“Oh my God, is that Serena Bentley?” someone yells from the crowd.

“Holy shit, it is her!” another person confirms.

“Damn, she’s hot.”

Soon, a group of guys begin chanting, “Go Serena! Go Serena! Go Serena!”

At this chant, I’m about to call it quits, but then I spot him shoving his way through the crowd. His two Wonder Women hang behind with their arms crossed, openly displeased.

As he draws close, I bite my lip with victory and whip out the moves. Spanking my own ass, I plant the bat in front of me for stability and start to “drop it low”.

When I bend over and peer through my legs, his hood-covered face is right there, eyes squinted, as if to verify it’s really me.

I shake my ass.

He pulls his hood back and mouths, “What the fuck?”

In response, I drop down into a split and the crowd roars.

Before I know what’s happening, strong arms are around me, hauling me down from the island.

Mad at this, the crowd boos. “C’mon, Khol!”, “You suck, Kholton!”, “Funsucker!”

But inwardly, I’m grinning. So far, the plan is rolling smoothly. Kholton shifts me into a fireman’s hold and pushes through the crowd.

Half-heartedly, I protest, “Put me down!”

He doesn’t. I don’t expect him to. I don’t want him to.

He brings me down a hall free of patrons, knocks on a door, then turns the knob and enters. A bathroom.

Once inside, he sets me on my feet.

Feigning inebriation, I let my body slump back against the wall. “That,” I slur, lowering my lids, “is not the way to handle a lady, Mr. Sharpe.”

He snorts, watching me with bewilderment. “Ladies don’t climb on countertops and twerk their asses.” He shakes his head. “How do you—What’re you even doing here?” 

“For youuuuurrr…informaaaaaaation,” I drag out, letting my body weave to the side, “I…got invited.”

He catches me mid-slump and turns to the vanity, lifts me up and deposits me onto it. “By who?”

“Levi,” I say, reaching out to touch his eye-mask. He lets me.

“Who’s Levi?”

I force a giggle and a hiccup. “Superman. Duhhhhh.”

He sighs. “Look, you’re obviously shitfaced. I’m gonna find this Levi so he can take you home, all right?”

“He left,” I slur. “With Catwoman.”

“You’re kidding me,” he bites out.

“I guess whip trumps bat.” I make a jerky shrug. “Harley Quinn…no match for Catwoman.”

“What about your driver?”

“Beau, Beau, Beau, Beau,” I sing. “He’s off-duty. Levi was…my ride.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively. “Get it? Riidddde.”

“And he just left you here alone?” he grits out. “Shitfaced?”

I love how pissed he is on my behalf, especially in this Arrow getup. I want to lick his face. “You’re here.”

He studies me for a beat. “I’m gonna have to call your dad. Have him send a ride for you.”

“Nooooooooo. No, no, no,” I object with wide eyes. “Daddy will not be happy.”

“Babe,” he says quietly, “it’s better to be home safe and sound with an angry father, than to be here shaking your ass for a bunch of hard-up hornbags. I’m not gonna leave you here like this.”

I melt at his use of the endearment babe. Damn, but it sounds good. I want him to call me that from now on.

“Then don’t.” I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him close to me. “Take me with you.”

He stiffens, gripping the edge of the vanity. Sharp eyes roaming my face, he studies me.

And now I’m on the verge of panicking, wondering if he’ll see right through this farce, my feigned drunkenness, the nonexistent “Levi”.

At last, he says, “I’ve got plans.”

“I”—hiccup— “had plans, too. My plans”—hiccup— “included screwing Levi’s brains out.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

“Maybe,” I whisper sultrily, locking my arms around his neck, “you could pretend to be Levi tonight.”

Gripping my forearms, he tries to pull them from around his neck, but I hang on as if life depends on it. “Not gonna happen, Serena. I’m your teacher. You’re my student.”

“Nope.” I push my girls up against him. Gosh, he feels good. “You’re Arrow, and I’m Harley Quinn.”

“Harley Quinn belongs to Joker,” he tells me.

“Harley Quinn is tired of Joker’s jokes,” I say. “She wants to be pierced by Arrow.” 

There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “You trying to start a war, babe?”

“Babe,” I echo with a goofy grin. “I like that.”

He stiffens again as he mutters, “Shit” under his breath. And again, he tries to unlock my arms from around his neck. “Serena…”

I drop my head to his shoulder and hum, “Hmm?” He smells glorious. 

“You have to—I can’t…” He heaves out a frustrated sigh. “Okay.”

Lifting me off the counter, he sets me on my feet and opens the door. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t respond, just clasps my hand and tugs me along behind him as he strides down the hall and through the crowd.

Surreptitiously, I seek out Alaric, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Probably getting that hummer. He knows the plan, so once he realizes I’m gone he’ll know it’s a success.

As we get to the elevator, it slides open and spits out a rowdy lot. We get on and Kholton hits the floor button. Just then, one of the Wonder Women comes running. “Khol!” she whines. “Where are you going?”

The doors begin to close.

“Be back in a bit, Tracy,” he tells her. “Hang tight.”

She crosses her arms and pouts. “Hurry. I’ll be waiting.”

The doors seal shut.

He’ll be back? Pfft. Over my drunken body. And since I am not and have never in my life been drunk, that’s a never.

I don’t care how many women want to tear his clothes off, or how long his Contacts list is. If I have to lie and scheme and fight for him, I will. And he’s going to be mine for as long as it takes to get me knocked up. 

Once outside, it takes no more than a minute for a cab to stop for him. Everything seems to come easy for this dude. Like the world just stops and bows at his feet.

He ushers me into the back, sliding in beside me and giving the driver his address.

As the car rolls off, I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Hmm. Sorry for taking you away from your party.”

My gaze is trained downward at his splayed thighs, but I can feel him looking at me. “Are you?”

Hell no. The only party I want him to be at would involve just the two of us, firing off his sperm confetti gun. Still, what kind of question was that? Does he know I’m playing him? I lift my head to look at him. “You want to go back?”

He doesn’t answer.

“That’s fine.” I lean forward and tap the driver’s shoulder. “The Quin, please.”

Kholton watches me for a long moment. “Same address as before,” he tells the driver without taking his eyes off me. “She’s…drunk.”

“No. Idon’tneedyourhelporanythingever,” I jabber. “I…am…fine.”

He tugs my blue pigtail. “Sure you are.”

I jab a finger at him. “You don’t know what—”

He presses one long finger to my lips. “Shh.” Then he cups the side of my face and gently urges my head to his shoulder again.

I hum and press into him. “Mhmm, you feel so good, Levi.”

I feel him go wooden, and I smile on the inside.

Jealousy is savage. A green little virus. It’s a wild card, the best card, the first and the last card.

Once you’ve shown interest in a man, he marks that interest and holds on to it, whether he likes you or not. Show interest in someone else and unfair jealousy kicks in, even when he doesn’t want you or isn’t even remotely attracted to you. Men are like that—greedy and possessive with an ego like a tower. You give them something, no matter how small or insignificant, and in their heads, you best believe you belong to them.

I gave Kholton my interest, and now I’m fake giving it to the nonexistent Levi. It only gets better from here.