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Jesus Christ. She would. I bet it’s white with rose-gold rims and a bunch of shit hanging from the rear-view mirror.
The conversation goes on a few more minutes, but I’m rapidly getting bored of it.
Camille slaps back at Bella about her asshole father, which is fun to see. Even if it has zero effect—you can’t force Bella to self-reflect. She’s got about as much clarity as a fifty-foot oil well.
My lip starts throbbing again and I want to be done with all of them. I steal a swig of somebody’s liquor off the counter, then I ditch the girls, thinking I’ll challenge Mason to a game of Madden if he hasn’t gotten too blitzed to play.
Instead, I bump into Red on the stairs. She’s looking kind of weepy-eyed, reading something on her phone.
“How’s your ass?” I ask her.
“Bruised,” she says. “No thanks to you.”
“I’m not the one who shoved you. That was loverboy.”
“He’s such an asshole!” she cries, glaring at her phone once more, then shoving it in her purse.
I assume Johnny is bitching her out through text, wherever he wandered off to. Probably the hospital, if he cares about straightening his nose out.
“I know how you could get back at him . . .” I say.
I’m standing very close to Red—close enough to feel her breath on my arm. Invading women’s personal space is a great way to make your intentions clear. You get the scent of your pheromones right in their nose. It makes them go crazy, like a dog in heat.
Red looks up at me, eyes wide and lips parted. Her little tongue pokes out to moisten her lower lip.
“You’re trying to get me in trouble again . . .” she says.
She doesn’t say it like she’s telling me off. She says it like she’s begging me to keep going.
I bend my head to speak right into her ear.
“Well, I don’t want to get you in trouble. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to touch you. And you tell me when you want me to stop . . .”
I start at her knee, slowly sliding my hand up her inner thigh. Her legs are freshly shaved and silky smooth. Her flesh trembles under my fingertips.
I can feel her breath speed up as I slide my hand higher. She isn’t stopping me. In fact, she shifts her feet ever so slightly to spread her legs apart.
My hand goes under the hem of her skirt. Her inner thigh is warm and slightly damp, because it’s hotter than a Louisiana swamp on this staircase. The pounding music vibrates the walls.
My fingertips reach the edge of her panties. I pause to see if she’ll say anything . . . all I hear is her rapid little gasps against the side of my neck.
I tuck my fingers under the elastic of her panties, and find her velvety pussy lips, as smoothly shaven as her legs. I slide my index finger down the crevice of her lips, slick and wet though I’ve barely even touched her yet. Red lets out a desperate little mew.
She grabs my face and kisses me like she’s trying to swallow me whole. She tastes like wine coolers and lipstick. She’s darting her tongue into my mouth, splitting my lip open all over again.
I push my fingers inside of her and she groans into my mouth, grinding her body against mine.
“Take me upstairs,” she begs.
I grab her hand, leading her up the stairs to the closest bedroom. There’s already a couple inside, but they’re just making out on the bed, still fully clothed. I grab the guy by the back of his shirt and yank him up, shoving him out the door.
“Hey, what the hell!” he shouts.
The girl blinks up at me, mascara smeared and shirt half unbuttoned so I can see her generous cleavage above her lacy bra.
“Stay or get out,” I tell her.
She looks up at me for a second, then smiles. “I’ll stay.”
