Charlotte
“Do you have “My Heart Must Go On” by Celine Deon?” I ask the DJ.
He gives me a flippant glance before searching through the book.
This is our second Karaoke Thursday at Murphy’s. Although I told Derks I wouldn’t sing until Duke does, I broke down and belted my heart out last week. Being stressed while listening to complete strangers make fools of themselves is impossible. The hospital, school, and work fade away.
“Why don’t you go for something a little less somber, huh? How about that?” Rachel pulls the binder in front of her and flips through a few pages. “We’ll do this one.” Her smile pleases the DJ and he hands her the microphones.
Hands on my back push me onto the makeshift stage.
“Which one did you choose?” Rachel’s already in character, and I eye the crowd. A flock of butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“Oh, you’ll see.” Rachel’s eyebrows wiggle. “Now take your mic and prepare to dazzle.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I shift to Rachel. “This is your choice?” The familiar retro keyboard tune plays through the speakers. “Fine.” I jerk the mic from her hand and stand at the front of the stage.
The joyful smirk on Rachel’s face is contagious. She winks, and we belt out the first line of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, which is exactly what we’re doing.
As we shout out the last few lines, Duke steps through the main entrance. He shakes hands with the bouncers and nods his chin towards Lydia at the bar. Derks greets him with a bro-like hug. When they back up from each other, Derks nods to where I’m currently embarrassing myself. My cheeks heat, knowing Duke’s eyes are on me.
Duke saunters dangerously slow towards the stage, and I’m suddenly well aware of the way my body sways to the song. A dim light twinkles in his green eyes, and shining back at me is the same confusing relief.
The song fades from the speakers, and I lower the mic. The crowd parts, and the amusement staring at me carries me to the spot in front of him.
Damn, he’s gorgeous. His navy-blue t-shirt is tight in all the right places, while his jeans are loose enough to make me wonder what’s underneath. Heat builds on my face at the thought, and I glance away like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
A whole ten days have passed since I last saw him, not that I’m counting. Our last encounter shifted something deep inside me. I’d overheard him giving Jacob a play-by-play of ESPN’s top ten clips of the week. A moment of softness from Duke is like finding Bigfoot. Some have claimed to see it, but no one has any true proof. I’d walked into the hospital room, seen the cuts on his knuckles, and before I could ask what happened, he’d bolted.
His knuckles are healed. My hands itch to touch the faint bruise on his cheek. I pull back, but my curiosity of where it came from is still there.
School assignments, hospital visits, and my internship are my perfect storm. Duke’s my source of relief in all the chaos.
After he’d run from the hospital room, Duke had messaged me to apologize for not sticking around. Since then we’ve texted. They’re harmless, but consistent, and under the pretense Duke’s doing it for Jacob. I believed him until the other night when, around eleven o’clock, my phone pinged.
Duke: Just wanted to say goodnight and I hope you had a good day.
The words were simple and to the point, but it was the first time Duke reached out without using Jacob as an excuse. I skimmed over the words, reading them several times before responding. That night, a brick crumbled from Duke’s wall, and it only made me want to chip away at it more.
““Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, huh?” His grin grows with his amusement.
“Not my first choice, but apparently, “My Heart Will Go On” is less than entertaining,” I shout, glaring at Rachel as she passes us.
“You can thank me, Duke, for not putting you through hell.” She winks at him and bounces to the bar. She chats up Lydia, giggling at the singers who follow us.
Duke and I both motion our hands to the bar, creating an uncomfortable dance. The heat from his body burns into my back as I take the lead. A thrill shoots through me when I glance over my shoulder and catch Duke staring at my ass. His eyes raking over my body is exhilarating. It’s the kind of attention I shouldn’t acknowledge, but one I want to lap up like icing off a cupcake. His dark eyebrows arch with a playful mischief.
“Caught you red handed,” I joke, smacking him across his taut stomach.
“You did.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into his side. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” he whispers in my ear. His breath dances against my skin. An ache radiates through my body. Just an inch keeps his lips from touching me.
“So, I wasn’t imagining it, then.”
“No, I’ll admit what happened in the kitchen threw me off.” He releases a breath over my shoulder. “But I know it didn’t mean anything. Just messed with my head. I thought if we weren’t around each other, it would make it easier.”
“So, you’ve been texting because it’s hard to feel attracted to someone over a text.” I’ll keep lying to myself, too, and pretend I don’t feel the energy between the two of us. Don’t turn around, because if you do, all you’ll see is over six feet of seduction.
“You’ve been texting the wrong way if that’s what you believe.”
“So, that’s why you’ve been texting.” At my bluntness, his head jerks back around. I place my finger on the underside of his chin and push his mouth closed.
“You’re hard to be around. I keep finding myself wanting to know more, so I thought texting would dull that.” His words are alluring, and enough of a reason not to look away. My heart turns over as his fingers graze mine, perfectly hidden between our bodies.
Lydia and Rachel watch the way we are together. I wiggle my fingers, and he releases me.
“What are you having tonight?” Duke’s palm softly grips the back of my neck. His warmth blankets the left half of my body. My back rubs against his stomach, and I’m torn between my willingness to move closer and realizing I should move away. He has nowhere else to go, Charlotte. So, what if his dick is inches away from your ass. Ignore it. My hips have other plans and flex backwards, and he hisses. Or don’t.
“Whatever you’re having.” The large crowd forces Duke to step against me. His knee between mine causes a sweet tension in my belly.
“No, don’t do that.” His minty breath feathers my cheek. “What do you want?” His words resonate like sex strapped to a rocket. The fire burns beneath, and they’re waiting for me to push the detonator.
“I’ll have a whiskey sour.” His eyes soften and command my attention. “Thank you.”
“You heard the girl, Lyd.” Duke’s cologne awakens all my senses when he leans over my short height. “A whiskey sour, and none of the bottom shelf shit you try to serve me all the time.”
“So, Duke, tonight your night off?” Rachel asks, sucking on the straw dipped in the bright blue drink.
“Sure is.” He waves at Lydia, and as if on command, she pops the top to another beer and slides it down the bar to him.
Next to Rachel, I’ve always felt mediocre, but Duke doesn’t flinch when Rachel plays with the end of the straw with her tongue. My heart is shocked.
“Wouldn’t you rather be anywhere else than your workplace on your night off?” I pop the straw between my lips and take a slow sip. The liquid blazes down my throat. His eyes focus on my mouth. I pull it away, slowly, to test his reaction.
Jesus Christ. I’m a horrible person. His zipper practically stretches in front of me. I guess I just got a glimpse of what’s inside his jeans.
“You’d think you’d have a hot date. It being a Thursday and all,” Rachel adds. She pops her tongue into her cheek and wiggles her eyebrows, testing the last ounce of my patience.
“This place is sort of like home.” Duke leans forward to gain Rachel’s attention. “And to answer your question, I don’t date.”
“Like at all?” My eyes widen, and the straw drops from my mouth. “From what I hear, you do.”
“You believe all the rumors you hear?” He envelops me between him and the bar.
“I think everyone on campus has heard something,” Rachel scoffs. “You have quite the reputation.”
“I don’t date. I never said I don’t fuck. There’s a difference.” My back stiffens when his lips move alarmingly close to my ear. “Have fun tonight.”
With his beer in hand, he leaves Rachel and me with our mouths agape. He waltzes over to Derks and sits at the corner booth.
Rachel fans her face and neck. “I bet he does. Have you checked out his body? Even under a t-shirt, the ripples and dips are evident.”
“Okay, enough.” It’s awfully annoying she’s even noticed his dips and ripples. “Nothing is less attractive than a guy who knows he’s gorgeous.” Who am I trying to fool with this bullshit?
“Oh, everything about the guy is attractive, and by the sweet little smiles you give him, I’d say you aren’t immune.” She raises an eyebrow. “Not to mention the little hand holding I witnessed.”
“Leave it alone.” I distract myself any way I can manage, focusing on the crowd in front of our table.
“It’s his hair.” She strains to catch sight of Duke across the bar.
“His hair?” I, too, look to where he is, curious by what’s so fascinating about his hair. His and Derks’ attention are on me. Derks offers a friendly wink and smile.
She may be on to something with the whole hair theory. The bottom half of Duke’s is buzzed short, while the top is longer. It’s a look most guys can’t pull off, but somehow, he does flawlessly. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I envision what his hair would feel like between my fingers.
“See!” Rachel eases her stare slowly to where he sits. His head stays tucked close to Derks’ while they have a deep conversation. “It’s the hair.”
It’s like the girl can read my mind.
From across the room, his smile widens as if he overhears our conversation. A chunk of dark locks falls perfectly over his right eye, and my fingers tingle to push it back.
Duke intrigues me. This is something I can either ignore or deal with head on. I’m confident in the reaction he stirs up inside of me. There’s a desperation to know the real him, not the version everyone gossips about. It’s who he is when no one looks that draws out the need inside my body to be near him.
“You going to stop ogling him any time soon or would you like to pull up your skirt for him right here?” Rachel smacks my arm, warning me of my slip-up.
“Don’t be crude. I wasn’t ogling him.” I roll my eyes at her ridiculous accusation.
“I’m not blind, Charlotte. It’s me, your best friend,” she says with determination. “Do I need to pretend I didn’t see him grab your hand? Or the way you leaned into him? Will that make you feel better? I’ll never judge you, Charlotte. Not like the rest of these fuckers.” She eyes the people in the bar. “I know you’ve been wrapped in this little world where Jacob is the end all, be all” —she laughs— “but you’re definitely seeing what the rest of us see in Duke. Perhaps, soaking it up more than us, too.”
“And what’s that?” She has me backed into a corner, and there’s no reason to deny anything.
“Sex on a stick, girl. Sex. On. A. Stick.” She giggles. “And trust me, you aren’t the first or the last girl to look at him like she wants to eat him up.”
“Knock it off, okay? Can we just let loose tonight?” I shift the direction of the conversation. No words have ever distracted my best friend faster.
“Did you, Charlotte Novak, just ask if we can let loose?” She leans over the bar, stretching her entire length, ass up in the air like a damn cat begging for attention. “I’ve been waiting a lifetime to hear those words.” She waves down Lydia. When she comes to stand in front of us, her smile softens in comparison to when she’s waiting on pushy male patrons. “We’ll have four shots of tequila.”
“Coming right up,” Lydia answers. “Are you sure she can handle it?” She nods her chin in my direction, placing a short line of shot glasses in front of us, and tips a bottle of clear liquid until they’re full to the brim. A lime slice is slid onto each one. I usually would be offended, but I do look like a soft, delicate flower in comparison to her.
“She looks sweet, but don’t underestimate this chick. Watch.” Rachel raises one of the shot glasses between us.
One by one, I discard the lime wedges and down the burning, clear liquid.
“Told you so.” Rachel follows suit and shoots back the shots, hooting and hollering as she finishes. Her glasses are slammed down, clinking into mine. “Girl chooses not to drink most times, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hang with the big girls.”
“Fair enough.” Lydia holds her hands up in apology. “If you girls need anything at all tonight, come to me. Don’t accept drinks from any of these assholes in here. Except Duke. He may be an asshole, but he’s one of the good ones.” The male to female ratio is high, and I completely understand what she’s insinuating.
Rachel winks. “Sure thing, Purple.”
For the next few hours, we shoot Tequila and guzzle cups full of sugary goodness. A regretful hangover is in my near future. Our laughter gains the attention of several groups of guys, all of which we shut down, but not before Rachel flirts for a few minutes. I have to keep giving her the shut-the-hell-up look, or else these frat boys are going to get the wrong impression.
“He had kind eyes.” She shrugs, avoiding my disapproval. “And I can’t go for Duke since you’ve already dug your proverbial claws into his back.”
“You’re full of shit, my friend. You can have Duke, if you want Duke.” I laugh uncomfortably. “Just admit you get a rush from flirting with guys your father would bury six feet under.”
“You may have a point.” Her uncontrollable laughter reminds me how much, or maybe too much, alcohol we’ve drank tonight. “Now, please tell me how you’re doing. I know you like to pretend everything is okay, but it’s me, Char. I know you better than that. Shit’s getting a bit sticky, right?”
I stall to give me time to think of something to say that will appease her. This question has been asked more times than I want to count, and every time, I still find it impossible to muster up an answer to sound genuine. Fine isn’t appropriate to those who love me. They want the dirty, raw answer. Those kinds of answers may never come. Avoidance seems to be my approach when it comes to all things Jacob.
My eyes search Rachel’s, pleading her to let it go, but no such luck. Her shoulders are squared and she’s ready, in all her drunken haze, to have this conversation.
“I don’t know.” My hands cover my face, and I rub my fingertips over my eyes.
Rachel pulls my hands down. “Be honest with yourself.”
I shrug, irritated with the direction of this conversation. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say the truth. Scream it if you have to. Be mad. Be sad. Be frustrated. You have the right to be all of those things.”
“Do you want to know the truth? I am mad. Nothing about that night is okay.” I sigh, angry with the reality of the situation. “And I’m sad because I’m at fault. If I wouldn’t have laid into Jacob as hard as I did, he wouldn’t have rushed out of our apartment, and the accident never would have happened. And to add insult to injury, I want to rip the clothes off one of his fraternity brothers. You can’t get messier than that.” With my best effort, I fight the tears looming right on the surface, and look around the bar, hoping my little outburst didn’t gain any unwanted attention.
“Is it just a weird attraction, Char?” Rachel’s sad smile tells me she already knows the answer. Her hand covers mine resting on the bar top.
Duke stands at the end of the bar, his legs crossed at the ankles. His attention focused solely on me makes me shiver. With every passing second, his stare smolders hotter. This could be the alcohol speaking, but I’d really like to feel his lips against mine, even for a split second, just to experience their softness.
“It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to, Char, I promise,” Rachel says, dragging my attention to her and not on the way Duke looks at me, like he can solve all my problems.
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I just need him to wake up. I need to tell him I’m sorry, and I need to stop looking at Duke.” I sigh. “Fuck, now can we continue our night of fun? This conversation is making me want to go home and binge eat a carton of ice cream. The real kind of ice cream, not the fake low-fat bullshit you keep trying to shove down my throat.” No decent ice cream is three hundred and fifty calories.
Rachel jumps from her stool. Her hand wraps around my wrist, and I’m pulled out onto the dance floor. Music pumps through the speakers, and with rhythmic sways, we dance like no one is watching. Our laughter is stuck in a bubble between us, only meant for the two of us. It’s how our friendship has been since the start. Even with us being polar opposites, we mesh like peanut butter and jelly.
“I’m going to go get us another drink,” Rachel leans forward and shouts over the loud music.
I awkwardly dance by myself, swaying my hips from side to side. Liquid sloshes over the rim of my cup. I blame those initial shots of tequila. They still roll around in my veins, giving me courage to do things with my body I’d never dare do any other day of the week.
Slowly, I search for the thin, black straw until it finds a home between my lips. The small drips of alcohol add a muted burn to my tongue.
“What did I tell you about straws, Charlotte?” Duke whispers from somewhere behind me. The warmth from his lips dances against my neck. He releases this warm, delectable laugh, and I shift enough to catch him receding into the packed crowd.
The lights flash and shift, casting everything in a strange hue. As I glance around, I notice for the first time how many security guards linger nearby.
A guy approaches me, and I attempt to escape. Before I can, a security guard grabs his collar and jerks him away.
This exact thing happens again before Rachel returns, balancing two drinks in her hands. “The line at the bar is horrendous.”
I take one of the drinks and nurse it for the next hour. We dance until the lights brighten. I dig out my phone to catch the time.
“Holy shit, it’s one in the morning,” I screech, giggling at how absurd that seems to me.
“This is what happens when you allow yourself to have a little fun, and you aren’t locked up in an ivory tower.” Rachel wraps her lips around her straw.
“He didn’t keep me trapped, Rachel. Don’t start this shit again.” I back away from her.
“Charlotte, you have to admit he was sort of protective.” She grabs my arm and twists me back around. Our eyes meet, and there’s a sliver of concern behind her drunken glaze. “You’re meant to make mistakes, Char. You’re eighteen years old. He should’ve allowed you to slip up every once in a while. Live a little.” Her argument is valid, which is why I don’t argue.
“I think I’ve been making enough mistakes lately,” I confess.
“Will you at least admit I’m sort of right about Jacob? I love him, but he could’ve loosened the reins a bit.” Rachel sways back and forth, licking the leftover liquid off her lips.
“Okay, so you’re a little bit right. Now can we get out of here?” I huff out a lungful of air and set my cup on the closest table. Rachel leads the charge through the crowded dance floor and past the line waiting for last call requests.
Before we reach the front, Duke rushes out of the office area, beelining for us. He wouldn’t have been watching us on the security cameras, would he? No, that’s ridiculous. I laugh until the blonde from the hospital grabs his arm. They exchange heated words and she draws her hand back as if to slap him. He sees me watching them and steps towards us, but she jumps in front of him and pulls him back. The argument between them boils to a head, but it’s their anger and has nothing to do with me.
So, why do I feel cheated of something? Who is this girl, and what exactly does she mean to Duke?
Once we are inside the apartment, Rachel prances into the kitchen and grabs two bottles of water, tossing one at me.
“Hydrate or else you’ll hate yourself in the morning,” Rachel orders. She flips the switch on the lights, leaving me in the dark. Her bedroom door slams, and my head pounds.
The couch screams for me to fall onto the soft cushions. I inch back until I’m propped on a pillow, and my shoes hit the floor with a thud. The lid drops beside them, and I guzzle down the bottle of water.
What if, when Jacob wakes up, I can’t handle the truth? Why does that girl keep showing up? Maybe she’s following Duke, but who is she? Why do they keep arguing? Why is Duke even on my mind right now? I smack my palm against my forehead, discouraged with where my mind is racing. I’m so drunk.
I welcome the darkness, wiggling beneath the blanket from the back of the couch. I close my eyes to an image of a tall figure with dark hair. The unmistakable, hot as hell ink across the forearm gives him away. I fall asleep imaging what it would be like to have the cool metal of Duke’s ring cascading over my bare skin.
And what a satisfying dream it is.