less patient. That’s when I notice we’re getting dubious glances from her friends she has neglected to spend time with since I stole her attention.
I don’t have time for this shit. I need to get laid, and it’s about that time of the night.
I glance down at my phone. Fuck, it’s only eight-forty-five.
“It’s getting crowded. Want to get out of here?” I say after I feel her hand land on my bare knee.
“Where did you have in mind?” she asks, her eyes trailing down to my low-cut neckline.
“Your place.” Her eyes shift quickly up to meet my gaze.
“I wish I could,” she replies, biting her lip. She does have a girlfriend, then. Or a boyfriend, who knows. I know I don’t care, especially when a low, subtle warmth starts to build between my legs. It’s the most action my body has seen in months, and I’m not about to waste it now.
I spot someone coming out of the bathroom in the back, and I get an idea. Standing from my barstool, I let my hand graze over Ally’s waistline as I walk away toward the dark, back corner of the bar. At least this place is clean and upscale. I would never do this in a hole in the wall.
What am I saying? Yes, I would.
It only takes one “come fuck me” glance at Ally before I disappear through heavy, black swinging door. She’s on my heels in seconds.
I know the gin’s behind the wheel now because I don’t remember kissing her for the first time. I remember her shoving me against the tiled wall and the way it fired up a mini arousal in my belly, enough so by the time she reaches up my dress, there’s at least some moisture there. Then she’s pounding two fingers into me, and I’m too busy searching my body for the heat and arousal that’s only a memory now I don’t think to do anything for her, and I feel bad for it. Well, almost.
She’s kissing my neck, kneading my breasts aggressively, and the roughness helps.
“Harder,” I gasp, latching onto her neck and rubbing my leg between hers. It’s working. There’s a slow build of heat at the base of my spine, and for a moment I’m relieved I won't have to fake it.
But the black swinging door of the bathroom hits the wall so hard, it makes me jump. Ally and I are hidden inside the handicap stall, which is a futile defense against the angry woman who shouts, “Ally!” as soon as she enters.
She tears herself away from my body, and I slump in defeat. I was so fucking close.
I assume it’s her angry girlfriend who is violently jostling the stall door enough it finally pops open. The girl who appears on the other side is as tall as Ally with long blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, an athletic build, and a strikingly gorgeous face. Fuck, Ally. Why are you messing with me when you have this girl at home?
Ready to make my exit and let these two work it out, I realize I’m not getting away that easy when the blonde stops screaming at her girlfriend to focus her rage-filled expression on me.
“You fucking bitch!” she screams as her open hand comes flying across my cheek. I’m stunned for a moment. Between the gin, the hit, and their nonstop arguing, I’m disoriented. The room is spinning, and my brain is lost in a fog—a fog much like the one I drifted off into last summer when they had to sedate me during my maniacal fit. It’s a welcome fog where I don’t feel useless, worthless, nothing.
Then, the fog clears as quickly as it came, and I’m still stuck between these two fighting women. Something in me snaps. Everything in me snaps. The next thing I know, I have blondie’s hair in my hands while I swing at her with the other. Ally is holding me back, yelling in my face, and I’m lost in the rage. I barely register being carried out by the security guards and deposited on the street.
Fifteen to twenty minutes later, I’m walking alone down a busy city street and shivering from the cold. Ally and her girlfriend are gone. My head is pounding. My face stings, and my hand aches from where it ricocheted off the stall door as I pounded a girl I don’t even know and will never see again.
What is wrong with me? When did this happen? One year