Stalk Me (3 page)

“I’d say I had dance class for an hour after I surfed. The salt isn’t all from the ocean.”

“Gosh, aren't you tired? I'm tired just hearing about it.”

“I’m running on about two hours’ sleep, so yeah, I’m tired. We should probably go clean while I still have the energy.” 

“I think you need a nap.” 

“A nap does sound good, but . . .”

His face is still hovering just above mine. “That or I get the tequila out.”

“And lick me?” I say, like it’s the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. But I’m so lying. The thought of someone like Cush licking me everywhere makes me feel very hot. 

He puts his elbow on the pillow behind my head, props himself up, and looks at me seriously. “Are you happy with Sander?”

I sigh. 

“Tell me the truth,” he says. 

“Most of the time. He’s sweet, and he treats me well. I just—I don’t know . . . lately, I’ve been thinking maybe we should take a break. But Prom is next week, so it’s not like I can do anything about it right now.”

“You said he treats you well but, from what I can see, you’re always taking care of him. When does he take care of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like last night. When you went in the bedroom.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I probably shouldn't say this.”

“Cush, just tell me.” I pretend to be calm, but inside I’m panicking. Does he know? Did he figure out that we aren't doing it? That we never have? Should I tell him? Do I dare tell him the truth I’ve been hiding from everyone?

“You always come out looking just as perfect as when you went in. I mean, everyone knows you're doing it.”

I blow out a big breath of air. Thank goodness. He doesn’t know. 

He continues. “I just wonder if it's any good.”

“Any good?”

“Yeah, shouldn't your hair be messed up because his hands were in it? Shouldn't your lips be red from too much kissing? Shouldn't your mascara be smudged? Shouldn't your legs be weak because you've been thoroughly fucked?” 

I swear to God, I think my panties just melted off my body. How can Cush just talking about sex make me hot? Something is seriously wrong with me. I just need to do it. Go to prom with him. Break up with him. Then tell Brooklyn how I feel. 

Except I told Vanessa I was considering it, and she got pissed. Told me I was stupid. How we’re the perfect couple, and how it would adversely affect my status.

I bite my lower lip. “Um . . .”

“He doesn't do it for you, does he?”

“Do what?” It’s very hard for me to concentrate when he’s this close to me. He’s still leaning over me. Those lips just above mine. Teasing me with their every move. 

“He doesn't make you hot. I've never heard any noises.”

I push my head deeper into the pillow to back away from him. “Do you listen at the door?”

The tops of his cheeks turn slightly pink. “No, I just . . . sometimes you hear.”

“You’re right, kinda. He doesn’t really do it for me, so I am going to break up with him after prom.”

Cush's eyes sparkle. He has gorgeous eyes. And adorable dimples. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s this guy I’ve kinda had a crush on for a while. He’s one of the guys I surf with. It’s probably useless though. I don't think he’s ever going to think of me as anything more than a friend.”

Cush plops his head down on the pillow and sighs. “Yeah, I know what that feels like. Hey, so I’m going back to sleep.” 

He closes his eyes and seems distant all of a sudden.

Is he mad at me? Did I say something wrong? 

While I try to figure out the answer, I close my eyes and immediately fall asleep.

I wake up with that feeling. That feeling someone is staring at you. My little sisters do it all the time. I’ll wake up, and their little faces will be four inches away from mine, and I’ll wonder how long they’ve been there.

I open my eyes and see Cush. “Tell me I wasn't snoring.”

He grins sweetly at me. “No, you looked peaceful. You ready to tackle the cleanup?” 

“Not really, but I suppose we better.” 

We go down to the laundry room, grab a couple of big, black trash bags, and start cleaning up. We work our way through empty beer bottles, empty pizza boxes, and random half-eaten pieces of pizza.

An hour and half later, I wipe off the bar, throw away a few stray empties, fluff the pillows, and look around. 

“We’re a good team,” Cush says.

I smile at him and nod in agreement.

“You have any plans tonight?” he asks. 

“Not really. Sander has something going on, and Vanessa and RiAnne are going to some benefit with RiAnne’s parents. The nanny took the girls down to Sea World today, so they’ll go to sleep early. I was just gonna do a little homework, relax. Maybe watch a movie.” 

“Any chance you'd wanna hang out with me? I just got a text from my mom. She changed her plans—some fashion emergency—and now she won't be home until tomorrow night.” 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” he says. “So, what do you want to do?”

I realize there is something I’d rather do than just hang out, and Cush might be just the guy to do it with. 

“Don’t laugh, okay. But would you want to go dancing? The guys I surf with only go to dive bars. Sander took years of dance lessons, but he won’t go to clubs with me. And when we dance, he actually gets pissed at me if I dance too close or like grind on him.”

Cush shakes his head in disbelief. “If it weren’t for the fact that he dates you, I'd think he was gay.” He bows to me like I’m a princess. “Miss Douglas, I would be honored to have you grind up against me all night. You have a club in mind?”

“Actually, yeah. There’s this place I go . . .” 

He interrupts me. “Who do you go with?”

“Oh, um, well, this is gonna sound weird, but I sorta go by myself. Every Thursday night. This guy I know, Troy, is the DJ there. He invited me on opening night and I had so much fun I’ve gone back every Thursday since. I just go and dance. You still have your fake ID, don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think we’ll need it. I always drive Tommy’s black Ferrari, and the valets and the doormen all know me, so I never get carded.”

“I know your parents are cool, but I’m sorta surprised they let you go.”

“They know Troy. He’s in that band with my friend, Damian. Tommy talked to him before he let me go the first time and made him promise to look out for me. They also know that I just go because I like to dance. I don’t get drunk or make bad decisions or anything.”

“Bet you don’t wait in line either.” 

“Well, no, but it’s because I had a connection, and now I’m a regular, I guess. Although Troy always gives me shit about not bringing my friends.”

“You seriously go by yourself? Like
all
by yourself?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s nice to get away. To not worry about taking care of Sander or my friends. Who’s drunk? Who’s doing drugs? Who’s leaving with a guy she shouldn’t be? Who’s going to hook up with some random guy in the bathroom?”

“See. Just like I said. Who takes care of you?”

“I guess I do.”

He smiles at me. “Do you drink while you’re there?”

“I have a little routine. As soon as I get there, I down three shots. Then I drink water the rest of the night and dance my ass off.”

“Let’s do it. Where is this place?”

“Most people call it the Side Door, but it doesn’t have an actual name. It's in a crappy warehouse area, and you enter from this little rusted metal side door. But it’s huge inside. Three levels. Lights. Girls dancing in cages hung from the rafters. Great music. I’ve always heard Saturday nights are insane. I’m so excited to go. But I should warn you, I look different when I go there.”

“How so?”

“Well, I wear lots of makeup and usually put my hair in a high ponytail.”

“I see you in a ponytail at soccer all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s the makeup. The super short slinky little dresses. The sky high heels.”

Cush gives me the look. The look I’ve seen him give so many girls right before they fall into bed with him. He can be quite charming even when he’s not trying to be.

“You’re making me hard,” he says.

I punch him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“So not to sound like a girl, but what am I supposed to wear?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go find something.”

We run up to his bedroom, and I start digging through his closet. Cush dresses pretty much the same way every day. His school wardrobe consists of athletic shorts, fitted t-shirts that show off his toned chest, and brightly colored tennis shoes. 

I survey his walk-in closet and notice a pile of boxes in the back. “What’s all this?” 

“It’s the stuff my mom brings home from her trips.” Cush’s mom is the president of a large textiles conglomerate. They sell fabric to all the major luxury brands, so she travels the world and is rarely home. “She tries to make herself feel better about being gone all the time.”

I start digging through the pile and quickly realize it’s literally a treasure trove.

“Cush!! Ohmigawd! This is a Prada backpack. Do you know how expensive these are? We’re throwing away the red Nike backpack you’ve had since seventh grade, and you’re gonna start using this.”

He nods his head in a half yes, half no direction. “Fine.”

I continue to open one box after another and get more and more excited. “Oh, cashmere sweaters from Harrods! Ahhh!! Look at these Jimmy Choo loafers! They’re incredible!! And a Louis Vuitton carryon. Gucci. Burberry. Hermes. A Rolex!?” I turn around and hand him a small box. “You’re letting a Rolex sit in here? Are you freaking nuts?”

“None of that stuff looks like me.”

“It does now. Bye, bye, boring basketball shorts. Hello, international Cushman.”

He shrugs. Rolls his eyes at me. 

“You’re trying this stuff on. All of it. Like, right now.”

He gives me a sly grin. “You just wanna see me naked.”

“Yes, Cush, that is all I ever dream of. You in a closet with a pile of designer clothes all around you.” I stop. Have a flash of déjà vu and realize that does sort of sound familiar. “Actually, I have had a dream like that, but it was just me in the closet with every designer shoe ever made. And they were all lined up in glass-front cases in this massive two-story closet . . . ”

He raises a hand to halt me. “Fine. Fine. I’ll try them on if you will stop talking about shoes.”

I lie on my stomach across his bed and throw out orders of what to try on with what. 

“Do you not wear this stuff because it pisses your mom off?”

He walks out of the closet looking smoking hot. He’s got on an expensive pair of straight-cut, dark-washed jeans, a blue paisley button-up shirt that was custom made by a London tailor, and the Jimmy Choo loafers. 

“Holy shit, Cush. You look hot. That’s what you’re wearing tonight. My luck, I’ll take you there and still end up dancing alone.” 

He looks in the mirror. “You’re hot for me, aren’t you?”

I grin. “You know it.”

“The answer to your question is yes. I probably don’t wear it because it pisses my mom off. She’ll love you even more after this.”

“You miss her.”

“Yeah. I mean, it gets lonely during the week.”

“Wanna trade? I swear, there is nothing but noise at my house.” I laugh thinking about all that goes on at my house most of the time. “I love my little sisters, though, and I actually miss the noise when they're gone. So, when I need a break, I'm coming here. When you need noise, you come to the chaos that is my house.” I glance at my watch. “I have to get home for dinner. Tommy’s grilling steaks before they go out. He says he’s tired of eating nothing but appetizers at cocktail parties. Wanna join us?” 

Your dirty little secret.

8:30pm

The girls had a bedtime snack, handed out kisses, and were off to bed. Cush and I ate dinner on the deck with Mom and Tommy and then watched the sun go down over the water. Mom excused herself to go get ready, so I snuck off too, leaving Cush to enjoy a cigar with Tommy.

Now, I stand in front of my vanity, pull my hair back into a high, tight ponytail, and put on my makeup. I glue on fake eyelashes, cake my lids with super smoky eye shadow, add thick black liner and mascara. I add a little bronzer to highlight my cheekbones and a soft pink lip gloss, and then walk into my closet. 

I love my closet. 

Mom and Tommy had it expanded and redone last year for my sixteenth birthday. It looks like a high-end boutique. Black and white brocade wallpaper. Sleek, black cabinetry. Shoes, boots, and bags lined up in perfect, color-coordinated order. Beneath my feet is a fluffy white flokati rug that is so soft it almost feels sensual. I dig my bare toes in it every time I walk on it. I flip the light switch, and the black-lacquered chandelier lights up the center of the room. 

I know exactly what I want to wear tonight. A shimmering, silver Alice + Olivia sleeveless, cowl-neck dress that has a skintight skirt, and a pair of silver glitter, double-banded bootie Jimmy Choos.

I check myself in the mirror and am pleased with how I look. I spritz on some perfume and walk out on the deck. 

Cush is sitting on the deck by himself, staring out at the ocean.

“So I’m ready.”

He turns around and looks at me, but doesn’t say a word. He just stares. 

I worry that he thinks I look silly.

Finally a big grin breaks out across his face, and I get to see his adorable dimples. “Day-umnnn, girl. You got it going on.”

We have so much fun at the club, and he wasn’t lying when he said I could grind on him all night. 

It feels amazing. 

The way his hands feel on my hips. 

How, if I move too far away from him, he grabs my ass and pulls me back close. 

How he runs his hands all over my dress in the name of dancing. 

If this is how he usually dances with girls, I can see why they fall into bed with him. Everything he does is just plain sexy. Especially when you make him grin big enough to be treated to those dimples.

Sometimes, he looks at me and then down at my mouth. The way guys do when they want to kiss you. And I am so hoping that he won’t. He knows I like Brooklyn, and I don’t want things to be awkward with us. He’s so fun to hang out with.