Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I swallow past the sandpaper feeling in my throat.
As soon as I reach the bar, I lean over the sticky counter. “Hey, could I get one orange juice and something strong for Phoebe?”
His face creases with smile lines. “Yeah, no problem.” He cocks his head to one side. “I'm Travis. New here.”
Clearly.
“Melissa. How old are you?” The question slips out as I take in his boyish features, his frame not yet filled out like the others.
“Old enough,” he says with a wink.
Cute. Probably won’t last, but cute to think he could try. “How about I tell you my age and you tell me yours?”
“What?” His smile stretches further as ice cubes clink into a glass. “Like, you show me yours and I'll show you mine?”
I throw my head back, laughter bubbling up from my chest. “Something like that, only less pedophile-ish.”
“Hi!” Lisha claims the stool beside me, her white-blonde hair cascading down her back.
I pivot toward her. “Can I help you?” She and I aren’t exactly friends.
She tosses that impossibly long hair with a laugh. “Nope, not unless you have a cock.”
“Wow.” I glance back at Travis, whose eyes dart nervously between us before he disappears into the back room.
I turn back to Lisha with a tight smile. “You really take the whole...” My fingers flick toward the room full of leather and testosterone, “club whore thing seriously.”
She lifts my orange juice and pushes it into my hand. “Oh, you have no idea.” Then she sashays back to her table where the rest huddle together, their whispers punctuated by pointed glances in my direction that make me wonder whose man I fucked.
I pale. No. No. Hell no…
I shrug. “Probably.”
Six
Melissa
Stumbling off my stool, I hear the harsh grind of metal legs on concrete as I lurch toward the stereo.
My hands flail, brushing the coarse weave of a nearby chair. I clutch it tight, knuckles paling, fighting to stay upright. Fear coats my tongue, sharp and metallic, as icy sweat beads on my skin, stinging with every frantic breath.
Glancing over, I catch the huddle of women with their hushed giggles and sly smirks. My palm presses hard against my forehead, trying to steady the chaos inside.
The room sways once more, a dizzying pull snaking through me. No way.
I’ve got to pull myself together.
I stagger up, legs shaking, and spot the stripper pole gleaming in the corner. My fingers fumble with my phone until The Weeknd's music fills the room. Every head turns as I grip the cold metal. Whatever drug they slipped me makes everything dreamlike, but I surrender to it, letting my body move with the beat.
“Yana!” I call out, waving her toward me. “Come danceeee!”
She jerks forward, grabbing for my arm. “Get off there, right now. How much did you drink?”
I stumble off the edge, blackness engulfing me before it fades, exposing her worried scowl.
Slumping against her, my arms loop around her neck, words slurring into a mess. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know... did I drink anything?”
Her eyebrows knit tight. “You're obviously wasted, Melissa. Come on, we'll get you water.” She tugs me toward the bar while my awareness flickers like a dying bulb. Yana's fingers against my skin ignite a trail of fire that races through my veins.
“Yana? Ever been with a girl?”
“What?” she scoffs, still dragging me forward.
Yana plants me on a barstool and barks at Ashley to bring water.
“Yana...” I tilt my head, the room wobbling like a ship at sea. “I don't remember drinking anything but my juice.”
“Are you sure? Where'd you get your orange juice from?”
I accept the water, condensation slicking my overheated palm. “I... um...” I twist around, hunting for Lisha, but the room carousel spins faster. When my vision finally steadies, her smug face materializes among her tittering friends, and realization crashes through my fog.
I lurch off the stool, every cell screaming to smash her face into the floor, but my legs buckle beneath me like melting wax.
“Melissa!” Yana drops beside me, draping her cardigan over my trembling shoulders. “Are you cold? Are you okay? Shit! Where's Phoebe?”
She hoists me back onto the stool as Ashley bolts over.
“Is she okay?” Ashley kneels beside me, rubbing my arms.
“I don't know. Melissa?”
“Yana, it's Lisha, the club whore.”
“Lisa?” Yana's brow furrows, my last comment floating away unacknowledged.
Ashley's head swivels like a radar. “No, she means Lisha.” Her gaze locks onto the group across the room, eyes narrowing to slits. “It is Lisha. She's had a thing for Hella since he's been here.”
A weak laugh bubbles from my throat as my eyelids grow heavier. I part my lips to question what this woman's crush has to do with me, but Yana cuts me off.
“What the hell did she do to her?”
Ashley's shoulders lift. “I'll find out, if you want. But if I'm reading her symptoms correctly, I'd say she slipped her a molly.”