My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) Page 3

  Sure enough there’s a shot on the counter in the kitchen. The music thumps under my feet and I wonder if the neighbors are going to call the police. I stare at the shot for a long time, contemplating its place in my life. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Out on my ass, or take the shot? End up like my dad, or stay like myself?

  “Was it hard to find an apartment?” Kent asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he spies my hesitation. “I can find a roommate who can roll with me. Like that,” he adds, snapping his fingers.

  I grumble mean words under my breath so he can’t hear me over the music and take the shot.

  Making an unfeminine noise, I slam the shot down. “Happy?” I growl.

  “No. Pour another. I want less of an attitude. I’m getting you shitfaced tonight. And every night after. I need you to be able to keep up.”

  “I miss James,” I mumble, taking the bottle. I pour Kent and myself another and then stand back as he enters the kitchen.

  “Let’s cheer. Your speech…” he pauses, hand in the air with his shot to his lips.

  I put on a brave face. “Here’s to being the best damn wing-woman I can be.”

  He grins at me. His smile is crooked and his eyes are gleaming sinfully. He looks bad and dark and I can’t help noticing how great his biceps appear. The black of his shirt reminds me how dark his eyes actually are.

  “Atta girl, Raina.”

  We clink our glasses together and throw them back, while I struggle to keep the animation out of my disgust. By the proud grin he gives me, I think I achieve it.

  He licks his lips free of whiskey and his dark eyes regard me seriously, dropping his grin. “Thank you for being nice to James. Most people aren’t like that.”

  I look down at my black pumps. “That’s unfortunate. Why can’t people be more accepting?”

  He nods slowly. “Believe me. It pisses me off too. He’s a great guy. I’ve known him since fourth grade. When I moved here for college he came with me. The college kids in town treat him like shit. But I’m not so selfless to let him go home. Out of everyone in my life, James has always had my back and me, his. Don’t hurt him, okay?”

  “How would I hurt him?”

  “Because James never talks to anyone. I’m the only person he communicates with. First night here he’s apologizing to you, eating pizza, and talking shit about me. He must like you. He’s been hurt enough in his life by people. I don’t need you adding to it.”

  “What makes you think I don’t like him back?”

  “I’m operating from past experiences.” He glares at me. “Don’t look at me like that. I love James, but I’m honest with myself enough to admit girls aren’t begging him for the couch. Do I agree? Hell no. If they were smart they’d want him, not me. But women aren’t smart. They’re all cheating, ungrateful whores. They deserve me and the couch!” he growls.

  I step back in shock. “Kent…”

  He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, forcing himself to calm down as he paces the kitchen. When he looks at me again he at least has the decency to be ashamed. “Just don’t hurt him. Don’t smile at him, or tease him, or do that cute thing you do when you frown. Right there,” he accuses. “Don’t do that shit.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I find that oddly not shocking.”

  “You’re kind of a smart ass. You know what I do to smart-ass mouths?” He moves toward me.

  I take a step back, my eyes shooting to his lips. “What?”

  He mirrors my step, walking toward me until I’m backed up against the counter. “I punish them.”

  “How do you do that?” I honestly want to know, trying to ease the sudden tension in the room. It’s buzzing between us, making me unable to form thoughts that do not surround his lips punishing my smart mouth.

  “I’m a good kisser,” he explains offhandedly, not answering my question. I lick my lips nervously and his eyes cease boring in to me and move to my mouth instead. “You know when girls lick their lips it’s their way of begging to be kissed?”

  “I don’t beg,” I whisper, licking them again. Damn!

  “One more time and I’m tasting them,” he warns, but his eyes are humorous, and I know he’s messing with me.

  His teasing is like throwing water on a fire. I’m soaked through and thinking straight again. I push against his chest and roll my eyes. The whiskey is burning in my belly and Kent is getting on my nerves. Just as I leave the kitchen, the door opens. Two men enter with brown bags full of alcohol and food.

  They pause when they see me. Both of them are wearing tank tops and jeans shorts. Their ball caps are on backwards and they’ve got naughty smiles.

  “Damn, Kent. Already?” one of them asks.

  Kent smirks. “Raina, this is Jake and Zeke. Guys, this is Raina, my new roommate.”

  Their eyes widen. “For real?” one of them asks.

  “Real for?” the other one says.

  Huh?

  “Raina, these guys can party for hours. Take notes.”

  “Will do,” I respond dryly. “Which one’s Jake?” He raises his hand. Black hair was Jake and brown hair was Zeke. “Hi, Jake and Zeke.”

  “Hi, Raina,” they both echo flirtatiously.

  I laugh at them. “Stop.”

  “Come bring the stuff in the kitchen,” Kent orders. “Raina’s my roommate,” I hear him tell them sharply. “Leave her alone.”

  “Will do,” Jake promises.

  “Do will,” Zeke chimes in.

  I roll my eyes at Kent’s friends.

  The door opens yet again. This time it’s a group of girls. I refuse to introduce myself to tonight’s cattle. They’re pretty, though. I find myself wondering if they have smart mouths and whether Kent’s going to punish them on the couch.

  The girls all wrap themselves around Kent’s long, lean body like a glove. He rubs their backs and gives them his sexiest smile.

  Pig, I think acidly. What kind of man hugs four girls at once?

  The door remains open. Men and women come in with alcohol. I eye the whiskey bottles warily. We’re not drinking all of that, are we? The music gets louder and the bass throbs under my feet. The open space in the living room is transformed into a dance floor. Girls wearing close to nothing move their hips to the beat. I stand amongst it all, completely out of my element.

  “You ready?” someone whispers in my ear.

  I turn my head and meet Kent’s eyes. Leaning forward, I bring my mouth close to his ear. “For what?”

  Our cheeks are pressed together. His breath washes over me like the warm breeze coming in through the front door. It smells sweet and spicy from the whiskey.

  “You see that babe with the auburn hair?” He rotates me, guiding my head toward a tall, beautiful woman in the corner talking to her girlfriends. “I want her. I know she wants me too, or she wouldn’t have answered my call and come to my party, but she’s playing games. So you and I are going to play too. Dance with me. And don’t be shy. Dance like you were in the hall in your towel. Like I’m not behind you.”

  I turn around to glare at him. “Kent—”

  “Wing-woman,” he reminds me icily.

  “Do you even like her?” I demand.

  “No. I want to take her to bed.”

  “That’s all?” I can’t believe this man.

  “That’s it. In fact I’ll need you to run interference in the morning if she wants to stick around.”

  “Who says she’s going to fall for your BS?”

  He gives me a tight look, as if the possibility of her not wanting him is so improbable he cannot believe I’m even questioning it. “The question isn’t if. It’s how badly she wants me.”

  I sigh and then fix my face. “Fine, Kent. Let’s dance.” I take his hand and give him a fake look I hope comes across as sexy. I’m not sexy. I don’t know how to do this.

  “Great idea. Make her think you want me.”

 
I make sure to lead Kent right past Auburn Hair and her group of friends. Almost immediately her eyes narrow. I smile to myself and turn around, putting my hands on Kent’s chest to stop him. We’re far enough away where she has to look for us, but close enough she can still see us.

  Thankfully the whiskey is rushing through me. I slide my hands down Kent’s muscled chest and over his abs. He feels good under my fingers. So hard and solid. I slide my hands back up to his shoulders and hold him there as I begin to move. I’ve always been a good dancer. I can pick up beats as I hear them and predict the move I’m going to do.

  I rise up on the tips of my toes and press my body against Kent’s as his hand come to rest on my lower back. “She’s glaring at us.”

  The song fades and changes.

  “I like this song,” he whispers in my ear. “Stop staring and turn around.”

  I follow his perverted orders and find my pace in this new song. It’s sexy. I move my ass against him within inches of his groin, still hesitant to get into it. I’ve never danced with a man like this before.

  He groans in my ear and pulls my hips against him roughly. “You’re not even trying,” he hisses. “Who’s going to want me when you don’t?”

  “I don’t want you.”

  “Pretend you do. Pretend you’ve never wanted anything more than you want me right now.”

  I pretend not that I want Kent, because I would never want Kent, but Auburn Hair does. I decide to make him look sexy by pretending he’s sexy. I don’t have to pretend there. Kent is attractive in a way most men aren’t to me. His strong jaw rests in the hollow of my shoulder and his hands hold me to him tightly. I grind my hips against him harder, feeling him against me. He can move as well. He’s got the beat down. Together we grind this song out. When it’s done my breathing is deep. I’ve never danced like this with a guy. I’ve never been so close to one his body heat and sweat mixes with my own.

  When the song changes I turn around and push my hair out of my face. My smile is shy as our eyes meet. This close up they’re soul-sucking.

  “There you go. Want me,” he urges, reaching down to hold my hips. He slides his knee between my legs and grinds against me to the suggestive beat.

  I gasp but he can’t hear me. Or if he does he doesn’t stop. He moves against me, leaving me no choice but to move back. I like this song, and it’s fun to dance to, so I give in and match his moves, ignoring his knee. We’re so close my breasts are pressing against his chest. Our faces are close together. If I want I can look into his dark eyes. If he wanted he could taste my smart-ass mouth. But I don’t and neither does he. I dance closer, earning a groan in my ear. I imagine what we must look like to everyone. Dry humping on the dance floor, my core grinding against his, faces inches apart, mouths breathing hard.

  It looks like we want each other.

  “Ahem,” a voice interrupts.

  Auburn Hair is standing there when I look. Kent doesn’t hear her. His face is in my neck and my fingers are entangled in his hair. It feels silky and dampened slightly by his sweat. When did that happen? I contemplate ignoring her because Kent feels so good against me, his heavy breaths against my shoulder and his strong arms encircling me. But she looks pissed and I remember I don’t want Kent. It only looks like I do.

  I pull back and he growls, following me.

  “What are you doing? Come back here.”

  I put my mouth over his ear. “Auburn Hair at eleven o’ clock.”

  He stills against me. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are leaking something dangerous. He clears his throat. “You rang?”

  “You invite me here and then dry hump some other girl right in front of me? Are you kidding?”

  “Did it look like I was kidding?”

  I try and undo his arms from around me. Why won’t he let me go? Maybe I’m not done here. His grip tightens around me. I reach up and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “We’re busy,” I rebuke her. “If you didn’t notice.”

  She glowers at me and puts her hands on her hips. “Kent,” she whines.

  “Keep going,” he whispers, removing his knee from between my legs.

  When he does I realize he’s been supporting my weight all this time. I blush hot and hope he didn’t know how good he felt between my legs. I feel warm and tingly and almost hungry, as if something inside of me isn’t as satisfied as it was before our dance. It sucks the breath out of me.

  “Don’t whine,” I reprimand. “He’s dancing with me.”

  Auburn Hair grabs Kent’s arm and pulls him away from me. It’s unsettling how willing he is. Kent’s a large guy. He won’t move unless he wants to.

  “Sorry, babe,” he drawls unapologetically to me.

  She giggles obnoxiously. “Come on. I’ll show you how a real woman dances. Where’d you even find her? She looks like my little sister.”

  Kent mumbles something that makes her laugh again as she leads him away.

  Even though I know it’s fake I feel his dismissal as if it were real. My stomach sinks and fills with painful mortification. I am suddenly inadequate. What did I expect? That he’d end up choosing me over Auburn Hair? One dance would somehow make him forget the lie that brought our bodies so close?

  I stumble back and fix my face. I’m his wing-woman, I remind myself. I don’t even like him. I don’t want him. It’s a game. Job done. I shake my inane reaction off and give them both a disgusted look. Kent is already wrapped around her body. She’s got her ass so close to his penis I can’t tell who’s wearing which blue jeans. The image sticks with me on my way to the kitchen.

  “Want a shot?” Jake asks.

  “Shot a want?” Zeke follows.

  “Sure…” I need one after that.

  Jake pours me a shot of something clear and hands it to me. By the pungent smell I conclude it’s vodka. I toss it back and hop around in the kitchen as the fire burns me from the inside out.

  “Want another?”

  “Another want?”

  I giggle at Zeke. “Sure. Why not?”

  He winks at me. “Dance to want?”

  “Sure.”

  I’m a sure kind of girl tonight.

  I grab Zeke’s hand and let Usher guide my hips. Surprisingly, Zeke keeps up. He’s touchy, but I’m drunk, and his hands feel kind of good after being forgotten by Kent the human pig. I never let men touch me. As we pass by him and Auburn Hair, who are so close together I get a headache, he looks up at me and Zeke. Kent narrows his eyes at us but I ignore him. Can’t wing-women have fun too? Where does it say we have to retreat to our cave once our jobs are completed?

  I turn around so I can’t see him and wrap my arms around Zeke. The song changes and it’s a lot more fun. I throw my hands in the air and dance. Zeke follows, uncaring of how stupid we look. I laugh at him and try to top his horrible dance moves. He doubles over when I start doing the robot. His attempt fails and I find myself falling over my feet in a burst of giggles, running right into Kent and Auburn Hair.

  “Zeke’s got a girlfriend,” he snarls.

  “We’re just dancing,” I growl back.

  I take Zeke’s hands and we flail around like idiots.

  “Shot a take?” he shouts over the music.

  “Sure, backwards man.”

  After some time dancing and a few more shots I excuse myself to use the bathroom. As I’m coming out I spot James inching out of his room. When he spots me he looks so relieved I smile at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He makes a drinking motion with his hand and mouths the word “beer.”

  “You want a beer? Be right back.”

  I feel like Peter Cottontail. I scurry into the kitchen, grab a beer, and then scurry right back to his room, closing his door behind me. He’s sitting on his bed and smiles when I come in.

  “Here you go.”

  He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

  “What?” I demand, smiling too.<
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  He rubs his finger around his cheeks and then points at his mirror.

  I peek in his mirror. Oh. I look like a drunk broad. My cheeks are flushed, my hair is a mess, and my eyes are all heavy.

  “Kent got me drunk.”

  James frowns. He leans over his bed, grabs his keys off his end table, and uses one to open his beer top. I feel bad. I’m out there having fun and he’s in here by himself. Although what kind of fun I’m having I’m not sure. Fun isn’t something I’m used to having. A brief flash of playing hide and seek with Becca when we were kids enters my mind, but it’s destroyed by the subsequent reminder of my father coming home drunk. He slammed the front door closed and screamed at my mother until she cried herself to sleep.

  “Can I sit down?” I feel dizzy suddenly. I plop down on his bed and take my heels off. “I like your room.”

  It’s larger than my own. It’s got an en suite bathroom and a section of his bedroom has been made over into a living room. He even has a mini fridge in the corner. It’s like his Batcave.

  “It’s spinning.” I fall back.

  My eyes close for a second. Suddenly I’m being pulled up. There’s a pillow under my head. I’m comfortable. But it’s still spinning and I can’t sleep. “James,” I whine, trying to shut out the image of my father’s balled fist and my mother’s cowering body.

  And he’s there, smoothing the hair from my face. He makes a sign I don’t recognize. “Sleep,” he says after I stare at him. “Damn Kent,” he mumbles.

  Damn Kent. James and I agree.

  When I wake up I’m confused. I’m not in my bed. I’m wearing clothes I would never sleep in. I roll over and spy the shape of a man sleeping with his back to me. Panic grips me. Did we…? It takes me half a second to recognize him by his messy brown hair. I’m in James’s bed. My head is foggy and my mouth is foul tasting.

  I slowly ease out of his bed so I don’t wake him. My stomach turns over and it’s all I can do to sneak out quietly. I close his bedroom door and run to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Sliding to a halt at the toilet, I drop to my knees and expel the whiskey and vodka from the night before. My head pounds as I hack into the bowl. I fall back against the wall and try not to breathe too hard.

  Spying the length it will take to get to my bedroom makes me decide not to bother. I lie down on the bathroom rug and curl up, falling swiftly asleep. When I wake up I feel sore from puking but I don’t have a choice. More comes right back up. When I’m empty I force myself to my feet and turn the shower on. After peeling my clothes off, I crawl under the hot spray and wash the puke and sweat from my body. I bundle all my clothes and make a dash for my bedroom in case Kent or James happens to look down the hall at the precise moment I run past naked.