Unspoken(53)
>THE GARDEN WAS ONE OF two bars in the warehouse district. The other one was a dance club called Mustangs, a hiphop/techno dance club despite the country-western name. None of us were sure why it was called Mustangs, but it was a well-known meat market. Both guys and girls went there, primarily to find a hookup. Dancing was the mating call. I know this because I’ve had my own Mustangs hookup. I’m pretty sure almost everyone has. The Garden, however, was known for its awesome themed parties and cage dancers. Because it was targeted at the GLBT population, it was rare to see a straight guy inside, which made it a safe place for straight girls to come and let their hair down.
The undies parties were legendary, but I’d never attended one before this. I knew you were only allowed to wear underwear or pajamas.
Sasha, Ellie, and I spilled out of the cab and presented our IDs and invitations. Once inside, we stood and waited in the foyer as people took off their boots and overcoats. Ultraviolet light washed the nightclub, and bouncers were marking people’s shoulders as they passed out of the coat check area into the main club.
The hardbodies were out in full force. Acres of ripped and glistening abs stretched from one side room to the other. Special Magic Markers sat on tables and people were drawing on each other, the black lights in the ceiling and in the spotlights making us look like glow-in-the-dark cartoons.
Men and women walked around the bar with trays that hung around their necks. Jello shots, slippery nipples, and Jager Bombs were offered for $5 a pop. Getting drunk at the underwear party wasn’t cheap.
Sasha dragged us through until we found a table to prop our purses on. Cash, credit card, and ID we stuck in our bras. The phones and makeup were left in the purses. Some guys wore long fluorescent tube socks that held their gear. Others had cute fanny packs with the pouches resting at the base of their spines.
Every guy’s package looked alive.
“Cock rings,” Sasha whispered to me.
“What?”
“The cock ring makes the penis stand up. No guy wants to look like he has a sad package here.”
Ellie waved over a waiter and paid for three slippery nipples. We gulped them down and perused the room. The webbing in Sasha’s bra and panties were traced in thin strips of safety tape and in the dark, it made her look nearly naked. She’d make Victoria sorry in this getup.
“Oh my God,” I heard Ellie gasp and she grabbed my arm, hard.
“What?” I asked, reacting to the panic. She lifted her free arm and pointed across the room. Following the path of her finger, I saw an equally shocked Ryan Collins, dressed in what looked like red board shorts. Even at a distance I could see his mouth was slightly open. I wasn’t sure if he was shocked to see us or struck dumb by how gorgeous Ellie looked.
“Goddamn it,” Ellie cursed. “Is he gay? Was he trying to get me to be his fucking beard?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“What’s going on?” Sasha asked. I quickly filled her in.
“Mohawk guy across the dance floor was hitting on Ellie.”
“No way,” Sasha said.
Ellie dropped her arm. “Yes, way.” She looked furious. She pushed her way around me. “I’m going to confront that motherfucker right now.”
She started across the dance floor looking fierce. Sasha and I glanced at each other, our eyes wide, and raced after her.
Ellie stopped right in front of Ryan and pointed her finger against his chest. “What’re you doing here? If you think I’d be your beard for your stupid fucking lacrosse team, you’ve—”
Ryan grabbed her finger and pulled her against him, flush against his body. With her heels, she came up to his nose. The sudden and unexpected action shut Ellie up. Ryan dipped his head down slightly and pressed his mouth over Ellie’s and began eating at her lips like he hadn’t had a good meal in a week. His hands tangled in Ellie’s dark, coarse hair, holding her tightly in his grasp. Sasha and I just stood there, dumbfounded. I think the entire crowd in a five-foot radius was watching with breathless anticipation. It was a Telemundo soap opera, acted out in real life.
Ryan let her go, and Ellie stumbled back. She brought her hand up to her lips, and I saw it was trembling.
“I’m not gay, honey,” Ryan said and then placed his hand on his crotch. “And this is all for you.”
Ellie raised her hand. For a moment it looked like she was going to slap him, but then she turned on her heel and stomped back to our table. Sasha followed her immediately, but I paused. My attention was arrested when Ryan’s face tightened as he watched Ellie walk away.
“Fuck,” he muttered and hit his fist hard against the table, making it rock on its pedestal. A dark-haired guy with washboard abs walked up wearing tight green underwear with a fluorescent band and dollar bills poking out of the waist. He was carrying a mixed drink in one hand and a beer in the other.