Page 18 of Love Beyond Repair
She’s wearing a low-cut top, showing her breasts off to full advantage. I assume in a bid to sell more pints. I don’t need to see Terry’s eyes to know where he’s looking. I can see him whispering sweet nothings in her ear as she hands over the drinks. She waves away the money. He promptly puts one of our notes in his pocket. Sly bastard.
He struts back to the table like the cat that got the cream, and he bloody well did with our money. He’s holding a tray of what looks like pond water, vodka shots, and a brown fizzy mystery. We distribute the drinks liberally with a Russian roulette-style system. What you get, you drink. No personal orders are being taken tonight. The drinks continue to hit the table, and we become merrier by the minute.
Conversation flows easily between us. It’s as if Terry has been part of our group for years. It crosses my mind that he’s refreshing. He isn’t trying to get into anyone’s pants; he’s being completely platonic.
Safe. But still fun.
Previously, anyone who became part of our little gang was quickly ousted because they tried to sleep with one of us. That shit isn’t allowed. Apart from Ben and Kelsey, who have been fucking since forever. Their relationship became common knowledge when they were caught bumping uglies in the storage room at school. It nearly got them expelled, but Ben’s parents smoothed it over. Like they always do.
The hours pass fast, and several rounds of tequila later, we head off to the club. The Chequers Nightclub looks dismal from the outside. It’s just a single open door with a simple sign lit up in pink neon. There’s a security guard who fills the entrance, managing the long queue that stretches around the corner. Terry walks confidently past all the waiting punters outside.
“Barry!” he yells to the burly bouncer.
The large bald head turns to face him and splits into a broad smile.
“Terry, good to see you, mate. Go straight in.” He lifts the red rope with one hand while gesturing with the other. I hear heckles and pissed-off comments behind me as I skip up the stairs.
The music is eardrum-bursting loud, the floor vibrating under my feet. I love to dance. My body naturally moves to the music before we get to the top of the stairs. The club is dark, and laser lights swing around the room. It’s quietnow, with only a few groups of people hanging around or sitting in booths with a large group of maybe twenty professional looking guys in the corner. They’re the kind of men I avoid, a perfect blend of entitlement and arrogance. They frighten me.
We grab a booth near the bar, and the drinks start to stack up. The music continues to blare through the club. My head bounces along to the beat. It’s starting to fill with people. The atmosphere building. People are pumped to be out.
The thing about alcohol is it lowers your inhibitions while increasing the joy you feel in that moment. I love the freedom it gives me. It reduces my nervousness about being in social situations out of my control. Amy and Kelsey stand up and shimmy out of the booth.
“Come on, Bex, we’re dancing,” they say together. I can barely hear them over the beat.
We head down to the sunken floor and dance in a small group, facing each other. The girls sway from side to side, barely moving their feet, tottering on their killer heels. They look sexy and in control. I stand opposite them, dancing wildly to the music. I mash the potatoes and cut the cheese like a madman. Alcohol and music turn me into a different person. Wild, fun, and outgoing. I love me as a drunk disco dancing babe, though I very rarely remember the next morning.
I’m in my little bubble when I notice a cute guy at the bar waving. I look over my shoulder to check that no one’sbehind me. There’s no way that he can be waving at me. He’s one of the suits. Men like that do not engage with me. I’m invisible to them. I know my place. He smiles, points, then gestures for me to come over.
Me? Really?
No freaking way!
Wobbling my way across the club, I do a happy dance in my head. I’m not wearing heels. I’m just drunk. This guy is tall, hot, and blond. His dark eyes undress me as I move. Every step feels like a mistake I don’t want to stop making. I hold my head high and look him straight in the eye, liquid courage flowing in my veins. Well, I try to, but right now, he’s kind of moving in clockwise circles, swirling around my head. Oh, he’s dreamy.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He smiles. “Fancy a drink?” I smile back idiotically.
Ignoring his question completely, I blurt out, “I’m Bex, and bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”
He laughs, then strokes my cheek.
“You’re cute. Do you want that drink?” I nod enthusiastically, and he raises his hand for the bartender.
Half an hour passes, and I’m drooling over this man. He’s chatty, confident, and massaging my ego with every word. He leans in to kiss me, and I submit willingly, his tongue dancing with mine. Excitement surges through me, making my stomach churn.
Lifting my hands to his face, I run my fingers through his hair. My nipples harden, and a dampness appears between my legs. Oh, it’s been a long time since a man touched me there. I need it so bad.
Suddenly, he pulls back. My eyes spring open. One of his suit friends is standing next to him, waving a fifty-pound note. Confusion. I’m trying to connect the dots. They’re all laughing. Laughing at me.
I feel it before I understand it. My gut twists. My throat closing with panic. His friend has tears streaming from his eyes as his laughter becomes harder.
“Oh, my fucking god, Joel. You did it,” he shouts. “You earned this fifty! You took one for the team.” He passes the dirty note over, and Joel kisses it, then turns to me.
“Sorry, love. A bet’s a bet.” He shrugs. “You’re a bloody good kisser for an ugly bird, though.”
The world stops, and a feeling of complete disbelief overwhelms me. I stand abruptly, then I’m running blindly around the club. My friends are nowhere to be seen. They didn’t see it. They weren’t watching. Embarrassed, ashamed, and made a fool of yet again, I charge down the stairs to the exit and into the fresh air.
My head spins. Everything spins. My pulse beats in my ears. Fire burns my cheeks, then my legs give way. I fall hard on my knees, then stagger to my feet and rub my hands on my legs. They come away bloody. The tears start to fall, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s the burly bouncer.
