The Other C-Word(39)

"Are you going to a strip club?" Rick asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, Stevie wasn't interested in that. We're going to a dance club and getting our groove on."

Rick sighed, pressing his lips into my neck. "I wish you were going to a strip club instead."

I pushed away from him, unsure if I'd heard him correctly. "Why?"

"Strip clubs have rules about touching."

"You think I'm going to touch somebody, Rick?"

"No, that's not my concern. I don't want anyone touching you. It's a big problem, because you're so damn adorable and places like that are creep magnets."

I giggled. "You're kind of a possessive caveman type, aren't you?"

"Hmm … that's a good C-word to describe me, at least when it comes to you. Promise me you won't dance with another guy, okay?"

My eyes widened. "Why?"

His voice was low and spoken at a slower pace as if he wanted to make sure his meaning was clear. "I wouldn't like it. Dancing in one of those places is very sexual. I don't like the idea of anyone else's hands on you. You are mine, and that means no one else gets to grind against you, grab your ass or anything else. Do you promise, Marley?"

This type of speech would have caused me to go on red alert in the past. It would have caused my stalker senses to go off and have me running for the hills, but with Rick, I didn't feel that. I didn't feel it because I would have uttered the same words to him.

"I won't dance with any boys except Dillon, if you promise not to stuff dollar bills into anyone's G-string."

"Dollar bills? You think I'm that cheap? Baby, someone's got to help these poor girls go to college."                       
       
           



       

I grabbed a handful of his Polo shirt and pulled him towards me. "Write a check to a local college fund for poor wayward strippers then. If you stuff, I'll dance."

"Okay, I promise no stuffing, no gawking and no imagining. I'll only be thinking about you. The next time I'm inside you. The next time I get to rip off your panties. The next time we take a shower together. The next time I hold you against a wall." He made each statement with slow, whispered precision.

"Stop it! I'm going to need to change my panties if you keep going."

He laughed as I stood. "Why do you think I bought you so many?"





Chapter Fourteen





I gaped in awe at the sparkly, pink top Stevie expected me to wear. Damn if she hadn't bought one in a different colour for all of us.

"Are you crazy? You've assigned us clothes to wear?"

She nodded. "This is a huge club, and it will be easier to find each other if we separate. Besides, I picked out a top that will look good on everyone. It's my gift to all my girls." I didn't want to, but I had to admit, Stevie had good taste. Each top was slightly different. Mine was form fitting and one shouldered. Billie's was a silver, V-neck and looser. My mom's was a blue tank top style, but a more conservative in cut. They were however, all made from the same glittery material. Regardless of how great they looked, I knew we would resemble a gay pride float when we walked into the dance club together.

"Do you think we're the fucking Partridge family or something?"

Stevie laughed. "My party, my rules. This is the one day where I get to tell everyone what to do and I love telling people how to dress, especially you."

I groaned. "Isn't your wedding day, next week, supposed to be that day?"

"Yeah, but I kind of have to share that with Adam."

"Get off it, he's totally whipped. You know you rule all the decisions on that day too."

Stevie giggled. "Yeah, well he's a smart guy. I told him if he'd let me pick out all the details for our wedding day, he could pick out all the positions for our honeymoon."

Stevie never failed to gross me out. "Thank you for making me throw up before I drink."

The Cassbar was a converted warehouse turned dance club. It boasted several levels, strobe lights, numerous bars and even cages where go-go dancers were on display. It looked like a relic of the seventies, which was probably why my mother had agreed to come. I sat with Stevie at one of the bars. Stevie looked so happy. I loved that she was taking this huge step in her life. I loved Adam too, but I'd been telling him for years that I'd cut off his balls if he ever hurt her. I'd threatened him with more than a butter knife too.

My mom, Billie and all of Stevie's girlfriends were on the far side of the club, but I wanted a private moment with her. "I want your top," I said, eyeing her white sparkly strapless top.

"Only the bride gets to wear white, Marley," she retorted, sipping her Long Island Iced tea and adjusting the tiara that spelled out ‘BRIDE' in fake diamonds.

Just then, Dillon approached us. It was funny because Dillon was invited to both Adam's and Stevie's parties, but his decision on which invitation to accept had been simple. He wanted nothing to do with what those boys were up to tonight. "Hello, dolls," he said, spinning around for us. He was wearing a hot pink button-down shirt with silver threading and skinny black jeans.

"Dillon, Stevie didn't get you a top?"

He laughed, pulling up his shirt, revealing a sparkly orange belt underneath it. "No, she got me something to hold up my bottoms instead."

"I think you clash, Dills," I yelled into his ear so he could hear me over the music.

He stepped back, faking an offended look. "Kid, orange and pink are the new black and white. Get with the times." He took a sip of my drink and bowed to us before saying, "Later, bitches." Okay, I knew Dillon was drunk already because he never referred to us as bitches unless he'd had a few cocktails.

I turned back to Stevie, shaking my head. "He's crazy, but you have to love him."

"Yep, he's your bestie, but he belongs to all of us now." It was true. Dillon was family.

"I can't believe you're getting married," I exclaimed, clasping her hand.

"I can't believe you're in a relationship. Maybe you'll wear white sooner than you think?"

My smiled disappeared. "Stevie, I told you Rick's leaving."

"Hmm … and I recall telling you that things like video chat, email, snail mail, phones, text, busses, planes and trains actually exist. You don't have to end it just because he leaves. If you think the long-distance thing will be too hard than you should have that conversation with him. I can tell he's really into you, Mar."                       
       
           



       

"You know I can't do that. Our relationship would never be normal. There're so many logistics and complications."

"That's only because you make it complicated." Stevie punctuated her words with her famous eye roll. I swear she was going to go blind from that one day.

I downed my Long Island. "Stop. We deal with my crazy all the time. Tonight is your night. Let's just celebrate you and dance like we did when we were little." I grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the dance floor. We made our way in the direction of our group, which was on the far side of the club, when a certain song came on that stopped both of us in our tracks.

It wasn't an inspiring song and maybe wasn't even appropriate, but I thought it was one of the most danceable, especially for a girl. Stevie loved it too. I had no idea how My Darkest Days made Porn Star Dancing sound incredibly awesome, but it totally brought out the hidden porn star in all us girls. Stevie and I stared at each other, knowing what we had to do. Yep, we performed our best-somewhat slutty-dance moves. Sometimes a girl just has to be naughty.

The club was crowded and we only had a small patch of space to ourselves, which was why it shocked me when a huge guy managed to wedge himself between us. He had to be at least seven foot, and he was as large as he was tall. He was bald and covered with tattoos and piercings. I imagined if Mr Clean had a crazy nephew, this dude would be it.

He grabbed Stevie's hips and grinded into her pelvis. What the hell! That man was being inappropriate with my sister, and she was betrothed to one of my best friends. I had no idea why the word betrothed came to mind, but that was my first thought. My second thought was to save her by jumping on his back. I chalked up this bit of wisdom to my friend, Mr Long Island. In actuality, this was an extremely stupid idea because me jumping on this giant's back was the equivalent of Van Morrison jumping on my back minus the claws. He managed to shake me off easily, and I fell on my ass. I had no idea how the people got out of my way so fast, but I lay on the ground, flat on my butt staring up at the bald tattooed Goliath in front of me. He smiled, or rather sneered, at me, and held out his hand. He was bent over and at first, I thought he was trying to help me up. In my defence, I'd just fallen, it was loud, it was crowded, and Mr Long Island had hijacked my brain. It was in this mentally challenged state that I accepted his hand. Instead of helping me up though, he touched my boob and squeezed it … hard.

That was it, my alter ego, ‘Tuff Gong'-one of Bob Marley's nicknames too-emerged and took charge. The douchebag was standing over me, slightly bent at the knees. His ankles were next to my splayed legs. I used the best weapon in my arsenal that would yield the most pain at this angle, the six-inch, sharp, stilettos on my feet. I drove a heel into each of his ankles, propelling them deeper by bucking my hips. In retrospect, another very stupid idea because when a huge guy was peering over you, and you basically knocked his legs out from underneath him, there was only one place for him to go-he fell right on top of me. Luckily, he held his arms out, which prevented him from totally crushing me. I had to look like a sparkly flaying fish, flopping underneath his weight. I tried to breathe, but he was heavy, and the smell of his sweat intermingled with twenty kinds of alcohol he must have consumed did not help.