Wild Kisses (3:AM Kisses #7) Page 16

  “Her brother!” Jules cackles at her comrade in wicked arms. “Oh God! Is that what this is about? We know all about brothers. We promise we’ll cover for you. He will be none the wiser. Go have fun with Winston. Just go in with an open mind. It’s really not a big deal.”

  I scoff at the thought. It’s not my mind they’d like me to open. “If you recall line item number five—it’s sort of a very big deal.” Both my vagina and I agree.

  Lucille gives a nervous look to Jules before plastering that machine-forged grin back on her face. “Is that what you’re hung up on? Never mind it.” She flicks her wrist as if the idea of me hooking up with Winston was nothing more than a gnat in our conversation.

  Jules’ eyes grow ten times their size as if a conjugal blasphemy were just spoken.

  “Just go with the flow,” Lucille insists. “Make out with the guy.” She gives an exaggerated shrug of indifference. “Nobody really cares except maybe for Winston, but that’s just because he’s really into you. All that matters is that you spend a weekend together. I swear to you, we wrote that last one tongue-in-cheek. Most girls laugh right along with us, Piper, but you take everything so seriously.” She coaxes Jules into laughing with her. “Go—hang out. Ride a damn horse and loosen up, would you? I can think of a million things worse than hanging out with Winston Stanford for forty-eight hours.”

  “Right.” Jules nods to Lucille before flicking her dragon eyes in my direction. “Plus, this way you’re a shoo-in to be a sister. You get your own bed, remember? And since your friend Daisy is a sophomore, we’ll let you room with her if you like.”

  “Oh, um, wow.” I glance around at all the clone-like girls here tonight, all of them so eager to please. I’m so close I can taste it. It is just one weekend. What’s it going to hurt? Owen blinks through my mind. That gorgeous face, those deep ocean eyes, that thick hair my fingers knitted through as I came on his lap. “I’m not going.” I gird myself for the fallout. “I’m into someone else, and it’s not Winston.” For a second, I marvel at the size of my lady balls, the size of two very overgrown badass motherfucking pearls. Take that. I lean back and watch as they swap astonished glances.

  “Okay.” Jules nods frantically at Lucille. “It’s that playboy you were cuddling up with, wasn’t it?” she snaps, her eyes slicing through my own like a Samurai sword.

  “Owen? Yes, I… It’s him.” I almost said I love him, but I want the first time those words leave my lips—well, I want them directed at Owen himself.

  “Knew it,” Jules spits as she looks back to Lucille. “Whose fucking stupid idea was that?”

  “Never mind that now.” Lucille swoops in close, threading her arm in mine. “The night is young. You might change your mind yet.” She pats my hand as if this were all going to turn out fine—for them. Odd, since for me it’s already more than fine. I’m swimming with glee on the inside. I want nothing more than to kick off my heels and run all the way to Owen’s apartment to tell him the news. We can plan our weekend with me pinned underneath his body. My insides quake just thinking about it. I wonder what Uptight Lucille would think if she knew I was practically having an orgasm at her side. “All right, girls! Tonight, we’re headed out for a very special treat!” she shouts to the ceiling at the top of her lungs. “Get ready to let your hair down—proverbially speaking, of course. The girls of Alpha Chi are about to paint the town red!”

  She and Jules exchange a knowing look. “Operation Punisher?”

  Jules’ lips widen to a shit-eating smirk. “Operation Punisher.”

  * * *

  Turns out, painting the night red means driving into the armpit of Jepson, right across the street from Think Ink, where not so long ago Cassidy, Scarlett, Daisy, and I attempted to bond by painfully discoloring ourselves with needles—very angry, angry needles.

  I sweep the street with a glance in search of Pete, whom I still owe a shot at some sort of employment opportunity. I might be busy, but I haven’t forgotten. If I owe someone something, I’m pretty tenacious about giving it to them. Something tells me that enough people have forgotten Pete in his life.

  Jules leads us to the front of a rickety-looking establishment with glowing letters above the doorframe that read, The Dungeon—and in less prominent lettering, An All Male Review.

  “Strip club!” Cassidy is the first to high-five the entire lot of us. The girls break out in a cackling storm over the prospect of seeing exposed male body parts. Personally, I’m relived. I’d rather gawk at a thousand dancing penises than be impaled by one that belongs to Winston Stanford. This is easy in comparison. Plus, at the end of the night, I still plan on heading over to see Owen. And who knows? I might see a dancing penis of my very own tonight. I do, in fact, think I should spend the entire weekend with a boy, just not the one that Jules and Lucille handpicked for me.

  We file into the lascivious establishment with Jules paying the cover for the entire giddy group.

  “What a freaking perk!” Scarlett bops alongside me, starry-eyed, as Lucille procures seats down near the front for us.

  “I have a feeling in just a few minutes you’ll be saying what a freaking pecker.” I smart just as Jules pulls me out of line and sits me along the edge. I’m not stupid. I realize I’ve just been seated in the “fun zone” for the evening, but I’m usually a pretty good sport about things like this. Besides, I’m forever getting called to go on stage at the ridiculous shows Cade has dragged me to over the years. Once I had to dance with an overgrown rabbit. I came this close to not forgiving my brother for that one. I had just turned thirteen, and the mortification still clings to my ego. Cade was always really good about making sure my childhood was well-rounded and fun, mostly because our parents didn’t do much outside of hatching us.

  I glance up at the stage with its spinning red and purple lights. I wonder what Cade would think of this little vulgar getaway? I’m sure explaining that it’s a well-rounded and fun experience wouldn’t really fly.

  Cassidy swipes the seat next to me. “This is flipping insane! Ten dollars says you’re going to have to touch one of them!”

  “I’m not touching anything or anyone.” I shudder at the thought of touching anybody’s spare parts—at least anyone that’s not Owen.

  She clucks her tongue as the room grows dark and the women around us begin a series of catcalls. “You’re gonna have to play along, or you’ll look like an uptight little city shit.”

  “Is that what you country girls think of us?” I like her more each minute.

  “Only when you’re not around to hear it.” She links arms with me and screams with glee right along with the rest of the crowd.

  A series of pink stage lights slowly flood the stage as a couple of girls saunter out, skimpily dressed in sequin dresses that barely cover their asses. They do a little dance before sticking their bare bottoms up at the crowd, and the noise level in the room rises as if that were the preferred gender of the evening. Finally, a bare chested, brawny emcee takes the mic and welcomes us to The Dungeon with the tip of his top hat.

  The room goes dark, so pitch-black you can’t see your hand in front of your face, and Cassidy grips me tighter as she howls in anticipation.

  A series of spotlights blink on and shine over eight men in suits who break out in dance, swinging their hips slow and melodic before the music changes up, and they start stripping off their clothes one layer at a time.

  The Alpha girls are going insane right along with the rest of the crowd, but I just can’t seem to lose my shit like everybody else. As much as I want to shout take it off and feed my beaver some wood right alongside Cassidy, I can’t seem to let those words or any other rattle from my throat. The only person I want to see take it off is Owen. The only person I want to feed my, well, you get the picture—is Owen.

  The number ends, and a few solos are mixed in with a couple more group numbers, and I seem to be the only one counting down the hours, mind-numbingly bored by all the glistening tan chests, the gyrating
hips, the overstuffed banana hammocks being haphazardly thrust about.

  The emcee comes out again, wearing less than before, and the crowd comes undone. Seriously? He’s like fifty.

  “Rumor has it some of you out there have been very, very naughty.” The room explodes with a naughty-gasm. “Sit back, but don’t bother to relax. Because you are about to get punished!” The girls scream as if an entire busload of mass murderers were just set loose. “Ladies and gentlemen, the final review of the evening. The Punisher awaits!”

  Jules turns around and winks at me. “This one’s for you,” she mouths, and I nod with a hesitant smile in lieu of saying, Still not going with Winston, bitch.

  The lights spray in a dizzying array before dimming to nothing. The crack of a whip is met with a raucous round of approval by the crowd. The lights brighten, revealing a bed made of steel, a muscular man with his back to the crowd wielding a long thick rope. He’s wearing an opened shirt and a pair of trousers—a look that screams Wall Street meets kinky alleyway. The music starts up, and he sways his hips, cracks his whip, rolls, and grinds before turning around and greeting the room with a familiar as hell, lewd grin.

  The room spins. Can’t breathe.

  I recognize those artful tats, that nipple ring that catches the light like a fallen star. He strips off his clothes to the rhythm of the music before thrusting freely against the steel-framed bed—the crowd exalting him like a god newly revealed. But I know that body, that face, I’ve traced those muscles, those artful depictions etched into his skin with my tongue.

  “Owen,” I breathe his name, stunned as shit as he jumps offstage and continues his body swaying, his hip thrusting movements down the aisles.

  Jules waves a fistful of dollars, and he makes his way over. She jumps up and shouts something into his ear, and before I know it, that hard body I thought I loved, those hips I trembled against just earlier this evening are grinding in my face. Slowly, he lowers himself over me as he straddles my legs, his well-oiled chest mocking me as it glides up and down over my face as if we’ve never met. He swivels his hips against my chest before giving a few hearty thrusts my way just missing my face by inches. I can feel the humiliation pouring from me as Jules and Lucille snap picture after picture, laughing, pointing at my misery. They knew. This moment is the very reason they so gladly opened their wallets and treated us to the show of a lifetime.

  Owen sits gingerly on my lap, his chest flexing in and out spastically as he struggles to catch his breath with his arms still raised, his head bent back happily receiving the accolades from the crowd.

  He looks down, and our eyes lock. The room warps into a mumbling roar. In this horrific moment, it’s just Owen and I, the look of horror equally matched on both of our faces.

  “Piper.” The smile disappears, replaced with regret.

  I hock up all the phlegm-riddled saliva I can and missile it right into his eyes. I push him off me and run like hell.

  Owen

  “Shit.” I pick myself up and try to weave through the crowd of women, all tugging at me, pulling me every which way. It’s the same every night, only I’m never trying to run out the door. But tonight, I didn’t end up on the lap of some random stranger, punishing her in some carnal manner in order to garner the tip of a lifetime. I ended up on the lap of the girl I love, and now I may never get a chance to tell her.

  “Damn it,” I hiss, doing my best to thread my way out. Piper made it to the exit, but I’m hoping she didn’t get far. Outside, the iced air hits my bare skin, and it feels as if I just stepped into a freezer, naked. Hell, I’d step into a wall of flames for Piper, to take back everything that just happened. I’d do it twice a day and ten times on Sunday.

  I spot her at the mouth of Jet’s place and bolt across the street as a truck screeches to a halt less than a foot away from me. “Piper, please!” I rush over so fast I have her pinned beneath me in less than two seconds. She struggles to get away with her body pressed to the wall so far away from mine, it’s as if she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I can’t blame her. I’m not sure I would.

  “I swear to you, I was going to tell you,” I pant over her in bursts.

  “Tell me what?” She lets out a harsh bite of a laugh, her eyes lighting up the dim corridor like twin flames. “That you punish women in your spare time for money? Not a big fucking deal.” She slips from beneath me and starts stalking down the street. “I don’t really give a shit what you do. You’re just some random stranger I was hooking up with.”

  Two of the Alpha Chi masters arrive and flank her on either side. A cab pulls up, and they flag it down, swinging open the door before I can think to stop it.

  “Piper, wait—let me take you home.”

  She sinks into the cab, still sandwiched between them. The redhead closes the door and rolls down the window as they begin to take off.

  “Don’t bother calling, loser! She has plans with her boyfriend this weekend!” That last word strings out like a roar as the cab takes the corner.

  I kick the trashcan in front of me so hard it explodes into the street in a fit of fast-food wrappers and old beer bottles.

  Piper has plans with her boyfriend this weekend. And that boyfriend isn’t me.

  And after tonight—it’s never going to be me.

  * * *

  I storm back inside, angry, so fucking pissed all I see is red. Women try to stuff fistfuls of dollars down my briefs, but I carefully rebuff their efforts. A few sneak in a picture here and there, but I’m not interested in posing tonight. I spot Piper’s blonde roommate and make my way over.

  “Where did she go?” I pant over her, trying like hell not to grab ahold of her shoulders and force her to tell me everything she knows.

  “Oh, hon.” Her features break down in sorrow for me. “You broke that little girl’s heart.” Something about her country twang comforts me on some level. “What the hell are you doing swinging your thing for all to see? Why didn’t you tell her that you were here night after night doling out a whipping to the naughty girls of Jepson? Hell, knowing Piper, she might have been at the front of the line doing the tush push just waiting for a little wallop coming her way, but you never gave her the chance, did you?”

  A dull smile comes and goes. “I wouldn’t want that. I don’t want this for Piper. Hell, I don’t want it for me.”

  One of the leaders from the ponytail brigade barks at her, and the blonde shudders. “Look, I gotta get going. If you really care about Piper, just give her some time. She’s gonna need a hell of a lot of it, in my opinion.” She glances back at the club and frowns. “No offense, but Hallowed Grounds is hiring. I’m sure the pay isn’t as decent as this place—but in many ways, it is. I’ll catch you later.” I jump in front of her as she tries to leave, and ten girls scream with delight. An entire slew of flashes go off as if this were simply an extension of the show, me almost naked in the street, hustling for tips. It usually is. I know for a fact, a part-time job at Hallowed Grounds isn’t going to keep a roof over my head.

  “I know you don’t owe me anything, but can you do me a favor?” I’m not above begging. “Can you please make sure she doesn’t take off with that guy this weekend? I overheard him, and he’s planning on taking advantage of her. I don’t want to be the one who pushed her into his arms.”

  Her eyes ride up and down my body, not in the lustful way I’m used to, but in a scathing manner filled with disgust, a way that I’m very much not used to.

  “I know all about the things he and Piper have planned for this weekend. And if you know anything about Piper, you know she’s too headstrong for anyone to tell her what to do. If I tell her you said not to—it’ll just make her do it faster. Piper James is wired for anger and revenge. She can be pretty self-destructive if left to her own devices, and it looks like you drove her to do just that.” She starts walking down the street, and I stand there, helpless, watching my final lifeline to Piper disappear in a sea of bodies. “A little truth goes a long way
, Owen!” she shouts above the noise in the crowd.

  Her words echo in my ears long after she’s gone.

  * * *

  It doesn’t take long for me to get dressed, collect my shit, and hightail it back to Whitney Briggs. I speed into the lot just below Piper’s dorm and hustle on up, but there’s no answer, no lights. I try to call, text, email, but I already know she’s not picking up. I head to Alpha Chi, the house of horrors that Aubree built, or in the least, corrupted, and run up to the door with a pelting knock.

  A couple of girls open up and gawk at me. It’s obvious they recognize me from the show, but they deny even knowing who Piper James is.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself as I get back in my truck. I need to track down Wyatt. I’ll call Ryder, and he can give me the number. I’ll tell him she’s off with some guy who’s planning on pulling her pants down first chance he gets, and we’ll both go after him with a shotgun.

  The thought of Piper strangling the shit out of me for siccing her brothers on her makes me think twice.

  Fuck it. I Google the shit out of Winston Stanford and find out exactly where his family owns a ranch—Virginia. Holy hell. He’s whisking her away to no man’s land to take advantage of her. She’ll be stranded out there with him. He can slip her a roofie right there in front of her face, and she’ll be helpless. I can’t let this happen. Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, and all I see is that ridiculous slogan of the tourist society, Virginia is for Lovers.

  Not tonight. Not if I can help it.

  I drive one hundred miles through the thick of night, only to meet up with a wrought iron gate that doesn’t have any intention on letting me in. I get out and grab ahold of the frozen metal.

  “Piper!” My voice echoes back to me in the icy chill of a three a.m. morning. I send dozens of messages to her phone and get no response in return. Piper’s not coming out. I’ve lost her. Most likely forever.