Make Me Yours (6 page)

  
Eric turns, and sits on my vanity seat, fixing his already perfect hair in my mirror. “It’s not, it’s just stupid. This guy is acting like a love-struck puppy.” He turns to me, blue eyes wide. “He doesn’t do that.”

  
I shrug, and pull the straightener over my hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not into dating, fucking or whatever it is he has in mind.”

  
Eric sighs, and leans against my desk. “You’re hopeless. Now, hurry up, I want to get there so we can dance before everyone gets too drunk.”

  
We take Eric’s Bug to the pool hall. It’s lime green. He gets some blank stares but he doesn’t care. He says they can kiss his designer jean cladded ass. I smile.

  
The doors swing open and a gush of beer, weed, sex and God only knows what, slams into my nostrils.
Gag
. Eric waves his hand in front of his face and scrunches his nose. “This place needs a cleaning day.”

  
I nod. It needs more than that. Eric leads us to the bar, helping me up on a stool. The music is going and there are a lot of people here for eight o’clock. College kids will do anything to get out of studying. “What can I get ya,” the bartender, a younger guys, asks.

  
“Anything fruity,” I say.

  
“Pansy,” Eric says. “Rum and Coke,” he throws a twenty on the table. “Start a tab.”

  
I raise an eyebrow and turn toward Eric. “Wow, someone is trying to get
shitfaced
tonight. Am I going to have to drive that Bug home?”

  
Eric raises his broad shoulders and takes the drink from the bartender. “Maybe,” he takes a gulp, “I feel like letting loose. Maybe…”

  
I snatch my Mike’s Hard Lemonade from the bartender and taking a long swig. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

  
Eric is staring behind me, eyes wide. I don’t dare turn around, because I know good and damn well who is standing behind me. I feel a feather soft touch on the back of my neck, pushing my hair to my other shoulder. “You weren’t at your house,” he whispers. “Someone broke their promise.”

  
My eyes are still locked with Eric’s. I clear my throat, and push the heat from his breath away from me. “I’m a bad liar,” I say, taking another long sip of my drink.

  
Taylor laughs, deep and turns me around toward him. He is way closer than I thought he would be, hands on either side of me. He’s breath smells like mint and he has that same manly, smell about him. The tightness of his black shirt, fits great to his broad shoulders. “I should have known, you’d be gone.” He glances over my shoulder at Eric and cocks an eyebrow. “You here with someone else?” he voice is soft, but there is an edge to it. “I don’t like to see you with someone else, Layla.”

  
I lean back against the counter, blood thumping quickly through my veins. “Eric is my date,” I say loudly.

  
Eric narrows his eyes. “I’m gay,” he says, softly. “This aggravating, blonde menace is my friend and co-worker, Layla.”

  
Traitor!
“You--,”

  
“Well, in that case,” Taylor says. He reaches behind me, wraps his arm around my waste and pulls me from the stool to his arms. “Dance with me.” I’m tempted to just kiss him, get it over with, because the way he smells, and that soft sexy smile, it’s inevitable. But, I won’t, because I have to fight. I can’t let him get too close. It’s better for me and him.

  
Before I can give him a smart ass remark, he pulls me into the middle of the dance floor, where everyone is swaying against one another. He turns me around, my back against his front. His arm wraps around me while he grips my upper arm. He sways us to the beat. I’m not sure how long we dance, but I can’t make myself move. He feels too good. Eric moved from his seat, and I saw a glance of him dancing with some guy in the corner.

  
The song changes pace, and Taylor turns me around to face him, one arm loosely around my back, the other one wrapped in my hair. “I wish you would have been there tonight. I wanted to take you to dinner.”

  
It’s the first thing he says to me, since he drug me out here. I smile. “I already ate.”

  
His lip twitches up. “I’d give you something to eat anyway,” he whispers. I’m about to ask if it’s food he is talking about when something firm grips my ass. I glance at Taylor, wide-eyed, but he is staring behind me.

  
My arm is jerked back, and I’m standing behind Taylor before I can realize some asshole just grabbed my ass.

  
“You wanna keep your hands to yourself?” Taylor asks, head nearly touching the other guy. I peak around and see some guy I’ve never seen before. He is as tall as Taylor but not as bulky.

  
He smiles, his teeth are crocked and his forehead looks cave-manish. “I think I’ll do whatever I want to, buddy. You can’t share ya little play thing? I just wanna fuck her once.”

  
Play thing. Fuck me once. Hell no he did not.
“I don’t share shit, big boy. I suggest you step the fuck away and we’ll forget all about this lapse of intelligence.”

  
He furrows his brow. “Are you calling me stupid, asshole?”

  
If the shoe fits.
Big guy raises his hand, and I watch as Taylor grips it, turns it to the side and I hear a snap.
Holy Fuck.

  
The big guy starts to scream, holding his hand at an odd angel. “What the hell, Taylor?” I yell, running around him. Cave man is lying on the floor, hand broken. There isn’t any blood, only a bone poking out, where I know there shouldn’t be.

  
A group of people have gathered around, and when the security guard walks up everyone becomes silent. He is a huge guy, balding head, tattoos and a beer gut. “What happened?” he yells, voice scratchy. “Who did this?”

  
No one says a word.

  
I don’t dare.

  
Taylor’s hand is jerking, like he wants to hit him again. The body guard growls, bends down and tosses Cave Man over his shoulder like a pack of feed. “Stop the bullshit. If anyone gets hurts again, everyone is leaving.” He turns around and leaves, guy swaying over his back.

  
It’s quiet for a few seconds, but then everyone slowly gets the hell away from us. It’s like a clear protective circle around us. Taylor glances down at me, big gray eyes searching my face. “What the hell, Taylor? You just broke his fucking hand.”

  
His jaw muscle flexes but he shrugs. “He touched your ass.”
   “Lots of guys touch girls’ asses in a pool hall, Taylor. You gonna go break all their hands, too?”

  
He tilts his head to the side. “Only the ones that touch yours.”

  
Is he serious?
“Look,” I clear my throat, “I can’t handle this shit. You
don’t
break people’s hands. That might be cute at
Fight Night,
but it’s not when you’re in the real world. You’ll go to prison, Taylor.”

  
His eyes are moving over my face, and I see his mind working. All the while, I’m contemplating an escape route.
This guy is nuts, breaking people’s hands? Really?
“I’m not going to let someone touch your ass, I was dancing with you, it’s all about respect, Layla.” He touches my arm, but I step away.

  
“I’m going to go get something to drink. Maybe you should go chill for a second.” Lame excuse, I know. But, I’d rather get the hell out of dodge.

  
Taylor grips my arm before I turn to walk off. “You better not leave, or I’ll come find you.” He narrows his gaze and disappears in the crowd of swaying people.
Jesus, what a nutcase.
I make my way to the bar. I need to find Eric. I can barely see anything through the vast amounts of drunken college kids.

  
I can’t leave without him, he is my ride. It’s way too long of a walk home, and Cindy is at our apartment with Brett. God knows I’d never live it down, if I interrupted her
fun time
.

  
Biting my lip, I settle against the counter. I don’t see Taylor and I hope he went outside, maybe he’ll cool off. Hopefully, Eric and I will be long gone by the time he comes back.

  
“Can I get you something to drink?” I hear from beside me. I glance over. A taller guy, lip ring, tattoos and a cigarette hanging from his mouth is staring at me.
Wow, I sure know how to attract em, don’t I?

  
I cross my legs, and smile. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”

  
He lifts an eyebrow and lights his cigarette. “You here alone?” he asks.

  
I shrug. “Depends on how you look at it.”

   He
laughs, it’s rough, like he has to hack up a lung. “Bad night, huh?”

  
“I’ve had worse,” I say, searching for Eric.
Where the Hell is he?

  
“I’d say the guy with the broken wrist is having a bad night. He is lying out on the concrete, moaning. Poor kid.”

  
Damn.
I nod but keep searching. “Me and my buddy are going to play some pool, wanna come watch?”

  
Bingo. Rue 21 here I come.
I turn and look at him. “But, I don’t know how to play?” I say, my voice silky.

   H
e smiles, and gestures for me to follow him. “Well, let me be your teacher, sweetness.” I follow him toward the pool table. A few guys are standing around, but one guy is posted against the wall next to the empty table. He watches me as I walk up, eyes devouring me. It’s creepy as Hell.

  
“Well, what do we have here?” he asks, stepping closer to me. I almost jump out of my skin when I glance at him. One eye is black, the other blue. He has a scar that runs down his face, from the corner of his eyebrow to the tip of his mouth.

  
Cigarette boy says, “What’s your name?”

  
“Layla,” I say, taking him in.

  
“I’m David, this guy is Rod.”

  
Rod smiles and tosses his head toward the table. “You know how to play?” He trails a finger along the table. He has several rings on, and his knuckles look busted up.

  
I shrug and twirl my hair. “No way, my dad use to play, but I was never any good.” I bend over the table and pretend to be interested in the balls. “Will you guys teach me?”

  
David nods and takes another drag. “Sure. We’ll show you how to play.”

  
I listen as David tries to explain to me how to play. He isn’t a very good teacher, but I pretend to listen. I still can’t find Eric, and I haven’t seen Taylor either. It kind of makes me uneasy. They’re both gone? How in the Hell am I going to get home? I don’t have my bus pass, because Eric brought me. My wallet is in Eric’s Bug and Taylor is nowhere to be found.

  
“You got that?” David asks, blowing smoke in my face.

  
I nod and flip my hair. “Sure, let’s start.”

  
Rod takes the pool stick from David’s hand and gives him a creepy smile.
What does that mean?
I grab mine and watch as Rod breaks. “Stripes,” he says.

  
My body flutters, remembering Taylor at his house on the pool table. I shake my head.
Get over it, Lay. He is just a guy.

  
Rod pulls back again, but misses.

  
I smile. “Darn. My turn, right?” I ask, pointing toward myself.

  
He smiles and tilts his head to the side, making a small noise in his throat. “Why don’t we make this interesting?” I ask. “You guys didn’t come here to teach me. Why don’t we make a wager?” I ask, smiling.

  
David glances over at Rod, who smiles. “Maybe we could make a little wager. How’s one hundred?”             

  
I stroke my chin. “I can do that, it’s your payment for helping me.” I smile. Or your payment to me.

  
Rod nods. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Now, it’s your go.”

  
I lean over the table, pull back and send a stripe right into the pocket. “Yay,” I screech, flipping my hair.
Gotta play the part
. As soon as I start talking strategy and reminiscing about me growing up in a trailer park, they all lose interest.
Who says ditsy girls don’t rule the world?

  
Rod watches my chest as I jump once more, clapping my hands.

  
“Good work, sweetheart. Your turn again.” He cracks his neck to the side, and watches me closely, as I bend over. I can feel David’s presence behind me, but I brush it away. I’m about to make one hundred dollars.

  
I slip on my game face, and I can tell Rod notices. He lifts an eyebrow and watches as I shoot three stripes in, in a row.