HIM: Chapter Two

Stella—June

My roommate, Kayley, breezes past me in our shared dorm room carrying her lacrosse gear. She’s my best friend at Madison. My only friend, really, but with the kind of skeletons I keep it’s better to have a loyal one than a treacherous few.

“Hey, your mom called. You need to take your phone off of DND. She said she’s checked in at the hotel. And can’t wait to see you. Sorry—scratch that—she and Peter can’t wait to see you.”  

Her brows raise mirroring mine because she dropped the last part like a fucking bomb. For the last six months, Peter, has dominated too many of my conversations with her. I’m sure I sound bitchy and whiny, but frankly, having him shoved down my throat by my mother hasn’t landed well. In fact, it’s been a constant source of my irritation.

Every single conversation I have with mommy dearest is Peter this and Peter that…she still doesn’t even know how I did on my finals because she was too busy telling me about the necklace he purchased for her. She even canceled our Easter Island trip to go with fucking Peter. 

This is exactly what I feared six months ago. She’s lost in a man.

One whose namesake is slang for cock.

“Did she tell you he was coming?” Kaley says wincing during the delivery as I shake my head.

I chuckle because at least I fit in. Happily married without narcissistic tendencies doesn’t exactly describe the rich but I was hoping for more of an antidepressant functioning alcoholic mother rather than what I’m getting—one who forgets everyone around when some guy throws her a bone.

It’s so desperate. Weak. And a matter of time before he treats her like the marble floors in the entry of our home—walking all over her and expecting the staff to clean up the mess.

I will never be like her.

Kayley’s still staring at me, apparently waiting for me to say more but I just shrug and stare down at my cell, seeing all the ignored calls before hearing the door close as she leaves.

I need to suck it up and put on a happy face. Just get this weekend over with, but the nausea inducing pit in my stomach is growing. Last week she hinted at needing to speak to me about something important. Something she wanted to say in person.

It’s about her and Peter. I know it.

I know it down to my bones.

I’ve sat everyday thinking about this feeling. Wondering if it’s jealousy. But it’s not.

Something in my gut says Peter is different. A different kind of threat.

The marriage kind.

Everything’s moving so fast, and she’s been trying too hard, talking him up but not really exposing anything. Just telling me how much I’m going to fall for him and his son—Thomas, I think—when we get to hang out. The word family has infiltrated more and more conversation.

I want to be happy for her, I do. But I don’t trust Peter. It’s the desperation or maybe, fear, in her voice. She needs me to like him, which means what he thinks about her has become her opinion of herself as well. And if I don’t trust a man who needs that kind of control.

Although, I’m certain that won’t make a difference. She’s already using phrases like “Peter thought it best…and Peter prefers. So, he’s set his teeth in. 

And if I’m being honest, it’s dèjá fucking vu of my father.

My phone rings again, her name displayed on the screen. I decline, because I don’t know if I have the stomach to watch the same train wreck twice.

Seconds later a text pops up.

Mommy Dearest: I have a little surprise for you. Four Seasons lobby, 8pm.  See you there! xx

* * *

The grungy bar I’m in is loud, too loud. I can barely hear Kayley over the grating indie-rock music. Some local band trying for fame droning on covering a song only made popular by social media.  

“So what…she’s getting married. It could be worse. She could be cutting you off. Plus, you knew this was coming.” 

I take another swig of my flat beer hoping to ease the tension in my shoulders. The only reason we come to this dive bar is the dollar drinks and the absolute leniency they wield checking IDs. It’s more like a total blind eye.

They let all the hot girls in from Madison. It makes sense—nobody wants to fuck a run-down townie, and what’s a bar without hot chicks.

Kayley nudges my shoulder gently to make me stop pretending to ignore her as she continues. 

“Listen, your mom looked really happy this afternoon during the mixer. You’re just being a brat. Think about it this way, a new Daddy…means a whole new credit line to spend.” 

I roll my eyes.

“Fuck you. I’m not being a brat. You don’t get it. Today is a prime example of how the rest of my life will play out. I graduated—today was my day. And she brought her future husband—to announce their wedding to me. Everything became all about that.”

Maybe I do sound like a brat, but it isn’t without cause.

Kayley turns away from the bar, putting her elbows on the top as she leans back, contemplating what I’ve said.

When she doesn’t agree with me fast enough, I add, “She always keeps this fantasy in her head about having the perfect family. Peter could be a monster. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s let one in our lives. Plus, he’s a lobbyist. Did you know that? Those guys are basically sociopaths.” 

Her head swings to me while she gulps down the rest of her Corona and sets it down behind her.

“Boo fucking hoo,” She scoffs, “Get over your sad little trauma, princess.”

“Trauma? Really?”

She smirks. “Yeah, because nobody fucks their math teacher without daddy issues.”

I grin. Touché.

“Now,” she goads as I raise my hand to order another shitty beer. But I’m jarred when she smacks my arm. “Go dance and blow off some damn steam…or… Holy fuck me...puhhlease —”

I’m only half laughing as I look over my shoulder. Holy fuck is right.  

“You’re a slut,” I tease without a smile as I stare in the same direction she is.

“You said there’s no such thing as a slut,” she challenges back just as riveted as I am.

What we’re both staring at…no, who we’re staring at is all man. He’s not even inside and he’s already taking up all the room.

Ducking his head to walk inside, he removes his navy peacoat and folds it over his arm. Fuck he’s tall. Foreboding. Like a goddamn Viking, if they came with a tan and black hair.

His Henley clings to him the way I wish my body could.

The guy’s built like one of those Instagram models Kayley and I stalk and secretly self-care to. The kind with lower stomach veins that lead down to heaven, arms that would hold you up for hours while he fucks you so senseless your legs turn Bambi, and mercilessly strong hands that would wrap perfectly around my throat.

I want him.

“He looks like the kind of guy that would fuck you, then flip you over and start again,” I say slash pray aloud.

Kayley smiles. “I mean… if he doesn’t fuck you a little like he hates you, is it even love?”  

Mr. Perfect runs his hand through his effortlessly sexy bedhead hair and licks his beautifully plump lips before his blue eyes search the room.

Pick me. Eat me. Fuck me.

As if he’s heard my inner plea, his eyes pause on Kayley and me for only a fraction of a millisecond before he disregards us, making my adrenaline soar.

I do like a challenge.

“Dibs,” Kayley whispers while digging inside her bag for her favorite gloss.  

“Fuck off. You can’t call dibs. We aren’t children.” 

But also, I want to rectify that brush-off. I don’t get overlooked. 

“I have to call dibs…you always win. It’s only fair.” 

Poor Kayley. I do always win and tonight won’t be any different. Because she always goes in as sweet and virginal. Grown men act like they love that, but in the end they don’t. At least not the kind that frequent this bar. They always want me—dirty, sexual, full of kink, and lacking any kind of emotional need for cuddling or conversation. 

They just want my body young…my mind though, they like it wise. And that works for me. Damn. I do have Daddy issues. Whatever.

“Life’s not a meritocracy, Kayley. Don’t hate the player. Just hate the game, bitch.” 

She groans as I slink off my stool and saunter over to where Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is now standing with some friends.

Their conversation stills as I approach. So I push my long honey locks over my shoulder, trying not to smile as they shuffle around nervously. Because I know exactly what I’m doing as I let them take me in. 

Men are funny, and so predictable.  

Some stare at you, let their eyes peruse, enjoying their entitled little fantasies because they only want what they can take.

I don’t mind that. It’s honest.  

Others glance, hoping you’ll give them an opening to speak, a foot in the door, to convince you they deserve a chance.

They’re a hard pass.

I want assertive and comfortable with aggression. No passive boys for this girl. 

Then there are men like him—he devours.  

I can feel each place he lays his soulless eyes, even though they give nothing away. It’s intimidating and scary because it makes him unpredictable. Like a predator.

“Hi.”  

It’s one word and my only invitation.

The chorus of hellos from the others land at my back as I turn my sights solely on the pretty monster in front of me… waiting for him to take the bait—me.  

He locks his steely gaze on mine before he shakes his head. So I raise my brows in our silent exchange to challenge his would be dismissal. His jaw flexes and fuck it’s sexy. He’s sexy. It bounds off him like he knows he has the biggest dick in this room. Fingers crossed.

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip lingering there as his his gaze drops to my ample chest, then further until he makes his way back up, and for a second, I could swear he lifts his chin as if he’s smelling the air. Like he’s testing my scent. Umm, it’s called “wet.” 

But in an instant he exhales, and whatever I thought he was feeling vanishes along with any warmth hiding in his lethal body.

“Go find the playground. I’m not interested.” 

What the fuck.

His deep gravelly insult rattles my bones. So much so it vibrates down through me all the way to my core and right back up so I can spit venom.

“What did you say to me? I’m sure I didn’t hear you right.”

“You heard me, princess. I bet you aren’t even eighteen, let alone old enough to be in this bar.” 

Oh my god. I could tell the truth, but I’m not outing myself as underage even if I am eighteen. And I’m definitely not going to stand here begging for this dick’s attention.

My eyes narrow to hateful slits hiding my embarrassment because I’ve been left with nothing to say, but I do anyway because fuck him. 

My tongue runs over my lips as I step in closer. “You know what? change my mind about you.” His brows raise in amusement as I add, “You can go fuck yourself.” 

As I step back his hand darts out, his long finger hooking my shirt right between the buttons at my breasts.

“Dirty mouth for such a pretty girl. Does your mommy know you’re up this late?” 

I’m released, my mouth hung open as I flip him the bird. It’s my only goodbye as I walk back to my stool and the astonishment all over Kayley’s face.  

“Shut up,” she whispers… “Did you just strike out?”

She sniggers, but I shake my head. Fucking angry. I didn’t strike out. He humiliated me. Dick.

“Let’s go,” I snap. “I’m tired and I have that stupid dinner for my mom tomorrow.” 

“Come on…seriously? It had to happen sooner or later. I don’t want to leave. I’m not even drunk yet.” 

I roll my eyes as I grab my shit but the moment she gives in the bartender walks over.  

“Hey, Red.”

Kayley smiles turning toward the overweight man as he slides a drink her way.

“This is from the guy over there.” 

Shut. The. Hell. Up.  When the fuck did he do that?

My head swings to Kayley’s face then back to the guy I just struck out with.

She looks up and smiles as she accepts the drink with a wink.

“Fuck this.” I snatch my purse off the bar top. “I’m going outside to smoke. Get his number. Make it quick. And then let’s go. Unless you were planning to catch gonorrhea in the bathroom?” 

“Oooo, put the claws away and stop being a poor sport. I always use protection and never swallow.” 

I don’t bother to answer her smiling face as I make my way to the bathroom first. Shutting the cheap wood door behind me. I don’t know why this is getting to me, why I’m acting like a fucking brat. But today sucks. And this is just another reason.

A heavy whoosh leaves my lungs as I stare at myself in the graffitied mirror above the old, chipped sink. The space reeks of beer and hopelessness. Or maybe that’s me.

“Stop being so dramatic.” I whisper to myself turning on the water from a rusted handle.

I mean, what would’ve happened if he took the bait? Taken me? Maybe we’d be fucking in this bathroom uncaring if people heard.  

My teeth bite into my bottom lip because the idea excites me. I look down at the water running over my fingers before I bring them to my face and pat my cheeks. It’s cool against my skin so I hold it there for a moment before taking my palms away and shaking them off.

The squeak of the handle turning the water off is almost as loud as the music that just started playing again. But that’s not what catches my attention and makes the tiny hairs on the back of neck stand at attention.

The door handle twists.

“Someone’s in here,” I call out, stepping toward the door to lock it, but it pushes open anyway as he steps inside.