Sidelined (17 page)

I roll my eyes. No matter how many times I explain the dynamics of the relationship Jack and I have, she just doesn’t seem to get it. Yes, I can fuck the guy without wanting more than one or two orgasms from him. Yes, I can go to his house, sleep with him, actually sleep with him, and leave the next morning without wanting to put my toothbrush in the cup in his bathroom.

Sweet shit.

My friends are impossible.

“Fuck football talk,” Ryann mutters. “Hell, fuck guy talk.”

I lean into Leah. “She needs to get laid,” I whisper. “Talk to Cole?”

Leah snorts. “About sex? His sex? No, thanks.”

“Not his sex. The prospect of sex. Different things.”

She smirks at me and pulls her phone from her pocket. I glance over as she sends a simple text to Cole.

Ry needs to get laid. Will be at Rapture in 30.

I laugh into my hand and take the double shot Ry hands me. This shit better be fucking tequila.

Ugh. No, it’s vodka. What is wrong with Ryann that she doesn’t know that vodka is for emergencies only? Tequila first and foremost.

There’s a beep outside, followed by Ryann’s buzzer ringing seconds later.

“Yes?” she says.

“Ms. Sloane?”

“Yes?”

“Your car is waiting for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you. We’ll be down in a moment.” She releases the buzzer then widens her eyes at us. “I have a car,” she whispers loudly. “I’m, like, somebody!”

I grin, grabbing my red high heels and slipping my feet into them. Really, my confidence with men might be crumbled to cheesecake-crumb worthy, but it’s a real good thing that my self-confidence hasn’t been affected. So my two best friends are famous and I’m the chick doing her second college course. No fucks given here.

When we’re all shoed and pursed up, we make our way down the waiting sleek, black car. Ryann climbs in first, followed by me, then Leah. Although I say no fucks given, I’m probably the only one who isn’t used to this treatment. Private cars, free champagne, suited chauffeurs…

Still, I’m taking the champagne. Because.

We clink glasses and tip them up. Within seconds, we’ve all downed the bubbly fizz in one go and giggle at our own speed. This is already one hell of a girls’ night—and going to Rapture will top it off for sure.

Our journey is short and sweet. Unsurprisingly, when the driver pulls up outside Rapture, cameras flash and Ryann takes a deep breath. I take her hand in mine and squeeze. For Leah, this is normal. For me and Ry, it’s alien, even if she is on the verge of super-megastar status in Hollywood. She’s still “that girl in Chasing Tucker.”

Leah grasps my hand and confidently leads me out of the car. One by one, we exit the car and straighten, and I kind of wish I had a free hand to pull my dress down, but I don’t, so what the hell. If my panties are on show, then hello, paparazzi. Get a good shot, fuckers.

Leah leads us to the door and smiles at the doorman. With a flick of her hair and a lean into his ear accompanied with a rundown of our names, we’re waved into the club.

“Bar!” Leah tells me.

I relay the message to Ryann, and she nods. Expertly, Leah leads us through the crowd and toward the sprawling, celebrity-ridden crowd. A familiar dark-blond head appears in front of us, and I smirk.

Leah taps his shoulder.

Cole turns around. “Leah!”

“Hi, little bro.” She grins, swinging me and Ryann around so we take up the bar space. “You up next for drinks?”

“Can be.” He whistles sharply and stands on the bars of a stool. A barmaid quickly comes over to him, her tits popping from her button-down shirt. Leah talks into his ear, and Cole yells, “Four tequila shots, one Bud, and three mojitos. Thanks, darlin’. Wait,” he snaps, turning to Leah. “Four tequila shots?”

Leah grins. “On my tab, Cole!”

“Parents ain’t even married and she’s goin’ all big sister on me. Fuck!” Cole mumbles. After a moment of shaking his head, he looks up. “Macey! How are ya, hon?”

“I’m good,” I answer, not complaining at the one-armed hug he embraces me in. “You?”

“I’m good, babe. Yeah.” His eyes travel over me. “That Ryann?”

I smirk. “Sure is.”

“Ry! Hey!”

Ry turns. “What?”

Cole grins. “C’mere.”

Oh, he got Leah’s text, all right.

He tugs Ry against his side, his hand resting firmly at her hip. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight,” he yells.

“You didn’t ask,” she replies equally as loudly.

Four shots appear in front of us. I grin as the barmaid puts four slices of lemon on plates and holds out a saltshaker. I shove my hand out to her and she shakes. Leah, Ryann, and Cole do the same, Cole muttering the whole time.

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

A rush floods through me at the shot. Oh, tequila, come to Mama.

“Dance,” I demand, grasping the hands of my best friends.

I tug them toward the dance floor and into the throng of people. We end up somewhere in the middle, Pharrell’s “Gust of Wind” pounding through the giant speakers by the DJ. I lift our hands, ready to let go, desperate to let go. Ready and desperate for my girls, and only my girls.

The beat is so easy to dance to, especially when it’s remixed, and all three of us grind our hips to the beat. Hands clasped, beat bouncing from the walls, bodies moving with the beat, lights flashing. All these things combine with the alcohol into an intoxicating mix.

But my girls are what matter. Our laughs. Our smiles. Cole brings us shots to the edge of the dance floor, which we throw back with careless abandon, but it doesn’t compare to us. The three of us together, alcohol flooding our veins, letting that same shot-filled, careless abandon take over.

Our hips, they rock. Our mouths, they sing. Our hearts, they pound.

I know because we are one and the same.

We breathe the same air with every shouted song lyric we sing. Well, we try to sing. Our words are unfortunately garbled by alcohol, but hey. We kind of sound the same, okay?

Hands fall on my hips, and I fall back, but at Leah’s raised eyebrows, I relax. It’s either Jack or some guy I don’t know, and right now, I’m totally down for some guy I don’t know.

I roll my hips with the movements of his hands, feeling the music. The spotlights fly over us every few seconds, and the beat guides my movements, pulling me into the music.

Until I hear my name screamed by one of my best friends and my body is wrenched from Hip-Slider’s grip.

“The fuck!”

I’m pulled until I’m straddling a body in the corner of a booth. The body is hard and muscular, and as my fingertips trawl over his body, I recognize the dips of his stomach.

His lips trail along my jaw in a slow, teasing move. Yet they’re angry. They’re pissed the hell off, and every cell in my body ignites with a fearless desire that illuminates me entirely.

“Cute,” Jack’s voice rasps into my ear. He presses my body into the corner of the booth. “That your ex can drag his fucking sorry ass into this club and assume I won’t follow you here.”

“You followed me?” Anger threads through despite the shock of his words.

“Right here,” Jack confirms. His hand slides up my side from my hip to the side of my head, where he twines my hair between his fingers.

“Pretty sure stalking is illegal,” I breathe.

“You think I give a flying fuck?” Jack answers. “You think I give ten million flying fucking fucks if you being safe from him is legal?”

“I’m safe,” I grind out, shoving at him.

“Yeah? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure the cock your ass was grinding against five minutes ago was Mitch’s.”

My lungs burst with the sharpness of my inhale. “We agreed no fucking other people,” I reply to cover the shake in my voice. “Not hug, kiss, or grind on anyone else.”

On my words, I tear free from him and storm through the gyrating bodies until I find Leah and Ryann. They both stare at me, confused, but I don’t give a shit. I have no fucks, asses, shits, or cares left to give.

I grasp their hands, and we hit the bar. After another few rounds of shots while I glare over my shoulder at no one in particular, Leah steps in. She guides me back to the dance floor—a smart move—and makes me shake my hips like I own them. And I do.

The three of us—we create carnage. We draw unwanted attention that’s soon thwarted by Corey as he drags Leah away from us. Apart from that, Ryann and I move like the dance floor of Rapture was made for us.

We step into each other, our fronts moving together, neither of us feeling anything except laughter. Neither of us sensing anything but pure amusement.

I gasp when I’m pulled backward and arms snake around my stomach. I also tense. They’re arms I know but aren’t immediately familiar. They’re warm and possessive and make me smile from their comforting feeling.

Lips touch the back of my neck. Solid and firm get gentle, they caress me, and hands move to my hips. The hands move my hips against theirs, and I breathe out slowly. We move to the main floor, hands at my waist, lips at my neck—I’m completely helpless. Tingles and quivers crawl across my skin.

Until hands are ripped from me and I’m shoved across the dance floor and out of the club.

“Fuck you!”

Jack steps against me, his profile gorgeously illuminated in the moonlight. “Fuck me, M? How about fuck you, baby? How about a big fucking fuck you for the last fifteen minutes of your ass grinding against his that I’ve had to endure? How about a big fucking fuck you for the second I drag your ass down those stairs and hand you back to him?”

“Do it,” I snap, staring at him. “I don’t belong to him, handsome, but I don’t belong to you, either. You wanna hand me back to him? Then do it. But guess who won’t be getting my cocksucking skills.”

Jack cups my jaw. “You’re drunk.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m drunk. I deserve it this week. Don’t you think?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’ve had one hell of a week.”

“I get that, M.”

“Do you?” I whisper harshly. “Your ex turn up after a year of nothing with a helluva bombshell, Jack? Your ex turn up just when you fucking thought you’d found a guy who knew you? Just when you’d found a guy who knew your buttons?”

I’m rambling, but it’s the most nonsensical rambling I’ve ever done in my life.

“You get what it’s like to have your world ripped apart, then glued together, then torn apart in a fucking asshole way?” I shove at his chest, the mild night tingling at my skin. “Do you know what it’s like to think your world was finally getting back to some semblance of fucking perfect to have it ripped apart again and again and again? To have it shredded so badly that that maybe the only guy you think you can trust other than your family is the person standing in front of you?”

“News flash!” Jack growls, slamming me against the wall of the club. “I’ve felt that shit and you fucking know it, so quit your bullshit. You want me, M, baby, you shove his bullshit up your fucking ass. I don’t want his shit. I want you.”

A body shoves between us and I scream, hugging my clasped hands to my chest. Two murky figures are brawling in front of me. Two figures I know well. Jack and Mitch. Fists are flying and arms are swinging, and I can’t breathe for the apprehension and fear of what’s unfolding in front of me.

“Stop!” I shout, fear coiling in my stomach. I wrap my arms around my waist when they don’t. “Stop!”

The extra volume of Leah’s and Ryann’s voices make them stop.

One looks at me with remorse and guilt built from love.

The other looks at me with the kind of guilt that reeks of protection and screams of apology.

Leah whistles sharply and flags the nearest cab. He tries to protest, but she responds with, “Leah Veronica. You in the mood to piss off a Veronica?” and he brakes sharply, leaning back to open the door. Ryann slides in, followed by Leah.

My eyes connect with Mitch’s, his lip swollen and bleeding. Then they find Jack’s, his face perfectly untouched by Mitch.

And I rest my head on the back of the seat. “You know where,” I whisper to Leah.

Squeezing my fingers, she directs the driver to the correct address.