Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy) Page 7

  There were all kinds of shots ready for us in the VIP so DeAndre and I agreed to try one of each. First up was a potent miniature pina colada shot with a large piece of pineapple at the bottom to chase it down. It tasted like a very sour, very thick coconut smoothie. Looking out over the dance floor, I spotted Skylar watching, presumably for drunk girls that needed to be saved, but I didn’t think he was me. Still, I wasn’t ready to face him.

  Next was the obligatory “Sex on the Beach”, a classic I’d grown accustomed to on Spring Break where I’d tried it for the first time. Club Grit made theirs with Midori and it had a great almost watermelon-like consistency to match, as if it was kind of like a slush or granite instead of just a plain drink. Finally, we had three shots of tequila, done as fast as possible, with a mandatory salt lick off of each other’s lips in between. It was messy, it was dirty, and it got the job done, as I could barely make it down the stairs without DeAndre’s help at first. I’d had a bit too much to drink, but I was more confident than ever.

  I pulled DeAndre over to the corner where Skylar was surveying the dance floor. Why wasn’t he looking at me? Why wasn’t he giving me attention? Why wouldn’t he look me in the fucking eye and either tell me to fuck off or that he wanted me? What was his fucking problem?

  What was mine?

  I stationed DeAndre in front of Skylar’s line of sight and bent over doing what I’d seen on television, rubbing my ass all over his crotch. He grabbed it and practically opened it like a peach. It was too much for me but I didn’t care. There were more important things to me that something stupid like limits, boundary, or comfort. There were things like honor, revenge, and reputation. I wasn’t about to let Skylar be the guy that blew me off or the one that got away. I was going to lure him in. I was going to make him want me. And then? I was going to reject him. I’d be the one to push him away, because I’d never let any guy be the one to push me away. How far would I go with it? Would I just deny him a dance? Would I keep showing up at the club, teasing him in shorter and shorter dresses? Or would I fuck him, getting up and leaving as I felt him get ready to cum? Would I date him for months until he proposed and then leave him in the dust?

  No, this was just a game. It always had been, or at least, it always had to be.

  “What now, Skylar? How do you like me now? How do you like me now, Skylar?” I kept teasing, not able to stop myself. I knew I’d taken too much that night, too many of those beautiful pills that I just had to collect in my mouth and transform into happiness just using my stomach and intestines (I had paid attention in bio), but I didn’t really care. DeAndre was smiling. He loved the attention and as his cock grew rock hard in his pants, I twirled around his body, the way that I might twirl around a pole if I’d been a stripper.

  Secret: I’d almost considered doing that when I learned I hadn’t got my scholarship. I’d seriously considered moving out to LA anyway and starting to strip or maybe even get into porn. A girl from home had done that and of course, people had talked, but she had one of the biggest houses in town after she’d started in her movies. Rumor had it she kept cam whoring out of her house to pay the bills because she’d spent the money too fast. That wasn’t going to be me, though. That wasn’t going to be me. I was willing to do anything to get that degree and sacrifice my reputation now for a lifetime of comfort, but I’d never expected my parents to win the lottery, to be able to charge happiness that came in bottles and orange canisters with white labels to a black card, to be able to make everything disappear with some substances.

  But what Skylar was looking at wasn’t me, but DeAndre. “You need to leave,” he said to DeAndre. I’d never taken Skylar for a defensive type. The fact that the guy who had been ignoring me, who had basically kept me on edge, kept me needing and wanting, was getting jealous, was perfect. That was my plan: to make him want me and to be able to deny him what he’d want, the way he’d been denying me and knew it. I didn’t like being Gatsby, looking at his number as if it was a green light across the waters and wondering if I should reach out and contact him, if I should sent smoke signals or wave a flag or do something to get his attention, if I should text or find him on Facebook or send him a Snapchat of my naked breasts to get some sort of reaction out of him. I wasn’t supposed to be Gatsby, I wasn’t supposed to be Ophelia, drowning.

  And Skylar, the Skylar I’d found myself inexplicably drawn to that first night at Club Grit, the Skylar I’d wanted to nuzzle into at the coffee shop and just forget about the life I had at UCBH with, the Skylar that was sour and sweet at the same time? Skylar was now a lion and he practically snarled, “This isn’t about you, Emma. This is about him. DeAndre’s been banned from the club since a few weeks ago. He was found in the closet with a blacked out drunk girl, or should I say, inside of her? She didn’t press charges but he was kicked out of the club, for good. And right now, he needs to leave.”

  “Whatever, dude, you going to make me?” challenged DeAndre. He had guts, challenging a bouncer when he had no bros to back him up, but maybe he’d forgotten that, forgotten that as a bouncer, this was Skylar’s turf. This wasn’t anything goes Pub Night, this was Club Grit, and there were rules that Skylar was paid to enforce, rules he took seriously. If he was going to have DeAndre leave, he was going to have DeAndre leave, and if he had to use force? Well, he was a bouncer, not a negotiator. He knew how to make problems disappear.

  “Yeah, maybe I fucking am.” DeAndre’s eyes widened as Skylar came up and separated us. He took DeAndre by the collar and I followed.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Yes, I fucking can! It’s my job. I’m a bouncer, not your boyfriend, and I look out for everyone at the club. But, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t hang out with this scumbag anymore, no matter who his daddy is.”

  I looked at Skylar. Was he serious? Dead serious.

  I looked at DeAndre. Was he going to leave? Not a chance in Hell.

  I looked to the VIP. My friends were watching this wide eyed. I half expected Becca to drop her drink. The guy I always saw in the VIP, with lots of girls, the guy from Thursday? He came down the stairs and towards Skylar.

  “Is there a problem, Sky?” he asked. Even though he was using such a familiar nickname, he was all business and it was easy to tell in his voice that he believed in Skylar, and that if Skylar had an issue with someone, it usually meant it was valid. I had never really thought about what Skylar did other than make sure drunk girls got home okay, because Club Grit was such a classy establishment, even though they weren’t as good at detecting our fake IDs.

  “Yeah, boss, there is. You remember the scumbag rapist? From the night you were away on business?”

  “Shit, that’s him? Get the fuck out!” he roared. “Take him away!”

  “You can’t throw me out, she didn’t press charges!” yelled DeAndre, but out of the dance floor came two more bouncers. One restrained each of the guy’s arms and they practically carried him off the dance floor and kicked him out of the club, in the front, so everybody could see.

  I tried to follow the bouncers taking DeAndre away but Skylar held me back, pinning my arms against my side as I turned. I fell for the old “tap on the shoulder” trick, nobody’d done that to me since high school, but it didn’t change the fact I was seething mad. “What the fuck, Skylar? What’s your fucking problem? You get so jealous when I dance with DeAndre but you can’t fucking ask me out on a proper date, or do anything other than be a dick to me? You won’t have me, so nobody else can?”

  He looked at me with the kind of eyes I’d never seen before, not his usual shiny brown eyes but ones that were duller, as if they were clouded by things held back, but that didn’t matter to me. “Emma, it’s not like that.” And neither did that.

  “Except it is, Skylar. It is. The sad thing is? I actually liked you. Like, really liked you. I’m sorry you got mixed up into the mess of my life, but I never tried to hurt you. And on that date, I actually had a good time. One of the best I’ve h
ad with a guy. But I guess that didn’t matter to you, that the only thing that matters to you now is getting revenge when the only thing I ever did was be inexplicably attracted to you and want you to come close. Now, I just want you to go the fuck away.” I shimmied out of his grip and started to walk away.

  “Emma, wait!” Now Skylar wanted me? This way, after throwing DeAndre out of the club? I didn’t know what games he was playing, what games anyone was playing, but I didn’t like being fucked with, being vulnerable, being anyone’s fucking toy, and I didn’t want to hear anything. He put his hand on my shoulder and I turned.

  And slapped him across the face, leaving a red handprint on his face. I was shocked by what I’d done but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t justified. He’d pushed me too far and then tried to grab at me? Did he have no shame, no honor, no ability to tell that sometimes, games were over before and that the only thing left was for the players to pack it all up and leave?

  “Get off of me!” I screamed and people looked. Skylar didn’t leave though, he didn’t move a fucking inch. He just looked at me as I walked away.

  I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. I went back to the VIP red faced.

  “What the fuck was that about?” asked Kim. It was not good. It was not good at all. “You can’t just let your little bouncer fuck buddy ruin things.”

  “First of all, he’s not my fuck buddy. He’s not my anything. Secondly, he said DeAndre was banned. He’s a rapist or something. Tell me he’s lying, Kim. Say it to my face.” Somebody had lied to me and somebody was going to go down.

  “That girl never pressed charges,” said Kim with a sigh. I never knew a sigh could be so angry. I never knew my voice could be angrier.

  “Wait, you knew? And you had me dance with him?” I didn’t care that I sounded like a bitch. How had Kim lied to me? How had she kept this sort of thing from me by lying through omission, by not telling me that DeAndre had been suspected of doing something so heinous with another girl, a girl from Omega Fucking Mu Fucking Gamma? What was she thinking?

  “Emma. He’s a member of Beta Rho Omega. People make mistakes and girls sometimes talk, but that girl isn’t a member of the sorority anymore.” Kim looked at me with narrowed eyes, and this wasn’t the Kim who had walked me home from Pub Night, or the Kim who had played mind games with me that night I first met Skylar, but the Kim who needed a favor and was about to ask for one. I knew that look, but I’d never think I’d see it from this angle.

  “Who was it?” I asked. What the fuck? I’d never expected DeAndre to be an actual rapist. I’d wanted to believe that he wasn’t but there was no reason for Skylar to lie to me unless it was to hurt me. I had no idea who to believe now.

  Until Kim dropped a #truthbomb. “That girl who left last week? She said something happened in the coat closet, but whatever, she shouldn’t have drank if she couldn’t handle herself, and boys will be boys. She probably either had sex with him and regretted it, or she wanted attention. That’s not the type of girl we want in the sorority but right now, this isn’t about her. This is about you. Go see if you can convince DeAndre that the girls of Omega Mu are nothing like her. Go make this right, because your boy toy just made this super wrong.”

  I didn’t really have a choice.

  But did I ever?

  Chapter Seven, #SOS:

  THE LIMO WAS PARKED OUT FRONT AS USUAL. I knocked and DeAndre opened the door. “Hey,” he said, a beer from the mini fridge in the limo in his hands, half full and glossy with condensation. It was better than I expected: a limo full of vomit or worse, a limo that was gone.

  “Hey. I’m sorry about...that.”

  “No, no, it’s whatever. Just some bouncer, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Again, a lie. It wasn’t just some bouncer, it was Skylar. The same Skylar who was now furiously buzzing my phone. It had taken him long enough: where were these texts when I was, #idk, actually interested in dating him? The texts were all the same.

  We need to talk. I get why you slapped me but please, come down.

  Emma, you can’t go out to see DeAndre.

  Emma, it’s Skylar, if you’re getting this, please answer, we need to talk, and talk-talk, not like the coffee shop.

  Emma, don’t leave.

  Emma, come back inside.

  EMMA. WHERE R U?

  EMMA.

  EMMA. HE DID IT.

  EMMA PLEASE.

  Too little, too late. Skylar had his chance to date me, for real. He’d gone out with me at the coffee shop and hadn’t asked me for a second date, instead, telling me to stay away. He hadn’t cared then, so why did he care now? He didn’t like drama, so why was he putting himself between Club Grit and Omega Mu Gamma, the two most unstoppable forces in all of Beverly Hills?

  I stopped looking the messages, opening up Candy Crush instead while DeAndre drank and talked about how Club Grit was for losers. Wasn’t my problem, it was just annoying that nobody else was out here yet, because there wasn’t a reason for me to go back in, knowing that I couldn’t make Skylar jealous and that Kim would think I hadn’t taken my job of comforting DeAndre seriously, when right now, it seemed like DeAndre, who was going off about being a nice guy and a man’s rights, sounded like he needed a therapist more than a woman’s touch.

  As I made matches of jelly beans, chocolates, and other tasties, making jellies and cages disappear, I kept seeing the stupid alerts from Skylar, text after text. I was half tempted to just turn off my phone, or of sending him a mean text, but I would get bored if I didn’t have something to play while DeAndre kept talking and worked on his now second bottle of beer.

  And then his third.

  I’d believed DeAndre when he said that we were going to meet up with his friend who had just arrived at the club and Samantha outside the club. I believed it when he said that they’d just texted him and would be five more minutes, even though my own phone hadn’t rung. The limo was empty except for us. The driver had left but I guess the door had been opened for him beforehand. I should have known something was up.

  When he wanted to make out some more to pass the time, that was fine, but I just found myself counting the seconds until hopefully, I’d see Samantha coming in the rearview window or in the side mirrors. Ten, nine, eight...I’d reach one, and look for an object in the mirror, but she was farther than I thought. Just not there at all.

  There’d been something weird about DeAndre since the moment I met him. It was the kind of feeling I usually got from guys that were creepy or weird, but he was suave, charismatic. He wasn’t the kind of guy that could really be a rapist, right?

  So I had to ask him.

  “Is it true what those guys said, that you raped someone?”

  “No, that girl was fucked up, don’t worry,” he said.

  “What?” I didn’t really get it at all. DeAndre had more to drink than me that night and two drunk as fuck people didn’t really equal a combo for conversational success.

  “Listen, she was a bitch, but you’re not, okay?” He pulled me back in to make out some more. I could taste the sharpness of the alcohol on his tongue. He’d gone for shots of hard liquor, I’d gone for sweet girly drinks to wipe away the taste of pills, and I wanted to pull away, but at the same time, knew that I had to make this right for Kim. She’d been the one who’d had me come out to the limo in the first place.

  “Stop, please,” I said gently, pushing his hand away.

  “Why, you on your period or something?” Of course that was the first thing he thought of. Of course.

  “No, I just don’t want to,” I said, and as soon as he heard me say “no”, he went straight for my pants again as if the only question he had was whether I happened to be shedding my uterine lining and not the fact I was saying no to the fact I wasn’t consenting, I didn’t want to go any further, now that I knew he’d raped a girl.

  “Aww, come on,” he begged but it wasn’t really begging. “You wanted it a minute ago, sexy.” I pulled away and moved
to another seat but he followed me and pushed my shoulders against the seat as he started to straddle my lap before pawing at my breasts again. I felt disgusting and dirty for the first time that night and what I wanted was for him to stop so I screamed, “No!” again. “No, no, no,” I whimpered. “Get off of me!”

  “Don’t be a bitch,” he threatened. Fuck. I shouldn’t have got into the car with him. What was I thinking? How many people did it take to warn me that this guy was bad news?

  “I said no!” And I had, but that didn’t matter. As I scrambled to get away from him, not even wanting to make out anymore, he grabbed at my legs and he caught a strap on my heels with ease. Of course, this was the one pair that wouldn’t just slip off easily, the one pair that was going to actually hinder me. I reached for something, anything to grab onto, to get him to leave me alone, but all I could find was my clutch, and it wasn’t on a strap that I could swing at his face.

  “And who’s going to believe you?” It wasn’t even a question. Nothing he’d said that night had been. He knew that here, in LA, where who you knew mattered more than money, there was no way that I’d be saved. I could lie back and let him do his thing, or I could struggle, but either way, he’d get what he wanted, which wasn’t sex, but power. The power to penetrate by force. The power to force me to be penetrated.

  But the answer, if that was a question? I knew who’d believe me. I didn’t want to see him again but right now, I had to. As soon as possible. I tucked the clutch under my breasts while DeAndre was focused on trying to reach his hands that I now loathed, their fleshy digits like fat spiders made of sausages crawling steadily up my thighs to reach for my panties, I was sure. I opened it discreetly, careful not to sound the magnetic lock’s annoyingly loud click and give away my plan.

  Luckily I hadn’t carried much in my wallet: just my credit cards and my phone and keys. Although I could use the keys to DeAndre’s face, I didn’t know what to do with them, as I’d skipped mandatory self-defense like the other frosh, the Bigs insisting that although it was mandatory, we could just get a waiver and do bikram yoga with them instead, the way they had when they were frosh, but substituting fencing for yoga. Instead, I just prayed a silent thanks to whatever I believed in then that I had the phone and hadn’t lost it in the club or left it with one of the girls like I usually did.