Page 48 of Hounded
“Like those driving lessons?”
“Sure,” I said, but what I meant was please.
Please call me. Please invite me back. Please don’t hurt me again.
Indy smiled, and I waved, then started up the path toward the bathhouse. As I moved, my apprehension grew. I didn’t run to Hell—I wasn’t that beat—but I hurried. I scuttled along while my hound nipped at my heels, urging me on.
When I crested the hill outside the small cinderblock building, I cast a parting glance at the Airstream, gleaming in the waning sun. Reassured that my phoenix was tucked safely away, I swiftly drew a portal and descended into the depths of Hell.
17
Indy
Loren’s speedy departure leftme reeling and more than a little disappointed. It wasn’t that I wanted to throw myself into bed with the man, but I wouldn’t turn down the chance. Something about him struck a chord in me. He was guarded and mysterious, but his presence was the most comforting thing in an otherwise unfamiliar world. Sitting with him on the couch, using any excuse to touch him, I’d felt at ease.
Then, I kissed him, and he threw on the brakes so fast I could have sworn I heard them screeching. He probably thought I was a thirsty brat. Not a great first—second?—impression.
But he knew me. The way he described me, telling me things I didn’t even remember about myself, was so goddamn intimate. And the usually stoic set of his face had changed to something wistful and tender. He was pretty, all long hair and soft lips and muscles I’d felt when he hugged me that day at the drugstore. I wanted his arms around me again, crushing me against his chest and abs and…
Mate, the small voice in my head whispered.
I scowled and shook it off.
Dirty Dancingwas playing when I wandered back inside the trailer, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Retrieving the remote from the coffee table, I clicked the television off then funneled a handful of popcorn into my mouth. Quiet grew as I wandered the alley from the kitchen to the living area and back.
I should’ve put the laundry away. Fixed something to eat besides milk and movie snacks. but I didn’t want to linger here. It was like rehab all over again, without the miniscule socialization of group therapy. As for options of escape, my car was as good as a brick in the parking lot, and I couldn’t bum another ride from Loren. Not today.
Without pausing my stride, I pulled out my cellphone. I’d added a few apps, mostly games to fend off boredom, and my list of contacts had doubled with the addition of the art gallery owner, Sully. She seemed nice, but not someone I could call up for a hangout on a random Saturday night.
The walls felt tight around me. The Airstream was a long, bullet-shaped thing about as big as a studio apartment, and devoid of any notion of home. I’d explored every inch, dug through every cabinet and drawer, and was frankly sick of looking at the place.
I needed to get out, and a brisk walk in the fresh air wouldn’t cut it. Since leaving Hopeful Horizons, I had freedom, but I hadn’t truly experienced it. Maybe it was time I spread my wings a bit.
Opening the recent contacts on my cell, I called the cab company that had picked me up from rehab. Theirestimated ten-minute arrival time gave me the perfect opportunity to change into something more exciting.
Ample closet space was definitely the trailer’s best feature, and my wardrobe did not disappoint. After washing and wearing the same four outfits on repeat for eight weeks, I’d been thrilled to branch out. The assortment of clothes and shoes told me more about myself than anything else had. There was a rainbow of color, heels of all heights, and enough fishnets and strappy harnesses to hint at an interesting sex life.
I dressed quickly in a sheer top with billowing sleeves and a pair of hotpants that I barely managed to tuck my dick into. I paused in the bathroom to add a touch of makeup and glittery lip gloss before nearly tripping over my discarded clothes on my journey out of the trailer.
Dashing to the parking lot, I found the taxi waiting. The laces of my thigh-high boots swung around my shaved legs as I clambered into the backseat, breathless and buoyant.
The cab smelled like sweaty bodies and melted vinyl, but I smiled despite it as I met the cabbie’s grizzled face in the rearview mirror.
“Where to?” he grunted.
All I’d seen of New York over the past week was Trailer Trove, the laundromat, the art gallery, and a drugstore. None of those offered the thrill I was looking for, so I shrugged and replied, “Somewhere fun.”
Few clubs opened their doors before nightfall, but we found one. After paying my fare and leaving a generous tip, I bounded out of the cab and across the sidewalk to the cordoned entry outside a brick building with no windows and an old school neon sign that read Rhythm and Booze.
The early hour meant no line, so I was able to walk right up to the entry where a bouncer in a black tee shirt guarded the door. The man was short but broad, and his shaved head glistened with a sheen of sweat. It wasn’t hot out, and I doubted it was very strenuous standing in place for hours vetting would-be customers, so I could only guess at the cause of his strain as he crossed his arms and gave me a sweeping assessment.
“Cover’s twenty bucks for fellas and ten for ladies,” he said. “Which’re you?”
I swayed back into a mockingly offended pose and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts. “Careful, dude. That shit will get you canceled.”
The bouncer’s neanderthal brow cast a shadow across his eyes as he extended an open hand. “Twenty.”
Frowning, I fished my wallet from my pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill. I pressed it into the bouncer’s hand, and he cleared the path to the open doors of the club.
