And ever since that color’s been my weakness.
Except the nameless pixie girl-band member felt wrong. Tasted wrong. Right color. Wrong lips.
And so I’d pushed her aside—nicely, of course. Blamed it on whisky dick and called it a night, finding Viola’s eyes on me when I looked up, that blank mask in place like always.
If she likes watching me masturbate, how does she feel about watching me make out with other women?
Is she a voyeur? Is that what gets her hot?
Or is it that she feels this same push-pull of dislike and physical attraction that I do? That she can’t keep her eyes off me in a crowded room the same way I always look for her?
We arrive at the club before I make any headway in gaining Viola’s attention. But my musings on the way here have me wondering if she’ll watch me in the party room.
Dave leads the way inside like always, Viola and I trailing after him in size order like ducklings. The club here is all flash and sparkle, blinding lights, strobes, glitter on the walls. A hostess intercepts us at the back entrance, leading us to the room Viola reserved for our entire stay in Charlotte.
There are already people here, word having spread before I even left the arena. Technically it’s invitation only, but as long as someone knows the password and is willing to surrender their phone, they can get in until the room is at capacity. And it looks like it’s already at capacity tonight.
Booze of every variety flows freely, as does the MDMA, with people rubbing up against each other everywhere. As soon as I’m in the room, a flock of women surrounds me, all of them pawing at me, wanting a piece of me.
I hold up my hands in a calming gesture. “Easy, ladies, easy. I’ll be here all night.”
They all coo and giggle, but most of them back off. Those are the ones that’ll get more of my attention. Listening is an important skill, in my opinion.
Shaking off the hands of the more aggressive ones, I make eye contact with Dave and nod at the three women in front of me. He nods back and immediately wades over, offering to get the women drinks as he subtly escorts them to the door. I’m not sure what he tells the people he boots out, but that’s not my problem. He does the job, and that’s what counts. The club has its own bouncer at my door, and he knows not to let in anyone Dave’s kicked out.
Finding an open spot on a couch, I ask one of the women who greeted me if she’ll get me a whisky, and she nods eagerly and scampers off. The other women cluster around me, settling at my side, almost in my lap, two of them even kneeling at my feet, like I’m a king surrounded by his harem.
They’re pretty, beautiful even, dressed in club wear, perfect makeup and sleek hair every last one of them. But I’m just using them.
I’d feel bad, except they’re using me too. For a fuck. A story. A memory.
They don’t care about me. They care about the drummer for Cataclysm and their brush with someone famous.
Looking around, I lock eyes with Viola. She’s watching me, as I knew she would be, but her face gives nothing away. Like always.
Deliberately, I put my arm around the girl next to me, watching Viola for a reaction.
Nothing.
Turning my face, I break eye contact with Viola and kiss the girl next to me. I don’t let it last too long, and when she’s got one hand curled in my shirt trying to yank me closer, her leg going across my lap, that’s my sign to end the kiss. I want to get a reaction out of Viola, not have sex with a random woman in the middle of a room full of people.
Sure, I will sometimes if I’m horny enough and had enough to drink. But I haven’t even gotten the drink I asked for yet.
“I got your whisky,” says a loud voice, clearly annoyed.
I shift the girl off my lap and give the one who fetched my drink a wide, lazy smile. “Thank you,” I say, disentangling myself from the cluster of female limbs and standing to accept the drink.
She steps into me, pressing her breasts against my chest. But I look past her, and when my eyes clash with Viola’s, I finally get a reaction.
Only it’s disgust. Contempt.
Which has my pulse racing, but not in a good way. Of course she looks at me with contempt. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for her. Not even good enough to respond to my apology. Or grace with even a few degrees of her warmth. I get all her coldness. All her disdain.
With a sneer curling her lip, she looks away, going so far as to turn her whole body toward Dave at his place next to the door. His face is impassive as he scans the party, always on alert, always scanning for threats. I see Viola’s lips move as she speaks to him, and I’m torn with wanting to know what she’s saying, because I know it’s about me, even if I know it’s something terrible.
She doesn’t like me. Of course she doesn’t. I haven’t given her any reason to like me. And I seem to have given her plenty of reasons not to.
Suddenly the clingy grip of the women surrounding me feels suffocating.
The whole atmosphere with its loud music and bright flashing lights bouncing off the glittering walls is too much.
And I’m exhausted. Ready to go back to the hotel and curl up in bed with a soft body.
But I don’t get to do that.
Blaire left. Cut me
