Page 12 of Too Sweet
“I’ll see you inQ,” he says behind me.
“You won’t.”
I’m not invited to hang out with my sister. The difference in age, worldview, style, and character has been taking a toll on us for years.
“Bye,” I say again before sliding into the backseat of a cab.
FOUR
Mia
THE HOUSE IS QUIET as always. Aisha’s out, although this week, instead of picking another man at the club,she’s having dinner with the one she picked last week during her girls’ night out inQ—Toby, the tattoo artist. It looks like they’re giving it a second chance.
I don’t think she ever went out on a proper date before tonight. She ran between the bathroom and her bedroom for two hours, getting ready, and kept knocking on my door, showing off skimpy dress after skimpy dress before she settled for a baby-pink wrap number.
It’s something I’d wear if the cleavage wasn’t so deep.
A cab waits for me on the driveway; the driver, Arthur, is one of the few I trust enough not to clutch the pepper spray tucked in my bag. He’s an older man, probably in his late fifties, always entertaining me with a chat.
“You look pretty tonight, Mia,” he says when I take the back seat, readjusting my green polka-dot dress. “I think my daughter has that same dress, just blue.”
Oh, that makes me feelgreat... His daughter is eleven.
Maybe I should make a rule not to buy clothes in the kiddie section, no matter how much I love them. It’s not like I purposely shop there, but a pretty sweater or a dress catches my eye every now and then, and I can’t resist. My compact size means I fit into teenage clothes just fine, and sometimes the dresses are too pretty to pass.
“Where are we going?” he asks, making a three-point turn on the gravel.
“Rave, please.”
“That club? I’d never guess you’re twenty-one.”
I’m not. Most people in those clubs aren’t twenty-one. Aisha got me my first fake ID two years ago during a short-lived phase of inviting me out with her friends. Short-lived because I wasn’t much fun sitting in the booth, sipping lemonade, and ignoring her friends’ digs.
Arthur turns left onto the road, starting his catch-up monologue. He usually brings me home from lousy dates, so I’m well-informed about his life.
Newport Beach is big enough that you don’t know everyone but small enough that getting from point A to B doesn’t take long. Ten minutes later, after telling me his son joined the military, Arthur parks the cab outside the club.
“Call me when you’re ready to go home. I’m working till two in the morning.”
“Thank you, I’ll call if I need a ride.” I pay the fare, exiting the car before he tries to give me the few dollars’ change.
It’s only ten o’clock, but it’s the last weekend of Spring Break, soRaveis packed. Just to be safe, I glance around, scanning the crowd of partygoers inside, searching for the football jocks. They travel in packs, so if one’s here, the rest lurk nearby.
I’m avoiding Brandon, expecting him to retaliate in some elaborate, twisted way for breaking his nose
It’s not like I punched him out of the blue that night.
I sat on a large outdoor sofa in Nico’s garden, looking through the list of songs Six sent, checking what I’d be singing next. I failed to notice the pompous quarterback heading my way until he dropped into the seat beside me.
I got up immediately but didn’t take one step before I fell straight into his lap...
“Can you feel that?” Brandon hisses in my ear, moving his hips up, his erection butting against my thigh. “That’s what you do to me. You need to take care of that, kitten. I’ve been imagining you naked since my New Year’s Eve party.” He grabs my thighs when I try to move. “Not so fast. Fuck... you smell good.”
“You have until I count to three to let go.”
He laughs, the sound low, throaty. “And if I don’t?” His teeth graze my earlobe.
“One.”
