You Don't Own Me(83)

‘Oh, OK.’

‘Call me when you get home, OK?’

‘Will do.’

‘But call Shane first,’ she says, and rings off.

I put my phone back into my purse and look up at Ria imploringly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. My ma is sending my brother around to my place in an hour.’

‘Blimey,’ Ria says, widening her eyes. ‘You better call him and make it an hour and a half.’ She turns towards BJ. ‘I’ll see you this weekend then.’

He nods and looks at me.

‘Bye,’ I say awkwardly.

Then we are hurrying back into the barn in search of the guy we placed our bets with.





ELEVEN




Layla

Saturday. It takes forever to come, but when it does it brings a hard, tight knot into my stomach.

I know Ria and all her mates will dress to kill, so I take a long time getting ready. I soak in the bath for almost an hour with my mother’s secret homemade masque recipe on my face and another of her concoctions in my hair. She claims it’s guaranteed to make my hair shine. My mother’s potions do a good job, my skin is glowing and my hair glossy and shiny.

I wear my white mini dress. It is sleeveless with a high Nehru collar, but what makes it daring without being slutty is a five-inch long oval cutout in the middle of the dress that reveals my nicely tanned torso and belly button. I stick a red beret on my head and slide into a pair of knee length, white suede peep-toe boots that were all the rage a few months ago in Italy.

I stand in front of the mirror and I know I look good. My thoughts go to that moment when BJ bent his head to me and we shared a flame. Unconsciously, my finger slowly circles my bare belly.



Laissez-faire is a cavernous, totally modern nightclub with under-flooring lights that flash blue and white and gleaming metal structures on the walls and pillars. Ria is having her party in the VIP area upstairs. As soon as I enter the cordoned off area, she runs towards me.

‘Oh! My! God!’ she screams. ‘You look awesome, babe. I LOVE your boots.’

She looks glamorous in a red cowboy hat with a rhinestone band, a tight red and black striped dress, and the highest boots I have seen outside of a fashion magazine. The lights pick up the glitter on her lovely brown skin.

‘Well, you look absolutely stunning yourself,’ I tell her sincerely.

She flicks her long, summer-streaked hair. ‘You bet I do.’

I smile. None of that false modesty for Ria. I hold out her present, a pretty chain belt I bought in Milan. ‘Happy Birthday, Ria.’

She takes it, beaming. ‘Thanks. Come on. Let’s get you a drink.’ She winks at me. ‘We’re drinking champagne. BJ said we could have anything we wanted, so we ordered bubbly, but we didn’t go overboard and get the really expensive stuff though,’ she tells me chattily as we cross the room for the bar.

We are halfway there when Ria’s favorite song, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back, comes on. With a shout of pure joy she puts her present on the floor, and gyrates provocatively around me. With a laugh I give in. We start bumping hips, twerking comically, and dancing around my present like two demented teenagers. Soon her other friends come onto the floor to join us.

When the song is over, Ria takes my hand and we attempt to continue our journey to the bar, but All About That Bass comes on and I love that song. I swing her around and we are at it again.

Laughing and breathless, we reach the bar five songs later. No sooner have we had a sip of our champagne than another of my favorite tracks comes on. Five of us girls rush off to the dance floor and give it all we’ve got.

The hours pass fast. The music is good and Ria is a great laugh.

It’s almost midnight. I know because the girl next to me is whispering that there is a surprise cake to be cut at the exact stroke of twelve. I am sitting at the table with Ria, feeling relaxed and merry when the air shifts. I look up and BJ is standing over us, looming even bigger and broader than I remember. He is wearing a khaki t-shirt tight enough to show off his impressive muscles and the V of his torso. His jeans hang low on his hips.

But he is with a woman!

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. But when it does—fucking hell!—I feel like the biggest fool this side of the equator. There was nothing between us after all. It was all in my imagination. I was wrong again. Just as I was wrong about Lupo. Without looking directly into his eyes, my eyes slide away to her.

She is voluptuous and hauntingly exotic with creamy skin, blue-black hair, either green or hazel eyes (it’s impossible to tell under the club’s lights), and high cheekbones that give her a feline appearance. She is wearing a short black dress that can barely contain her curves, and she has her hand possessively curved around BJ’s arm. Her nails are long and red and she is running them lightly along the inside of his forearm in a way that is profoundly sexual. I find the sight so disturbing I have to drop my head and stare into my drink.