Bottom Feeder Page 17

  He chuckles. “I’m not undressing in front of you, Maddy. I have a bathroom.”

  “You do?” I spin around. “There aren’t communal showers?”

  “No, ma’am.” He takes off his shirt, revealing more artwork.

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am officially gawking—possibly drooling—over his chiseled body. He is covered in symbols I vaguely recognize and quotes I memorize to research later.

  “Communal showers are in the really old barracks,” Dom continues. He doesn’t seem to notice my obvious adoration. Perhaps he is used to girls blatantly staring. I should look away.

  I don’t.

  In record time Dom is out of the bathroom, clad in a black t-shirt and dark-washed jeans. He drops the suit in a hamper and glides across the room to stand beside me.

  “Too close?” he asks. I shake my head and look down. His fingers gently tilt my chin until our eyes meet.

  I force myself to blink. “How many tattoos do you have?” Good. Semi-intelligible.

  “I’m not sure. I got most of them really young.”

  “Can I ask you about them?”

  His hesitation is a clear sign that he thinks I’m afraid of him. It takes a lot more than tattoos to scare me. I tell him as much.

  “Some of them represent a part of me that I like to keep in the past. I’ve only known you a few hours. I don’t want to scare you away just yet.”

  I nod in understanding. My past would scare him away from me.

  “Tell you what,” he says. “The next time we go out, I’ll tell you about them.”

  I’m leaving tomorrow. This is his way of telling me he doesn’t want to tell me. I have secrets of my own and tonight is about doing things differently.

  His face is within centimeters of mine. He is going to kiss me. My eyes close in anticipation.

  What if I didn’t practice enough with Dixon? What if I suck? I don’t want to suck. Maybe I should—

  “You smell amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t bother to mask the disappointment. He laughs softly.

  He lifts my hair away from my shoulder. “I’m not going to kiss you unless you say yes.” He wraps his arms around my waist. His gentle touch sends shivers throughout my body. “Please say yes,” he whispers.

  “Yes.” With his eyes locked on mine, Dom leans forward.

  The door bursts open. “At ease, Private!” a short, dark-haired guy shouts.

  “Really, Dominguez?”Against my will, Dom releases the grip on my waist.

  “What’s going on here, Beraz?” Short, dark-haired fellow asks. “Since when do you bring females to the room? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Maddy, Dominguez. Dominguez, Maddy.”

  Dominguez crosses the room and extends his hand. “Terrance Dominguez,” his voice becomes deeper, smoother.

  “Maddy,” I reply. Instead of a hand shake, he kisses my palm.

  Seriously?

  Terrance grunts loudly and spins me around. A low growl erupts from Dom’s chest, instantly reminding me of Dixon.

  “What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

  “Girl you are thick!” Terrance exclaims. Dom tenses.

  “Er, is that . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Mami, that is a very good thing,” he says, licking his lips. “Did you get that dress on sale?”

  “Um.”

  “Because if you were with me it would be one hundred percent off.” The embarrassment begins in my toes and spreads up to my cheeks. “Where did you find her, Beraz?”

  “I didn’t find her anywhere. Monroe’s BMW is hers.” Dom shifts nervously and adds, “But they’re not together or anything.”

  I stop the scowl from seeping onto my face. I know Jackson told him to say that last part. I hate that it upsets me.

  “He didn’t say anything about her looking like this.” Terrance grunts again.

  “Are you always this bold?” I ask.

  “Only when I’m looking at something I want. ¡Me encantaria navegar tus curvas! ¿Usted me desea mami?”

  “Dominguez,” Dom says his name like a warning.

  Ha! I told Dixon my Rosetta Stone hobby would come in handy.

  I may not have the vernacular correct, but I reply, “No, papi. Yo no creo.” Terrance gapes. Dom looks a little smug. Well, I shouldn’t be talked about as if I’m not in the room, and I tell him as much. “¡No hable como si yo no estoy en el cuarto! It’s rude.”

  Terrance throws his hands up in surrender, laughing. “If he doesn’t give you what you need, mami, you come find me. I’m one bed over.”

  I roll my eyes. “You, sir, are an absolute charmer.”

  “We’re leaving anyway.” Dom’s voice is quiet, angry.

  “Pacific or Lackey’s?”

  “Why would I take her to Lack—? Pacific. And no you can’t ride with us.”

  “I don’t need a ride. Morris and the girls from the first floor are going. Monroe already took that girl from Lackey’s in her Beemer.” He snaps his thumb toward me. “I’m pretty sure he’s put some miles on it—and in it—this week.”

  I feel a grimace slowly creeping across my face. Terrance notices and adds, “You’ll probably have to clean the seats.”

  Ew. I make a mental note to definitely clean the seats tomorrow.

  Dom and I exit the barracks, but not without a few appreciating stares from the guys at the desk.

  Dom has changed clothes and I look a hot mess after being almost-kissed and finding out The Deed has been performed on my car seats. Great. Just great.

  “I know you’re angry, but Dominguez doesn’t mean any harm. He’s naturally an ass.”

  I silently stir over assumptions and dirty car seats. “I don’t get angry.”

  “Everyone gets angry.”

  “I just don’t like that me being in your room is implied.”

  “Well,” he says after a moment of silence. “We know the truth. It doesn’t matter what they think.”

  Dom’s statement reminds me of the million pep talks from Dixon throughout our friendship. An ache in my chest makes me realize how much I miss him. He has been my only family for a long time. Dixon knows almost everything there is to know about me. Secrets, flaws and all. And he still loves me unconditionally.

  “You’re right,” I admit.

  Dom switches his playlist to a mix of blues and soul. I rest my head back and hum along with Big Mama Thornton talking about how sometimes she has a heartache.

  Dom eyes me suspiciously. “You like blues?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I reply between hums.

  “Can I hear you sing?”

  “No.”

  The parking lot to Club Pacific is jam-packed. I spot the BMW a few parking spaces from the front door and something like angers flares in the pit of my stomach.

  A short, burly bouncer double-checks my license and wishes me a bored “Happy Birthday” while marking each hand with a large X.

  The club is sectioned into several rooms, the largest being where hip-hop and trance are blaring through speakers taller than me. The smaller rooms are divided into karaoke, a game room/sports bar with a boxing match playing on a large-screened television, and a country-themed room with Zac Brown Band telling me to jump right in. Dom also mentions a cigar bar in the far back, past the game room.

  Um, no thanks.

  Fluorescent lights radiate bright streams in various directions across the dance floor. The smell of stale alcohol, sweat and mixtures of colognes and perfumes fill my nostrils as we edge our way through the thick crowd. Dom’s hand at the small of my back reminds me of his earlier promise not to leave my side.

  He leans into me, shouting over the music. “You’re going to dance with me, right?”

  Quick pep talk.

  All right, Carrington, you’re never going to step foot in this town again. These people do not know you or your father. This guy is hot and wants to kiss you. Put your big girl panties on and dance like no one else is in t
he room.

  We dance. Actually, he stands behind me like a body guard, nodding his head to the beat through the next four songs.

  “Let’s sit down for a few,” he shouts when a melodic techno track begins.

  I nod and follow him to the karaoke room. A beautiful blonde, who appears to be straight off the pages of Maxim with legs that seem to go on forever, is singing off-key to one of my favorite classic rock songs. Clad in a short, stretch-knit black dress with a skinny red belt draped around her tiny waist, the magnetism radiating from her is enough to give a swift roundhouse kick to my self-esteem. She has the undivided attention of everyone in the room.

  “I’m sure Ronnie Van Zant would turn over if he heard how she was battering this song,” Dom says.

  I laugh. “At least she has the courage to get up there.” Maybe one day I might be bold enough to stand on a small stage, in an insignificant nightclub in front of all these strangers and sing my heart out. Even if I did maul the song to death.

  “Good point,” he says. He tucks a stray curl behind my ear. This simple act leaves me speechless. He tilts his head, scrutinizing my expression. “I’ll be right back.”

  “M’Kay.” I feel oddly exposed as soon as he leaves my side. Like my blanket of protection has been ripped off.

  Gah, I’m such a weenie.

  The beautiful blonde ends her rendition of Sweet Home Alabama while the entire male populous gives her a standing ovation. She smiles at the round of whistles and catcalls. Not a trace of pink stains her cheeks. I wonder what that feels like.

  Immediately after she is helped off the stage, a group of guys follow and begin rapping to an old Outkast song.

  “What?” I ask when Dom returns with a mischievous smile.

  “Tell me something,” he says. “Do I still have permission to kiss you?”

  “Depends.” I purse my lips, pretending to pout. I’d like more than anything for him to kiss me. There’s no need to sound desperate. I straighten my shoulders to increase the effectiveness of my bluff.

  He raises an eyebrow. “On?”

  “On why you’re smiling like you just stole Christmas.”

  Dom laughs. “How did you know?”

  I try for a sexy smile. Goodness, that’s a grueling task. “You have my permission.”

  He bites his lip, which sends my hormones into overdrive. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  An enthusiastic voice booms loudly over the speakers. I turn to the stage to see a middle-aged man dressed in a bright Hawaiian-style shirt, plaid shorts, and flip flops.

  “You!” He points in my direction.

  Please let him be pointing to someone else. Please let him be pointing to someone else.

  “The pretty dark-haired girl: Come on now, don’t be shy.” He gestures to me again, causing everyone within a few tables’ radius to follow his fingers.

  I want to hide beneath the table. I lower my head and fervently pray for him to go away.

  The man is relentless. “The gentleman there has requested a song from you.”

  I snap my head up.

  “Please?” Dom whispers.

  Jackson

  The Pacific is wall-to-wall with people. I’m waiting at the edge of the game room for a pool table to free up. In order to tolerate a crowd of this magnitude, I am sitting with my back to the wall. Observing.

  The charcoal-haired waitress makes her rounds, frowning at my underage drinking. I slip a fifty into her waist apron. The frown forms to a smile.

  Maddy shouldn’t be too upset that Vanessa drove her car. Especially if she knew I was a little tipsy. Responsibility is key. Responsibility is me. Or whatever.

  “JB, sing with me!” Vanessa tugs weakly on my arm. Her ridiculously short black dress makes every guy in here want her. She even got us inside the club for free tonight. “Come on,” she insists.

  “You go ahead,” I smile, gently pushing her hand away. “I’ll watch.”

  Vanessa bends to kiss my ear, my neck, and eventually my lips. I don’t dig the sticky lip stuff she wears, but I kiss back anyway. She walks away with an exaggerated swing to her step.

  The waitress places my beer on the table, along with an alcohol swab. She waits until I wipe the two large X marks off my hands before snapping a fluorescent green bracelet on my wrist.

  “Do not get me fired,” she warns.

  The music to Sweet Home Alabama begins to play. A few riffs later, an off-key voice reverberates throughout the room. I peek around to see Vanessa butchering a beloved classic.

  “At least she looks good doing it,” I say aloud.

  The group next to me nods in agreement.

  A crowd assembles near the stage as the song bores on. A smile stretches across my face knowing I will be going home with her before picking up Maddy.

  I shake off thoughts that begin to form of her.

  Back to Vanessa.

  “Monroe!” a voice yells from across the room.

  “What’s up, Dominguez?” He pulls a chair next to mine.

  “I saw your girl tonight!” he exclaims, leaning with his hands out like he’s about to tell an interesting story. My girl? “The one that owns the Beemer. Mari . . . Melis . . . Maddy!”

  My mouth drops open.

  Dominguez swipes my beer. “She was with Beraz. He was about to get it when I walked in.”

  Beraz did not bring Maddy to the barracks. Who saw her? Why was she in his room?

  “You were hiding her, huh?”

  “Trying to,” I spit through clenched teeth. What is Beraz thinking? I didn’t instruct him to take her back to the barracks. Definitely not back to his room.

  “I’d keep her for myself, too,” Dominguez notes, finishing off my beer. “Mami is thicker than a cold bowl of oatmeal.” He shakes his head in admiration. “I don’t know what Beraz thinks he’s doing. I could do things . . .”

  Rage suddenly boils deep inside me. My imagination runs wild with thoughts of Maddy and Beraz together.

  The waitress places another bottle in front of me. I tap her wrist before she walks away. “Something stronger. Jack and Coke.” She dances away happily when I slip her two more bills.

  “That was two hundred dollars!” Dominguez shouts. I shrug. The money is courtesy of Cordell. For the job I am supposed to carry out. Maddy is just a job.

  Vanessa’s version of Sweet Home Alabama ends, followed by a roar of applause and whistles from her admirers.

  She approaches my table with a few faithful followers trailing behind. Some guys take the stage and begin a pretty good execution of ATLiens. “Did you like it?”

  “Of course we liked it!” Dominguez exclaims. “You can sing to me any day.”

  Vanessa thanks him and turns to me. The burning rage inside me is calming into a smoky cinder. She waves her hand in front of my face before turning to her group of flunkies.

  “Who wants to buy me a drink?” she asks and shuffles to the bar.

  Dominguez is droning on about Vanessa. Then back to Maddy. The nonstop chatter continues until a new voice echoes through the speakers, startling him into silence. The soulful, almost haunting, sound—a mixture of Etta James and Joss Stone—sends tingles down my spine.

  The tempo picks up and a crowd flocks to the tiny stage, blocking my view of whomever this breathtaking voice belongs to. Dominguez stands on a chair to get a better look. The waitress brings my drink. I slam it back quickly and tell her to keep them coming.

  “Sexy and talented,” Dominguez says.

  I squeeze between the swarm that has collected around the stage, as if the voice is a siren call.

  The dress hangs seductively on her frame, highlighting every feature of her body. Her hair swirls in large waves around her face. She looks so confident, so at ease as her body moves fluidly, seductively to the song. The flushed pink in her cheeks gives her away. I do like that.

  A tiny sputter merges in my chest. I chalk it up to drinking too much too quickly.

  “She’s g
ood, right?” Vanessa snakes her arm around my waist. I nod, keeping my eyes on Maddy as she dances and works the masses while belting out the last lines of Lady Marmalade. The crowd erupts with deafening cheers.

  Vanessa interlaces her fingers through mine to remind me she is there.

  Private Beraz lifts Maddy off the stage, smiling like he has the greatest prize in the world. I flinch when she wraps her arms around his neck while he whispers in her ear. She nods.

  To my surprise and horror, Beraz leans in to kiss her ear, her cheek. Her lips.

  I gasp for air. I look at Vanessa, who is trying to get my attention. She rolls her eyes, mutters something about being drunk and walks away.

  I toss back another J&C. Dominguez is talking nonsense about going after Vanessa. I shrug.

  If she wants him, I don’t care. Tonight was a mistake. Being with Vanessa was a mistake.

  Beraz, now sitting at the opposite end of the room, motions for Maddy to sit on his lap. She hesitates, but complies. Her expression, although smiling, looks as if she is scolding him. He laughs and kisses her again.

  The pain in my chest is excruciating. I am never drinking again.

  For the remainder of the night I watch them. And drink. Any remainder of arrogance dissipates with each drink that enters my bloodstream. I’m hurting.

  I trail discreetly as they walk to the main dance floor. Maddy moves sinuously with each song while Beraz is busy brushing off anyone who tries to cut between them. He lifts Maddy onto a table and stands in front of her. The two are deep in conversation, as if they are the only people in the room.

  What, exactly, can a gangbanger from Oklahoma City and a soft spoken Georgia girl find to talk about? Is he running through lame lines to win her over? Is she rolling her eyes at his attempts?

  He kisses her at every opportunity.

  My head spins. My knees are Jell-O.

  I hear several gasps as my legs disappear beneath me.

  “Jackson!” a familiar voice calls. I try to get up, but manage to roll on my stomach instead. “Help me with him, please?”

  I am lifted from the floor. A set of arms wrap around me as I stagger to my feet.

  “Monroe, can you walk?” Beraz’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a funnel.

  “I haffa use a piss.”