Against the Wall (9 page)

The catcalls grow louder and less complimentary. Men are emboldened by alcohol and the cloak of evening.

“It's a pussy parade,” someone yells.

Kelsea hooks arms with me and the other girls follow suit. It's difficult to hold up signs, step around obstacles, and form a united front at the same time. We're almost out of the danger zone when I hear a splash and a female shriek. I stop to look around. There's a busty brunette at the edge of the crowd, soaked to the skin. A man with an empty mug is hovering near her.

Eric appears beside the brunette, his face dark with fury. “Are you okay?”

She nods tearfully. Another girl wraps her in a sweater.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eric says to the guy.

“Sorry,” the guy says, smirking. “I thought it was a wet T-shirt contest.”

I make my way toward them, sensing doom. Eric is going to knock the guy's block off. Before I can reach him, two more bar patrons step outside. Now there are three burly rednecks squared up with Eric.

“Keep going,” Kelsea yells, waving the ladies on. They shuffle forward. Maybe the lack of audience will calm the situation down.

Nope.

Fists start flying and glass shatters on the sidewalk. I scream for Eric, but I can't find him in the chaos. Then he's right next to me, pulling me away from the scene with Kelsea. We get out of there in a hurry and catch up with the rest of the girls. When I glance back, a bouncer is breaking up the fight.

“What happened?” I ask Eric.

“I don't know,” he says, releasing my arm. “The guy took a swing at me and missed. Then he got jumped by the other two.”

“You're lucky they went after him instead of you,” Kelsea says.

“Yeah,” he says and frowns at me. “You ran toward the fight.”

“I was going to help.”

“You could have gotten hurt.”

“What about you?” I counter. “You're the one on parole. You could've gotten hurt
and
arrested.”

His expression becomes shuttered. “Don't ever step into a throwdown.”

“I'll do whatever I want.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes with annoyance, but he doesn't argue. He just gives me a dark look and jogs back to his sentry spot at the front of the crowd.

“You were right,” Kelsea says.

“About what?”

“He's not that nice.”

I'm still sweating from the close call when we arrive at the last venue.

Matthew told me to keep my distance, stay calm, and not get involved in any altercations. I failed on all three counts, but at least I didn't actually fight. I also identified one of my triggers: violence against women.

When I saw the girl dripping wet on the sidewalk, I just lost it. I couldn't stand by and let some asshole pour his beer on her for kicks. Who the fuck
does
that? I wanted to beat the shit out of him. If his friends hadn't done the job for me, I would have.

In hindsight, it was too strong of a reaction. I could have moved the girl along without stepping up to him or cursing in his face. I wasn't in control of my anger. I need to dial down the aggression before I get in trouble again.

Meghan was part of the problem. I saw her with Chip earlier. I think that's one of the reasons I snapped. He grabbed her ass like he owned it. I might do the same thing if she was my girl, but not to be insulting. Not in front of her friends. Not to put her in her place or show her who's boss. I can't stand the sight of him disrespecting her.

By the time we arrive at The Q Room, I'm cool. The nude hitchhiker poster is displayed on a sandwich board by the entrance. There's a round metal tub filled with ice and cold drinks. I grab a bottle of water and stand aside, watching the crowd.

The girl who got doused with beer comes over to thank me. She's pretty, and she might be interested in showing me some private gratitude, but I don't encourage her. My eyes keep straying to Meghan.

Even in a sea of hot young women wearing next to nothing, she stands out. Her shorts are short, her legs are long, and her tits are spectacular, but she's not showing that much skin. The sexiness is in her style. Her hair is slicked back, her makeup simple. I think she's going for a tomboy look, and it's strangely hot.

She looks like a quirky art piece. That I want to fuck.

I pull my gaze away, pulse racing. Maybe I'm no better than her boyfriend, eyeing her like she's a piece of meat. But it doesn't feel superficial to me. I'm attracted to the person on the inside, too. I always have been.

She's the girl who saw past my tattoos and hard exterior, years ago. She's the one who believed I could be a real artist with a promising future. She's the mediator who tried to prevent Kelsea and Matthew from arguing the other day. She's the peacemaker who ran toward a dangerous altercation just now, without hesitation.

I suspect that Chip doesn't notice her unique qualities, or care. He doesn't get her. He just wants a trophy girlfriend, and she's beautiful.

Kelsea thanks everyone for participating and they do a group hug. A woman with short, rainbow-colored hair comes out of the bar to say hello. She offers a free shot to anyone twenty-one or over. This announcement is met with wild cheering.

Some of the girls are underage, or they can't stay for whatever reason. They call it a night and walk to the bus stop across the street. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, so I stand by the front entrance and study my poster. I'm pleased that Meghan said it was her favorite. I've fantasized about painting
her
nude on countless occasions. I used to sketch her body from memory in my cell, over and over again.

Matthew's phone vibrates in my front pocket, interrupting my thoughts.

“Bueno,”
I say.

“Where are you?”

“The Q Room.”

“How did it go?”

“Good.”

“No problems?”

“Not really. Some guy dumped a beer on one of the girls.”

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

“What a fucking asshole. What did you do?”

“I got her out of there.”

“You didn't say anything to him?”

“We exchanged a few words.”

He grunts in response. “Where's Kelsea?”

“Inside the bar.”

“She's not walking back to SDSU?”

“I think a bunch of the girls are staying here to dance or whatever.”

“Can you see inside?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay,” he says after a pause. “You can leave.”

“Do you want me at Fine Ink?”

“No, we're about to close. Just go home.”

Sweet. I'm off duty. “What about your phone?”

“Give it to me Monday.”

I end the call and put the phone in my pocket. Venturing inside wouldn't be wise. Kelsea and Meghan are capable of getting home without my assistance. They don't need me to babysit. On the other hand, it seems rude to leave without saying goodbye.

Fuck it.

I've never been to a gay nightclub before, so I'm not sure what to expect. I picture drag queens and sailors and burlesque shows. It actually looks the same as some of the straight clubs in TJ. There's a dance floor on one side and a long, mirrored bar on the other. The main difference is the clientele. It's mostly women.

I like it.

I don't see Kelsea or Meghan on the dance floor, but the place is packed. I show my ID at the door and head toward the bar. The lady with rainbow hair greets me with a smile and a handshake.

“I love your poster,” she says, leaning close to be heard above the din. “I want to buy it.”

“It's already yours,” I say, surprised.

“I'm going to frame it and put it on the wall.”

I'm flattered by her enthusiasm. She insists on giving me forty dollars, which I accept because why not? She asks me to sign the poster, so I go outside with a marker to make it official. When I come back in, Kelsea and Meghan are at the bar. They're both flushed and giggling, already tipsy.

Kelsea squeals as if I'm her long-lost brother instead of a casual acquaintance she parted ways with less than an hour ago. “Eric! Do a shot with us.”

The rainbow-haired bartender pours three shots of tequila. “Yours is on the house.”

Meghan and Kelsea knock back their shots before I can blink. They do the salt and lime ritual, making adorable faces. I pay for their alcohol, which somehow burns up half the money I earned on the poster.

“Are you going to drink that?” Kelsea asks.

I shrug and drain the glass, mostly to keep it away from her. I haven't had a drink in years and the tequila is like liquid fire down my throat. Grimacing, I grab a slice of lime to dull the flames. All three women laugh at my reaction.

Kelsea and Meghan return to the dance floor, revived.

I watch them from the bar for a few minutes. I'm not used to alcohol anymore and I'm already feeling the effects. They're dancing the way girls do, sexy and close together. Sort of rubbing against each other. I don't know if they're trying to turn me on or just having fun, but I'm mesmerized.

There's a warning flashing at the back of my brain, telling me to look away. Telling me to get out of here. But my blood is warmed by alcohol, lust thrumming through my veins. I stay right where I am.

Kelsea looks over at me as the song changes. Shakira's breathy voice rings out, provocative lyrics set against a heavy Latin beat.

Y así es
. I'm done.

It's like a sign, or an invitation. Kelsea's eyes light up and she comes for me. She takes my wrist and drags me onto the floor. I go willingly, because I'm a horny bastard. My pulse throbs with the music. Meghan doesn't seem opposed to me joining them. Kelsea pushes me forward and plasters her body against my back.

Meghan looks sort of uneasy and excited at the same time. Her white T-shirt and shorts glow in the dark, outlining her figure. My hands itch to grasp her hips and grind into her, but I restrain myself. She's careful not to touch me as she dances. Kelsea isn't quite so reserved. She lets her hands wander over my abs. I'm confused and aroused, unsure how to respond. I don't know what I want. I'll take them both, if that's on the table.

I'm pretty sure it's not, so I shelve my schoolboy fantasies. We're having innocent fun. Clothes are staying on. I'm not breaking my promise to Noah or Matthew. The most trouble the three of us are getting into tonight is dirty dancing.

I haven't danced in a long time and I feel awkward, despite the novelty of having two beautiful partners. It's a tight squeeze on the dance floor. Meghan gets jostled by the crowd and stumbles. I reach out to steady her. Then Kelsea urges me forward until Meghan's body is flush with mine. We fit together like magic.

We always have.

My hands go straight to her hips, aligning our lower halves. I watch her lips part in a sexy little gasp. I know she can feel my cock. It's right
there,
pressed tight against her denim-covered crotch. She's tall enough that we could fuck standing up without much trouble. My heart is thumping to the bass line, mind blank with lust.

I don't even think about my next move. I just do it. Driven by instinct, I slide my hands over her ass and cover her mouth with mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Our lips barely touch before I notice that something is off. Kelsea is no longer behind me. There's a stirring in the crowd around us. Then I'm grabbed by the collar, yanked away from Meghan, and punched in the face.

Hello, Chip.

The music skids to a stop as his knuckles crash into my jaw. Pain explodes in my cheek and I careen sideways, tasting blood. The dance floor clears to make room for the scuffle, but Kelsea stays right there beside me. She puts herself between me and Chip, which is stupid. Meghan grabs Chip's right arm, joining the fray.

These chicks have no street smarts.

Chip doesn't, either. He cradles his fist in his palm and winces like a pussy. He got lucky with a well-placed hit, but he's an amateur. I wipe my bloody mouth and grin, looking forward to giving him a free lesson.

Outside, though.

Brawling indoors isn't gentlemanly. I might be a thug, but I won't fight in front of an audience of women. I jerk my chin toward the exit and Chip follows me, shaking loose from Meghan's grip. He's got two friends with him, smug athletes in nice clothes. I'm not worried about any of them. I can do plenty of damage before they take me down. I'll end up getting my ass kicked, but I don't care. It's nothing I haven't endured before. I'm so amped up, I won't even feel the beating.

Bring it on, motherfuckers.

I raise my fists and spit blood on the sidewalk, near one of the signs the girls made.

RESPECT,
it says.

Through the adrenaline haze, I'm aware of Meghan and Kelsea being held back by Chip's friends. Meghan is trying to break free. Kelsea is yelling at Chip to leave me alone. The girls don't deserve to get manhandled, but I can't have them interfering on my behalf. I remember what Meghan did earlier tonight, running to help me and screaming my name. She might do that again. I can picture her catching a blow or getting shoved aside by Chip.

I take a deep breath and try to control my fury. I'm pissed off about getting coldcocked, but I was wrong to touch her. I knew she was taken when I made a move on her.

I just…forgot.

I forgot my promise to Noah. I forgot about Chip. I forgot about everything except the soft curves of her body. Kissing her seemed like a good idea, but I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe she didn't want another jerk grabbing her ass. Maybe she was about to knee me in the nuts.

My head clears and I relax my fists. It's dark outside. There are people all around. We're making a scene. This is no way to behave at an event about having fun and respecting women. I'm ruining the party with my raging hormones and out-of-control machismo. There's also the fact that I'm on parole, and I took a vow of non-violence.

I can't do this. I can't fight in public like a fucking idiot.

Chip senses my hesitation and mistakes it for weakness. “Scared?” he says, advancing toward me.

I don't bother to answer. He's overconfident and inexperienced. He'd get eaten alive in prison. I'd like to beat his punk ass for putting bruises on Meghan, but not here. Not tonight. I look past him and catch a glimpse of her tear-streaked face in the crowd, her blue eyes wide with panic. She's upset because of me. I shouldn't have danced with her. I shouldn't have tried to kiss her. I shouldn't have overstepped my place.

I wish I could change what happened, but I can't. There are no words to make peace, no easy fix. So I hold up my palms in surrender and walk away.