There's Wild, Then There's You
Page 6
He stumbles, knocking Violet, Sex Addict into my arms. The shock I feel at the contact ricochets through me, taking me by surprise. Inadvertently, I pause, giving the other guy just the edge he needs.
“Mind your own business, asshole,” he mumbles, wheeling around and swinging his right arm in the wide arc of a backhand aimed at my head. I duck it easily, but I don’t move quickly enough to catch the left-handed follow-through. The one that catches Violet right in the side of the head.
A surge of violence rips through me when I feel her slam into me. I see red, and am all but ready to tear this guy’s throat out when Violet, Sex Addict straightens away from me and addresses the asshole.
“What’s your name?” she asks loudly, moving out of the line of fire, yet close enough to be face-to-face with the drunken shit-for-brains.
At first, he doesn’t answer. I’m sure adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and this wasn’t what he was expecting after throwing the first punch. He watches Violet for several seconds with a confused expression before he finally answers, “Gary.”
“Gary,” Violet begins with a calm, reasonable voice. “While I’m sure Tia is flattered by your . . . compliments, she’s got a fiancé whom she loves very much. We came here to visit our friend, Jet, and that’s what we’d like to do now. I’d be forever grateful if you could point me in the direction of the bar so I could get some ice for this,” she says, smiling as she points to the side of her head.
Gary responds immediately. “Did I hit you? I swear to God I didn’t meant to hit you. I was aiming for this—”
Before he can get all belligerent again, Violet interrupts in her soothing way. “I know you didn’t, Gary. I’m fine. I’d just like to get a little ice. Now,” she says, gently taking his arm and turning him away from us to face into the room, “could you point it out to me, please?”
Wobbling unsteadily on his feet, Gary points in the direction of the bar that sits a few feet from the back wall. It’s impossible to miss as soon as you walk in, and I’m sure Violet didn’t miss it. It’s just serving her purpose very well right now to let Gary help her.
Violet smiles up at him, patting his arm like he’s a wayward child. “Thank you, Gary. Now, it looks like someone over there is trying to get your attention.” She nods toward a group of guys pointing at Gary and laughing.
“Heyyy, Todd!” Gary exclaims loudly, throwing his arm into the air in greeting. He lumbers off and, just like that, the crisis is averted.
When Violet turns back to me, she looks cool as a cucumber.
“Damn, that was impressive,” I observe.
She shrugs, but even in the low light, I can see the pink stain enter her cheeks. “It was no big deal.”
Before I can give it a second thought, I reach up to stroke one satiny side of her face. “Maybe not to you . . .”
She stares up into my eyes and, for a second, we’re just two people who are incredibly attracted to one another. We’re not addicts or posers, or liars or cheaters. We’re not people with issues or those who keep secrets. We’re just a guy and a girl who feel an undeniable chemistry.
But then, as I watch, her carefully constructed cool, unaffected exterior drops down like a protective blanket, reminding me of how I’m supposed to be behaving—like someone who’s not trying to get her into my bed.
“Sorry,” I whisper, not totally insincerely. I take a step back from Violet, giving her the space she needs before she asks for it, and I take her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you some ice.”
“Really, it’s not—” she begins, only to be interrupted by her lively friend.
“Holy shit, Vi! You took that punch like a champ!”
“Thanks, Tia. That’s something I’ve always wanted to hear.”
Someone calls out to Tia and she stops, looking around for the face that goes with the voice. It’s evident the moment she spots the owner that he is familiar to her. Her face lights up and she squeals, “Annndy!” and then takes off across the room toward yet another guy that I don’t know.
I glance down at Violet. With a somewhat resigned expression, she’s watching her go. I squeeze her fingers. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”
Her smile is small, but she nods, and we continue on toward the bar.
THIRTEEN: Violet
When we stop at the bar, I glance back over my shoulder to make sure I can still see Tia. Coming here at all was probably a bad idea. Coming here with her was probably flat-out stupid. This night might well end in disaster.
If Jet thinks this is the kind of place that might spell trouble for him, then the same goes for Tia. Maybe even more so. She’s in a room full of horny, drunk men and she’s one of only a handful of females. And, from what I can see, quite a few of the guys are young and attractive. That plus alcohol is not a good combo for Tia’s self-control.
“She’ll be fine. We won’t let her get into trouble,” Jet says from my side, drawing my eyes back to him. Even in this low light, I’m awestruck by how handsome he is and how incredibly dumb it was for me to engage in any kind of relationship with him. He practically oozes heartbreaker.
“We won’t?” I ask, grinning over the “we” part.
Jet shrugs and throws me a sheepish grin. “Okay, maybe I should’ve said you’ve got your hands full tonight.” I smile and nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But I promise to be on my best behavior, if that helps.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Seriously, though, it makes a difference that you’re here. Just you being here is . . . is . . .” The way he’s watching me makes me feel breathless and giddy, like I’m in some kind of strangely thrilling dream, one where there are no consequences. Only this isn’t a dream. And getting involved with Jet in any romantic way would come with very real and very painful consequences, I’m sure. “Well, it helps. I’ll just say that.”
“Isn’t that why you asked me to come?”
He watches me for several long seconds before shaking his head. For some reason, I don’t believe him when he says, “Yes, it was.” It’s almost as though he silently finishes the thought with, wasn’t it?
We stand at the bar, staring at each other, lost in our own moment, when the bartender speaks. “What can I get you?”
Jet answers him without taking his eyes off mine, which is, somehow, very disconcerting. “We’ll start with some ice first.”
The way he says it—his voice low and velvety, his eyes boring hot holes into mine—makes it sound like he has very naughty plans for that ice. Or is that just the way I heard it?
It takes all my strength to argue. “No, no. Please. That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“No, really. It doesn’t hurt and I’d rather not draw any attention to it.” The more I think about having to ice my head at a party, the more humiliating the prospect becomes.
Jet’s eyes narrow on me. “To it or to you?”
I resist the urge to look away. “Either,” I say with a casual smile.
He says nothing for the longest time, just watches me. When he does speak, his voice is thoughtful. “Then what will you have to drink, lovely Violet?”
I feel a little thrill vibrate along my nerve ends and land in the very pit of my stomach. Maybe I didn’t imagine his intonation about the ice. “I’ll have a Coke.”
Jet raises one brow. “Just a Coke? Nothing in it?”
“Nope. Just ice.”
Jet turns to the bartender and orders a Coke for me and a beer for himself. I feel both bereft and focused without his eyes on me. But when he returns his attention to me, and I’m as mesmerized as ever, I’m strangely relieved to be caught in his web again.
“Don’t you drink?”
“Yes, of course. I just ordered a Coke.”
Jet grins, and my heart trips over itself. “I love a smart-ass.”
“Glad to hear it,” I offer, with a grin of my own. I know I shouldn’t be indulging in playful banter with Jet. I know I shouldn’t. And yet . . .
“But I’m not that easily put off. Why don’t you drink?”
“Are you asking if I have a problem with alcohol?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you drink?”
“I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control.”
“Having one drink doesn’t mean that you’re not in control.”
“But it could lead to more.”
“Sometimes more isn’t a bad thing. It’s the ‘too much’ that seems to be problematic.”
“To me, that’s like playing with fire. Pushing the limits to see how far you can go before you’ve gone too far and can’t find your way back.”
Jet’s eyes are the most intense thing I’ve ever seen. “And you don’t like to play with fire?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“So your philosophy in life is to abstain from everything on the off chance that you could become addicted?”
As difficult as it is to think straight around him, I do my best to digest his words, his real meaning and respond. “Essentially, yes.”
“Well, I know there’s at least one thing you can’t resist,” he says with a wink.
I c**k my head to the side, feeling careless for maybe the first time in my entire life. “You don’t think I can resist you?”
“What makes you think I was talking about me?”
There’s a dare in his eyes.
It takes a few seconds for me to remember I’m supposed to be a sex addict. He thinks I have a hard time resisting sex.
I let out a slow, even breath. “I try not to let anything get under my skin anymore.”
Jet nods, his gaze still holding mine, refusing to let go. “Maybe you can teach me that trick,” he says softly.
“You have to want it.”
“Oh, I want it.” Something tells me he’s not referring to restraint.
“That makes the rest easier.”
“The rest?”
“Saying no.”
Staring at me over the bottle as he tips it up, Jet takes a drink of his beer. “Yeah, that’s where I have a little trouble. I don’t like that word.”
“Well, you’d better get used to it.”
“Are you gonna teach me that, too?”
My heart is pounding. For the space of a breath, I think that I don’t want him to say no. Not to me. I don’t want him to resist me. Just like I don’t want to resist him.
It’s just that I need to. It’s the smart, prudent choice for me, the only one that will ensure self-preservation. And that’s always been my main goal—to defend against any weakness that might destroy me.
The problem is, this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to give in. That should scare me. And it does.
Another problem is it also excites me.
* * *
When Jet led me, drinks in hand, to the semicircle of sofas placed around the center of the room, I never expected him to sit beside me the whole night. Yet that’s what he’s done. For two hours now, he’s lounged beside me, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, fingertips barely grazing my shoulder. I’m sure that I should protest, that I should mind. But I don’t. I don’t protest, and I very much don’t mind.
Within minutes of us sitting down, others started to follow suit, sprawling on the other sofas, gathering around Jet like cheerleaders around the quarterback. I would think it bizarre if I didn’t completely understand it. Jet has a charisma about him, a magnetism that draws people in. I can see it in their eyes as they watch him, listen to him, interact with him.
Jet doesn’t seem the least bit affected by it, but I’m sure he notices. I have no doubt he knows exactly how people respond to him.
Especially women.
I can feel the eyes of every female in the place on me, stabbing me with knives of envy. Even the ones that are ostensibly here with other men seem to be waiting for the moment when Jet will leave my side so they can swoop in and make their move.
I’m relieved that Tia has stayed within eyesight. I haven’t been able to tell how much she’s drinking, but she seems in control, like she’s just having fun socializing. I hope that’s all it is.
A loud siren sounds and a red strobe light starts to flash on the makeshift stage set in front of the couches. Along the back wall, a curtain that I hadn’t even noticed before parts to reveal a huge plaster cake on wheels. Two guys wheel it to the center of the stage and jump down to scoot onto the rapidly filling couches.
The music gets louder and the lights dim even more as people start to clap and cheer. Someone brings a folding chair and sets it directly in front of the cake. Seconds later, three guys escort the man I presume is the groom-to-be to the chair and push him down into it.
“Jake! Jake! Jake!” the crowd chants. Jake, a ridiculously handsome guy wearing a fireman’s hat and a big smile, shakes his head.
“Oh, no! The only girl I’m interested in is meeting me at the church tomorrow.”
A mixture of boos and claps ring out. A red-haired guy steps up and whispers something in his ear and then slaps him on the back good-naturedly.
“He’ll tough it out. No need to worry,” the smiling auburn-haired man yells as he turns toward the rest of the room. I can see that he’s quite good-looking, too. It makes me wonder if all of Jet’s friends are hot.
“Mind your own business, asshole,” he mumbles, wheeling around and swinging his right arm in the wide arc of a backhand aimed at my head. I duck it easily, but I don’t move quickly enough to catch the left-handed follow-through. The one that catches Violet right in the side of the head.
A surge of violence rips through me when I feel her slam into me. I see red, and am all but ready to tear this guy’s throat out when Violet, Sex Addict straightens away from me and addresses the asshole.
“What’s your name?” she asks loudly, moving out of the line of fire, yet close enough to be face-to-face with the drunken shit-for-brains.
At first, he doesn’t answer. I’m sure adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and this wasn’t what he was expecting after throwing the first punch. He watches Violet for several seconds with a confused expression before he finally answers, “Gary.”
“Gary,” Violet begins with a calm, reasonable voice. “While I’m sure Tia is flattered by your . . . compliments, she’s got a fiancé whom she loves very much. We came here to visit our friend, Jet, and that’s what we’d like to do now. I’d be forever grateful if you could point me in the direction of the bar so I could get some ice for this,” she says, smiling as she points to the side of her head.
Gary responds immediately. “Did I hit you? I swear to God I didn’t meant to hit you. I was aiming for this—”
Before he can get all belligerent again, Violet interrupts in her soothing way. “I know you didn’t, Gary. I’m fine. I’d just like to get a little ice. Now,” she says, gently taking his arm and turning him away from us to face into the room, “could you point it out to me, please?”
Wobbling unsteadily on his feet, Gary points in the direction of the bar that sits a few feet from the back wall. It’s impossible to miss as soon as you walk in, and I’m sure Violet didn’t miss it. It’s just serving her purpose very well right now to let Gary help her.
Violet smiles up at him, patting his arm like he’s a wayward child. “Thank you, Gary. Now, it looks like someone over there is trying to get your attention.” She nods toward a group of guys pointing at Gary and laughing.
“Heyyy, Todd!” Gary exclaims loudly, throwing his arm into the air in greeting. He lumbers off and, just like that, the crisis is averted.
When Violet turns back to me, she looks cool as a cucumber.
“Damn, that was impressive,” I observe.
She shrugs, but even in the low light, I can see the pink stain enter her cheeks. “It was no big deal.”
Before I can give it a second thought, I reach up to stroke one satiny side of her face. “Maybe not to you . . .”
She stares up into my eyes and, for a second, we’re just two people who are incredibly attracted to one another. We’re not addicts or posers, or liars or cheaters. We’re not people with issues or those who keep secrets. We’re just a guy and a girl who feel an undeniable chemistry.
But then, as I watch, her carefully constructed cool, unaffected exterior drops down like a protective blanket, reminding me of how I’m supposed to be behaving—like someone who’s not trying to get her into my bed.
“Sorry,” I whisper, not totally insincerely. I take a step back from Violet, giving her the space she needs before she asks for it, and I take her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you some ice.”
“Really, it’s not—” she begins, only to be interrupted by her lively friend.
“Holy shit, Vi! You took that punch like a champ!”
“Thanks, Tia. That’s something I’ve always wanted to hear.”
Someone calls out to Tia and she stops, looking around for the face that goes with the voice. It’s evident the moment she spots the owner that he is familiar to her. Her face lights up and she squeals, “Annndy!” and then takes off across the room toward yet another guy that I don’t know.
I glance down at Violet. With a somewhat resigned expression, she’s watching her go. I squeeze her fingers. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”
Her smile is small, but she nods, and we continue on toward the bar.
THIRTEEN: Violet
When we stop at the bar, I glance back over my shoulder to make sure I can still see Tia. Coming here at all was probably a bad idea. Coming here with her was probably flat-out stupid. This night might well end in disaster.
If Jet thinks this is the kind of place that might spell trouble for him, then the same goes for Tia. Maybe even more so. She’s in a room full of horny, drunk men and she’s one of only a handful of females. And, from what I can see, quite a few of the guys are young and attractive. That plus alcohol is not a good combo for Tia’s self-control.
“She’ll be fine. We won’t let her get into trouble,” Jet says from my side, drawing my eyes back to him. Even in this low light, I’m awestruck by how handsome he is and how incredibly dumb it was for me to engage in any kind of relationship with him. He practically oozes heartbreaker.
“We won’t?” I ask, grinning over the “we” part.
Jet shrugs and throws me a sheepish grin. “Okay, maybe I should’ve said you’ve got your hands full tonight.” I smile and nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But I promise to be on my best behavior, if that helps.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Seriously, though, it makes a difference that you’re here. Just you being here is . . . is . . .” The way he’s watching me makes me feel breathless and giddy, like I’m in some kind of strangely thrilling dream, one where there are no consequences. Only this isn’t a dream. And getting involved with Jet in any romantic way would come with very real and very painful consequences, I’m sure. “Well, it helps. I’ll just say that.”
“Isn’t that why you asked me to come?”
He watches me for several long seconds before shaking his head. For some reason, I don’t believe him when he says, “Yes, it was.” It’s almost as though he silently finishes the thought with, wasn’t it?
We stand at the bar, staring at each other, lost in our own moment, when the bartender speaks. “What can I get you?”
Jet answers him without taking his eyes off mine, which is, somehow, very disconcerting. “We’ll start with some ice first.”
The way he says it—his voice low and velvety, his eyes boring hot holes into mine—makes it sound like he has very naughty plans for that ice. Or is that just the way I heard it?
It takes all my strength to argue. “No, no. Please. That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“No, really. It doesn’t hurt and I’d rather not draw any attention to it.” The more I think about having to ice my head at a party, the more humiliating the prospect becomes.
Jet’s eyes narrow on me. “To it or to you?”
I resist the urge to look away. “Either,” I say with a casual smile.
He says nothing for the longest time, just watches me. When he does speak, his voice is thoughtful. “Then what will you have to drink, lovely Violet?”
I feel a little thrill vibrate along my nerve ends and land in the very pit of my stomach. Maybe I didn’t imagine his intonation about the ice. “I’ll have a Coke.”
Jet raises one brow. “Just a Coke? Nothing in it?”
“Nope. Just ice.”
Jet turns to the bartender and orders a Coke for me and a beer for himself. I feel both bereft and focused without his eyes on me. But when he returns his attention to me, and I’m as mesmerized as ever, I’m strangely relieved to be caught in his web again.
“Don’t you drink?”
“Yes, of course. I just ordered a Coke.”
Jet grins, and my heart trips over itself. “I love a smart-ass.”
“Glad to hear it,” I offer, with a grin of my own. I know I shouldn’t be indulging in playful banter with Jet. I know I shouldn’t. And yet . . .
“But I’m not that easily put off. Why don’t you drink?”
“Are you asking if I have a problem with alcohol?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you drink?”
“I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control.”
“Having one drink doesn’t mean that you’re not in control.”
“But it could lead to more.”
“Sometimes more isn’t a bad thing. It’s the ‘too much’ that seems to be problematic.”
“To me, that’s like playing with fire. Pushing the limits to see how far you can go before you’ve gone too far and can’t find your way back.”
Jet’s eyes are the most intense thing I’ve ever seen. “And you don’t like to play with fire?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“So your philosophy in life is to abstain from everything on the off chance that you could become addicted?”
As difficult as it is to think straight around him, I do my best to digest his words, his real meaning and respond. “Essentially, yes.”
“Well, I know there’s at least one thing you can’t resist,” he says with a wink.
I c**k my head to the side, feeling careless for maybe the first time in my entire life. “You don’t think I can resist you?”
“What makes you think I was talking about me?”
There’s a dare in his eyes.
It takes a few seconds for me to remember I’m supposed to be a sex addict. He thinks I have a hard time resisting sex.
I let out a slow, even breath. “I try not to let anything get under my skin anymore.”
Jet nods, his gaze still holding mine, refusing to let go. “Maybe you can teach me that trick,” he says softly.
“You have to want it.”
“Oh, I want it.” Something tells me he’s not referring to restraint.
“That makes the rest easier.”
“The rest?”
“Saying no.”
Staring at me over the bottle as he tips it up, Jet takes a drink of his beer. “Yeah, that’s where I have a little trouble. I don’t like that word.”
“Well, you’d better get used to it.”
“Are you gonna teach me that, too?”
My heart is pounding. For the space of a breath, I think that I don’t want him to say no. Not to me. I don’t want him to resist me. Just like I don’t want to resist him.
It’s just that I need to. It’s the smart, prudent choice for me, the only one that will ensure self-preservation. And that’s always been my main goal—to defend against any weakness that might destroy me.
The problem is, this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to give in. That should scare me. And it does.
Another problem is it also excites me.
* * *
When Jet led me, drinks in hand, to the semicircle of sofas placed around the center of the room, I never expected him to sit beside me the whole night. Yet that’s what he’s done. For two hours now, he’s lounged beside me, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, fingertips barely grazing my shoulder. I’m sure that I should protest, that I should mind. But I don’t. I don’t protest, and I very much don’t mind.
Within minutes of us sitting down, others started to follow suit, sprawling on the other sofas, gathering around Jet like cheerleaders around the quarterback. I would think it bizarre if I didn’t completely understand it. Jet has a charisma about him, a magnetism that draws people in. I can see it in their eyes as they watch him, listen to him, interact with him.
Jet doesn’t seem the least bit affected by it, but I’m sure he notices. I have no doubt he knows exactly how people respond to him.
Especially women.
I can feel the eyes of every female in the place on me, stabbing me with knives of envy. Even the ones that are ostensibly here with other men seem to be waiting for the moment when Jet will leave my side so they can swoop in and make their move.
I’m relieved that Tia has stayed within eyesight. I haven’t been able to tell how much she’s drinking, but she seems in control, like she’s just having fun socializing. I hope that’s all it is.
A loud siren sounds and a red strobe light starts to flash on the makeshift stage set in front of the couches. Along the back wall, a curtain that I hadn’t even noticed before parts to reveal a huge plaster cake on wheels. Two guys wheel it to the center of the stage and jump down to scoot onto the rapidly filling couches.
The music gets louder and the lights dim even more as people start to clap and cheer. Someone brings a folding chair and sets it directly in front of the cake. Seconds later, three guys escort the man I presume is the groom-to-be to the chair and push him down into it.
“Jake! Jake! Jake!” the crowd chants. Jake, a ridiculously handsome guy wearing a fireman’s hat and a big smile, shakes his head.
“Oh, no! The only girl I’m interested in is meeting me at the church tomorrow.”
A mixture of boos and claps ring out. A red-haired guy steps up and whispers something in his ear and then slaps him on the back good-naturedly.
“He’ll tough it out. No need to worry,” the smiling auburn-haired man yells as he turns toward the rest of the room. I can see that he’s quite good-looking, too. It makes me wonder if all of Jet’s friends are hot.
