Page 5 of Silver Fox Daddies

Below that is a message:Call us.

“I can’t call them!”

“Yes, you can.” Natasha forces the phone into my hands.

“Nat, you don’t understand. I need to pass?—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you hear yourself?Boring. Have you ever heard of work hard, play hard? You need to relax. Come on. Youdidn’t come out with me tonight to have just two drinks and leave.” She looks at me with desperation. “Loosen up a little. If you don’t call them, I’ll do it myself. I bet biker daddies sure know a thing or two about female orgasms, unlike most of the boys here tonight.” She scans our surroundings, disappointed.

I knew I shouldn’t have come to this party. When Natasha first invited me, I refused, but then I made the mistake of telling her all about my interaction today at the library.

She said some drinks would sort me out. But I’m on my second vodka cranberry of the night, and I feel exactly the same as before.

I thought coming out would be good for me. Set me straight and get me out of my head. After the library, I returned to the dorm room, eager to crack on with some study, but I couldn’t concentrate. The bikers were still on my mind.

Thinking about them now still raises my pulse. All I’ve been able to think about today is their intimidating presence. How it might feel if I was laid naked on the bed, all three of them taking care of me.

“Hello? Earth to Melissa?!”

Pulled from my thoughts, I spin back to Natasha. “Sorry.”

“Damn, they well and truly fucked you up.”

We’re sitting together on a couch in the living area. There are too many people, so I don’t actually know who lives here. All I know is that some dude who Natasha hooked up with a month ago is here. Music thumps around us, the bass so deep that I feel it altering the tempo of my pulse.

Or is that because I’m thinking about the bikers again?

I take another sip of my drink.

“Text them, at least.”

“No,” I say, slamming the drink down on the coffee table. “We came here to drink. Not to talk aboutthem.”

Natasha lets out a huge sigh, lowering her drink. “Look, Melissa, if you want to pass these finals, texting them is the only way.”

“And where’s the logic in that?”

“You’re at unrest at the moment, which is why your brain can’t concentrate on anything. You need clarity. When you have that, you have focus.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’ll feel better if you text them. I promise.” She switches my phone on for me. “Trust me. Message the bikers. See what they have to say. You’re sending them a message, not sleeping with them.”

I narrow my eyes. She’s convincing.

Just not convincing enough.

After staring at her for a moment, I switch off the phone and place it back into my bag so it’s out of sight.

“I’m not here to talk about men. I’m here to drink.”

“Okay,” she says. “Have it your way.”

After one more vodka cranberry, my body feels like it wants to dance. Natasha and I hit the dance floor when the next song begins. We dance for a while, then go and grab another drink to hydrate.

At this point, I’m on my sixth…seventh…I don’t know. I lose count. My head starts to swirl, neon lights wrapping around me.

We return to the dance floor, but all I can think about is them.

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