Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction (49 page)

Taking a look in the mirror at my jeans and fitted white tee, it was as good as it was going to get for tonight’s event. Stepping into my boots, I tucked the laces inside and made my way downstairs, grabbing my car keys on my way out the door.

Star

“What time is it?” I asked the bartender.

He looked down at his watch before making eye contact. “Almost eleven,” he replied as he refilled my glass.

Dam
n it, where the hell was he?
I knew Jarred was supposed to be here tonight. I blew off tons of hopefuls with the hopes that he was going to show up, but so far, nada. In typical rock-star fashion, he was probably going to make a late entrance.

Almost an hour later, he finally came through the doors. I saw at least half a dozen girls turn to look at him, but he didn’t see them. He only saw me. Running my tongue over my lips, I commanded him forward, hopefully bringing back memories of my lips wrapped around his impressive cock. His T-shirt clung to him like a second skin, and the prominent bulge in his jeans was making me wet.

“Nice of you to show up, Mr. Sins,” I teased when he walked up to me.

His eyes narrowed. “How many have you had?”

“Not many, three maybe?” I shrugged. “I’ve been waiting to see if you were going to show. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking a lot about things, and you’re right. I need help.” I looked down at my shiny patent-leather wedges.

His hand reached out and lifted my chin. Our eyes locked and my heart started to race. “Are you being one-hundred percent honest with me?” he asked.

I nodded my head and could see he was hesitating. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left, Jarred. I haven’t even had sex with anyone else. Please,” I begged.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agreed. “No games, Star, and don’t make me regret this.”

I threw my arms around him and pressed my lips to his.

Jarred

Six Months Later . . .

I had been in the studio constantly over the past six months. To keep a better eye on Star, I had her move in to my place about three months ago. We were rarely apart those first three months anyway, so it seemed like the smart choice.

At first, she seemed to really want to change and things were heading in a positive direction, but after I started committing more time to the album, she started falling into old patterns. What was the old saying? “Old habits die hard,” or some such shit. I didn’t have as much time to offer her, and she seemed to be taking it really hard. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there, just that I couldn’t be there with her as much. Especially if she wanted to keep up the sort of lifestyle she was growing even more accustomed to.

I thought back to one of the first incidents we had after we started trying to work on things.

“Get out!” she had screamed, throwing a picture frame at my head.

“It’s my fucking house!” I had yelled back.

“Gah,” she’d said, stumbling to get up. She had taken a taxi here after the bar closed and stood there knocking until I answered. It was after three in the morning. The honking of the cabbie let me know she didn’t even pay the fare. Reaching the counter, I grabbed my wallet and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and walked them down to the curb in my boxers.

When I went back inside, Star crumpled into a ball on the floor and started having a complete meltdown.

Taking a minute to debate what to do, I knelt beside her. “Star, get up. You need to go get some rest, you can stay in the spare room.”

I wasn’t sure what to do about her anymore. I had done something I never did; I got attached. Something about her being so broken tore at my heartstrings, and I felt like it was my duty to try to save her. I knew in the end it was going to be futile, but at the same time I hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could.

So I had scooped up her small frame in my arms, carried her down the hall, put her in the queen-sized guest bed, and pulled the covers over her.

We had spent most of the next day talking, in between fuck sessions, and she’d sworn she would stop drinking. It was the only way she was coping, and before too long we were using each other to cope, but we were also slowly healing.

Today when I pulled into the driveway, I was almost certain that she would still be up, since it was only a little after eleven and she was a night owl. I opened the door and called out to her. Her dog, Buster, came running to the door to greet me. Star had insisted we adopt the little guy at a shelter last month, and I thought it was a great idea. Finally, she was thinking about someone other than herself. She doted on the little guy, and I loved seeing it.

I picked Buster up and scratched his head as I started looking for her. I could faintly smell something burning and headed toward the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She had really been attempting to try the whole housewife thing the past few weeks, and I’d had to buy new clothes and pots and pans because of it, but it was the thought that counted.

“Whatcha cooking, babe?” I said from a few feet down the hallway, but no reply.

She was sitting at the island with her head in her hands, crying her eyes out.

“Star, what’s going on? You okay?” I asked, putting Buster down and walking over to her. “Talk to me.”

“You’re going to hate me, and I ruined my cake,” she said between sobs.

“First, I’m still here after all the shit you pulled, and second your cake looks . . . fine,” I lied, looking at the burnt-to-a-crisp pile of confection on the counter.

But what I saw next made my heart stop. When I saw the white stick sporting two pink lines sitting on the counter, I felt pissed off and happy at the same time.
Fuck me!
Ironically, that was what had landed me in this situation in the first place.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” she stammered as the sobbing continued. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I understand if you don’t want to keep it.”

“Stay here,” I commanded, walking out of the room. I needed a minute. Heading up the stairs, I walked into my office and popped open my desk drawer, grabbing what I was looking for before heading back down the stairs.

Though tumultuous at times, Star had proven she could change and that she was loyal. She had even started thinking of other people, mostly me, instead of herself. I knew how hard it had to be for her since she had always been so self-absorbed. She was becoming someone that I wanted in my life. Sure, she wasn’t easy to live with, but she was all I wanted.

My heart in my throat, I bounded back down the stairs and practically skidded to a stop before her. I took a deep breath, then took her hand in mine and dropped to one knee.

“Star, that’s not your real name, Vandermark, I love you. Despite all your craziness, you’re the one for me. This is going to be a wild, uphill battle, but I want you next to me each step of the way. You’re my girl.” Then I opened the black box and pulled out a two-carat solitaire diamond with topaz, chocolate, emerald, and amethyst gemstones on each side to represent her constant eye-color changes. “Will you marry me?”

Her sobs stuttered to a halt as her eyes grew wide, then she smiled as tears still slipped down her cheeks and she whispered, “Yes.”

All the hell we went through became worth it as I slid the ring into place on her left hand and stood up to kiss her. There was so much left for us to learn and discover as we continued to grow with each other. I couldn’t wait to see her tummy grow with our future son or daughter. Her tearstained face was that of an angel, the one who saved me from my own hell. Things with us were always going to be unconventional, at best, but it was our story.

Star

A year later .
 . .

I was still in awe about how my life had changed in just a year. Jarred and I got married about a month after he proposed. We had a very chic, yet intimate, rock-and-roll ceremony surrounded by the people who mattered most, including some of my family. Sure, it was a little rushed, but he was dead-set on our sealing the deal before the baby was born.

Six months later our daughter, Ali, was born. She was everything I’d imagined she could be, and more. I started going to therapy while I was pregnant to help me get over a lot of issues I had accumulated over the years, and sometimes Jarred would even join me.

He worked hard to help me realize that life wasn’t about being perfect. It was about learning to be happy with who I was, and using those qualities to better myself and be better to others. I still had a lot of work ahead, but with Jarred and Ali on my side, there was nothing I couldn’t conquer.

I still managed to land my dream, but I did it in my own unconventional way. There would be no singing our baby broken lullabies; from now on we would only be reaching for the stars.

playlist

Papa Roach – “Hollywood Whore”

In This Moment – “Whore”

Theory of a Deadman – “Bad Girlfriend”

Age of Days – “Wrecking Machine”

Icon For Hire – “Up In Flames”

My Darkest Days – “Casual Sex”

Buckcherry – “Crazy Bitch”

About the Author

Sophie Monroe is a Jersey girl, born and bred, down to the “cawfee” and “watta.” She’s also the author of the Amazon and
USA Today
best-selling Battlescars series. With a passion for music, especially rock and roll, it only seemed fitting for her to write a rocker series. Her books reflect her sense of humor and sarcasm. She loves introducing people to new music and what she’s listening to. You can always find her playlists on the last page of every book. When she’s not writing or searching iTunes, she’s busy reading, watching movies, and being creative.

Sophie may be found on social media at:

Facebook:
Sophie Monroe Writes

Website:
www.sophiemonroewrites.com

Books by Sophie Monroe include:

Battlescars: A Rock & Roll Romance Series

Battlescars

Afflicted

Conflicted

Other Books

I Won’t Give Up

Second Chance Romance

To Love A Soldier
(coming June 2014)

by Ashley Suzanne

Edited by Tiffany Tillman

Traumatized by the abuse in her past, a hooker working in a strip club is shocked to learn that fairy tales sometimes do come true.

I am nobody. Just a girl. Just a girl that nobody really gives a shit about, not even my mother. She wouldn’t care if a cop showed up on her doorstep to tell her that her only daughter is dead. And that’s kind of where I’m headed. One can only do so much dope, fuck so many guys and live the life I live before karma catches up and puts their ass in the meat grinder.

Ask me if I fucking care. Go ahead, ask me. Okay, fine, don’t ask. The answer is going to be the same each and every time—I don’t care. There isn’t a whole lot these days that can make me bat an eyelash twice.

I’m the girl that nobody thinks twice about. I’m the girl that will lay on my back, part my thighs and let you take what you want, as long as I get something in return. Usually money, but sometimes a place to crash or some food.

That’s probably why my mother doesn’t want shit to do with me. Who wants to admit that her only daughter is a used up whore who isn’t even twenty-one yet? Probably not too many people, huh? Calling her for bail after getting picked up for hooking in the middle of the night was the last straw. It’s been six months since I’ve even heard my mother’s voice.

Over the last month, I’ve been dancing—I use that term liberally—at a strip club off the highway. Don’t get it in your head that I’m some glorified stripper strutting my stuff in my finest lingerie, six-inch platform shoes, hair perfectly curled, makeup to the nines and glittered head to toe. No, this isn’t
that
type of club. My attire usually consists of a matching bra and panty set from Wal-Mart and a pair of black pumps.

I actually just stumbled onto this job and it seemed logical to take it. What better place to find men that want to fuck for money and never get caught by a suspicious girlfriend or wife? The strip club—where the ATM withdrawal on your bank statement always reads some sort of sporting goods store. Nobody asks for your number for a second meeting
and
you can get in, get off and get out in a matter of twenty minutes. Wholesale pussy, right?

So for the last month or so, that’s what I’ve been doing. Fucking a new guy every night, in the safety of a club with bouncers and witnesses, seems better than just finding random guys on the street. At least I have
some
kind of protection. It’s the payout that kills me. On the street, I keep one hundred percent of the money. Here? That’s a different ball game. These fuckers take almost half of my money, usually leaving me enough for a dollar menu meal from a fast food spot, a roach infested motel room and a few quarters to wash my ‘uniform’ so I can work the next day.

Here I stand in the dressing room—which is more like a dingy high school locker room—staring at myself in the mirror. My limp blonde hair hangs past my shoulders, lacking any signs of life. The blue eyes that stare back at me lost their sparkle a long time ago, probably with my innocence back in high school. What I wouldn’t give to have the fair, flawless skin I had before I started this escapade. Looking at the all of the blotches and acne is just another reminder that not only did I not take proper care of my skin – I didn’t take care of me. Period.
I
wouldn’t screw me, but I’m not here to judge.

That’s the funny thing—I know that I was beautiful before all of this happened. I could have any guy I wanted, and even funnier, I never did. I was all about preserving myself and waiting to marry my Prince Charming before having sex for the first time. Leave it to my mother’s shit stain of a husband to steal that from me, just like he stole everything else.

I wonder if ‘step-daddy issues’ is a real thing. It has to be because that’s when my life started to spiral out of control. I started drinking before I went home after school, staying out later so I wouldn’t have to be alone in the house and then one thing led to another and here I am. Of course my mother would see his bank account was more valuable than the safety of her only child, but hey, what do I know?

Taking one more glance at my pathetic appearance in the mirror, I head out of the dressing room when I hear the DJ announce my name. “Everyone, please welcome our one and only Sapphire to the stage.”

Yeah, I know it’s corny as hell to use the color of my eyes as my stage name, but when you’re coming down and need to think on your feet, you tend to go with the first thing that comes to mind.

Making my way to the stage, I stop at a table full of what appears to be college guys out for a good time. I spot one who looks kind of familiar and can’t take his eyes off me. Leaning forward to give him a good shot of my full cleavage, I take his drink and slam it, never breaking eye contact. His jaw drops to the floor as I spin on my cheap high-heeled shoes to finish my way to the stage.

Instead of playing the typical dance music that the other girls do, the DJ starts to play Rob Zombie. As Rob growls through the speakers about a living dead girl, I grab the pole and do a half-assed turn. The few dollars that will land on stage tonight aren’t enough to motivate me to put on a show for these kids. I always give them exactly what they’re about to pay for; basically nothing.

Very much to my surprise, the guy that I stole the drink from is standing at the edge of the stage holding a few bills. As I inch closer, crawling across the floor like a feline, he starts to flush with embarrassment. This is something totally new to me; the guys aren’t usually nervous to approach me, especially in this environment. I’m gonna play with this one for a bit.

“Hey there, handsome,” I purr unenthusiastically.

“Hey.”

“You got something there for me?” I ask, glancing at the crumpled bills in his hand. That’s right. I have no problem getting straight to the point. I don’t do this job for the small talk.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He reaches out his hand and tries to put the money in mine.
Sweet kid doesn’t even understand the whole point of tipping a stripper.
If the bills were singles, I might just take them and saunter back to my pole, but since they’re of a much larger denomination, I give him the benefit of a doubt.

“No, sweetie, you put the money right here.” I pull the thin string of my thong away from my hip far enough for him to see what’s going on underneath the material. His eyes zero in on my flesh and he places the money under the elastic as I let it go with a
pop
.

I reach for his head, pulling it to my tits and giving him a little feel. I whisper in his ear, “Meet me at the VIP room in twenty minutes. Bring your wallet, you’re gonna need it.” And with that statement, I quickly finish my show and head off stage.

I walk over to the bar, which is stocked full of every kind of cheap booze you can imagine, and order two rum and Cokes. After slamming the first one, I nurse the second as I watch the show on stage. This girl isn’t half bad, maybe even sexy. Her large, full tits bounce freely with every twirl of the pole. When she’s on her knees, ass facing the crowd, I can see why she gives me a run for my money in the VIP room. This girl has no shame and can probably ride a dick like nobody’s business.

A little more than twenty minutes go by before I head to the VIP room to meet the college guy. He’s already patiently waiting for me on one of the sofas when I enter through the door. I pull the curtain closed when I step inside and his eyes meet mine, giving me a chill straight up my spine.
You’re drunk. Make your money, Dallas.

“How much is it per song?” This is obviously his first time in this club. He’s probably only watched strippers on TV and never actually had a dance, let alone screwed a dancer.

“I had something different in mind. Ever fucked in a VIP room before, baby?” His eyes widen in shock as he shakes his head. “Do you wanna?” He licks his lip and swallows hard before shaking his head yes.

I explain my prices to him and he doesn’t even
try
to negotiate—that
never
happens. I tell them sixty, they try to haggle me down to forty. It’s a never-ending battle, and for once it’s nice to not have to fight for my money. I almost wish I would have said more.

I take the crisp bills from his hand and put them in my purse. Slowly, I take my top off, freeing my tits. My nipples pebble under his gaze, which also doesn’t happen. This isn’t about fun for me as I’ve explained before, so my body usually doesn’t react like it typically would. I brush off the red flags waving in my mind and turn my back to him.

He slouches a little in his seat. Just because I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out, doesn’t mean he won’t get the lap dance he came back here expecting. I slowly lower myself onto his lap, lightly grinding my ass against his crotch, which is hard even before I touch him. I lean my back against his chest, still grinding but now moving my body up and down his torso.

“Can I touch?” he whispers in my ear.

“You paid for it, baby. Have at it.”

His firm hands skim up my sides, making me squirm under his touch. He cups my tits, rolling my nipples between his finger and thumb but still squeezing with his palm.
Maybe he’s not as inexperienced as I thought.

“Is this okay?”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to ask. You bought thirty minutes. Make ‘em count.” With that, one hand slides down my stomach to the hem of my thong. In one breath, his fingers make their way inside and between my lips in search of the bundle of nerves hidden so carefully beneath them. As he finds the trigger he’s searching for, my back arches against his chest and my breath hitches.
What the fuck? I never even try to get off and this fucking guy is about to bring me to my knees.

Leaving the pad of his thumb to massage my clit, his fingers continue their exploration. As they find my weeping entrance, he pushes inside so quickly and forcefully, I almost come right on the spot.

“Is this okay?”

“Baby, you need to stop asking that. If it was a problem, I would tell you.”

“Okay, I won’t ask again. I’ve just never done this before. I mean, not like
ever
, but never in public like this.” His fingers and thumb working in perfect sync, I can feel the slow burn starting low in my belly, ready to explode with one more stroke of the pad of this thumb.

“
Fuck
that feels amazing.” I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Oh well, fuck it. This is about him, and what do guys love more than knowing they left a woman satisfied?

He continues the euphoric assault, engaging all of my senses. When the song ends, he withdraws his hands and rests them at his sides all while breathing heavily in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. I shift my weight and take my thong off, leaving me entirely exposed. Turning around, I take a spot between his knees and start to undo his belt buckle.

“You really don’t have to,” he mutters, not making eye contact with me.

“Listen, Sweetie, I’m not going to argue with you. I already got my money, but if you want what you paid for, then you might want to make the best use of the twenty-six minutes you have left.”

“I’m sorry; you just look like someone I’ve met before.” You know that nasty feeling in your gut that you get right before something bad happens? Yeah, I have that. But against my better judgment, I don’t stop.

“I’ve been told I have one of those faces. So what do you say, baby?” I cup and massage my tits right in front of his face, pinching my nipples and licking my lips. He better not say he doesn’t want to. He’s got me all worked up and I need to come before I lose it.

“Every time you say ‘baby’ I can’t help but think of those cheesy old porns,” he chuckles with a grin on his face that shows his perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Okay, let’s do something I don’t usually do. What’s your name? I’ll stop calling you baby, alright?”

“Rob.”

“Alright, Rob, do you want what you paid for?” With a slight nod of his head, I get back to what I had planned for him. You’re never going to see me work this hard to fuck someone, and I can’t explain it, but something about this guy makes me
want
to screw him. I can’t put my finger on it, but hell, if I don’t stop clenching my thighs together, trying to alleviate this ache, I’m going to chafe.

I finish unbuckling his belt and unbutton his pants, sliding them just past his thighs. Instead of resuming the same position I was in earlier, I straddle him, letting my ass sit across his knees. This is usually the part that I hate—looking at them while they do nothing but eye-fuck me, waiting for me to drop down on their dick and giving them the five minute ride of their life. Sounds crass, but that’s the business, nothing classy about it.