Page 13 of Silken Chains
Fuck shit.
I shoot back a quick reply.
Me: I want to hate you so much right now. But I can’t since it’s Lucas… Going home to Ben & Jerry’s now.
Another shot is placed in front of me. Without hesitation, I knock it back. The warmth spreads, and for a moment, the room starts to spin just a little.
“Damnit, Ser,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. The alcohol quickly courses through me, blurring my usually razor-sharp judgment.
“Sounds like someone stood you up.” The voice is a creepy, too-friendly lilt and far too close. I turn my head slowly, already regretting my decision to come tonight. Before me stands a man, his hair clinging to his scalp in a losing battle against baldness, the fluorescent lights from the bar accentuating each glistening sweat bead on his forehead. His shirt is stretched over an ample belly, the top few buttons threatening to pop off.
“More like abandoned for a toddler with a fever. But who’s keeping track?” I shout back, my throat straining to be heard over the pounding music, the effort scratching at my throat, making me wince.
Don’t be friendly, Laur.
Don’t start a conversation. Go home.
His beady eyes, which have been roaming all over my body, finally settle on my face, but not for long. “Well, lucky me, then.” His grin reveals yellowed teeth and a sickly-sweet odor wafts from him, reminding me of rotten fruit mixed with stale beer.
“Yeah, quite the unexpected evening,” I retort, my voice a bit sharper than I’d like. I attempt to steady myself, but the alcohol’s grip makes it difficult. The floor feels unsteady, or maybe it’s just my legs.
I can’t decide.
His eyes are now on my tits, and his fingers twitch as if they have a mind of their own. I can almost feel their clammy touch on my skin without him actually touching me.
“You look like you need some… company,” he slurs, swaying a little too close to my personal space.
“I’m good, thanks,” I retort, trying to edge away, but he steps in closer, his greasy presence now almost suffocating.
“You sure about that, doll?” He leers, the look in his eyes growing darker.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that scenes in public places are best avoided. “Absolutely. In fact, I was just leaving.”
“Already? The night’s just getting started.” He snickers. “Or you can leave with me…”
His hand slaps down, clammy and presuming, claiming territory on my waist like he’s planting a flag. A thumb grazes my breast, a move so bold it could be in neon lights. My skin crawls. My temper flares.
Crap. Crap on a cracker.
“Perhaps another time.” I picture myself as slicing through his sleazy little fantasy. My fingers curl around his wrist, and I use all my might to peel his grip off me, like stripping tape from a new package.
“Who you waiting for?” he slurs, his words sloppy as he clumsily reaches for my wrist again.
I’m really not in the mood for this.
“My boyfriend,” I stammer, aiming for vague.
“Yeah, right,” he snorts, barely standing straight.
I arch an eyebrow, my patience wearing thin. “And you’d know because…?”
Shut it, Laura. Don’t engage.
“Seen ‘em all… Y’all comin’ in, hopin’ for that… whatchamacallit? Special someone? And then, boom! Nothin’.” His voice slurs, like he’s in on some club joke I’m missing.
I have a strong urge to escape. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” I begin, trying to sidestep him. “I need to find my boyfriend now.”
He’s swaying like a skyscraper in a high wind, blocking me with that lumbering body of his. “Don’t kid yourself, pretty doll,” he slurs, his breath a distillery’s nightmare. “You’re just trolling for deep pockets…” And bam, his clammy hand slaps onto my butt.
