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Chapter11
Damien
“Fine. You already know I went to UCLA…”
“Don’t rub salt in the wound, woman.” Remembering how Charlotte got into my dream school and I got into hers only reminds me of how juvenile we acted about trivial shit like that. But I’d still like her to believe that it bothers me, which it only does for a fraction of a second before I focus back on her lips and how fucking beautiful she looks curled up in her sweater under the blanket over both of our legs.
She laughs, bringing my attention back to her story. “Well, I never joined a sorority. However, I met Penelope, Amelia, and Noelle my freshman year in our English class and we became inseparable. Penelope was the wild child of the group and she did join a sisterhood, so she got us to do all kinds of shit.”
“Like…”
“Well, off the top of my head, we went to an ABC party…”
“Anything but clothes,” I reply in understanding.
“Yup. And I was in a dress made out of Saran wrap, which seemed like a good idea at the time. But then the cops broke up the party and the four of us had to hop a fence because we were all underage and didn’t want to get caught. Try climbing a chain-link fence in plastic wrap.”
“I don’t think I want to,” I chuckle as she keeps talking.
“Naturally, my dress got caught on the metal and tore open, leaving me in nothing but pasties and a thong as I ran down an alleyway back to the dorms. It was mortifying.”
I throw my head back, laughing at the image of those four girls running down a back street in L.A. “Fuck, that’s great, Char. Little Miss Perfect running down the street practically naked.”
“Glad I can make you laugh at my expense.” She lifts her drink to her lips and I lock my eyes on the sight. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Okay, I made a promise and now it’s time to deliver.”
“Yup, and you’d better make it good, Damien.”
I think back over the years when partying was like a second job. I always gave my classes the attention they deserved, but at the age of twenty, I did some really fucked up and stupid shit, shit that my parents and grandparents can never know about. “Okay, I’ve got one.”
She rubs her hands together. “I’m ready.”
“Well, unlike you, I did join a fraternity, and part of being in the brotherhood meant never backing down from a dare. And you know me, Charlotte, I love a challenge.” Her eyes narrow as I say the words, but then she nods for me to continue. “So, there was an amateur drag queen show at one of the local bars by the university, and a bunch of my brothers dared me to enter.” Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Now let me say, I have nothing but the utmost respect for the LGBTQ community, and what we did was all in good fun. In fact, the owner of the bar was adamant that we all participate if we wanted. But you know me, I wanted to take it seriously. I wasn’t going to half-ass that shit. So, I had a few of the sorority girls hook me up with makeup, bought a wig, borrowed some heels and a tight dress, and pranced on that stage like the diva I was. I freaking rocked the hell out of my performance.”
Charlotte nearly spits her wine out, catching herself before she does. “Please, God, tell me there are pictures and videos of this.”
“Of course.” I reach for my phone from my pocket but pause before I show her. “What am I going to get in return though?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I only got a story from you. No photos. I don’t think it’s fair that you get a story and pictures from me.”
Charlotte squints in my direction. “I’m sorry that I was too busy running down the street practically naked to snap a picture so I had something to show you ten years after the fact.”
“You’re telling me even Penelope didn’t take advantage of that situation for some blackmail?” Penelope seems like the cutthroat one of the group.
“No. We were running so we wouldn’t get arrested. And Penelope would never blackmail me. Hoes before bros, Damien.”
I laugh and then relent to her argument. “Fine. Whatever, I’m sure I’ll have to cop to this one day or another.” I search through my photos and then turn the phone toward Charlotte once I’ve located the damning evidence.
“Oh. My. God.” She loses it, cackling loudly while holding her stomach, drawing attention from the people around us. But I don’t care. Just watching her be free, making her laugh and smile—it’s those images that make my time with her so addicting. I never got a chance to see this side of her before when we were growing up.
There was no joking around, trading stories, or orgasms for that matter. No, it was just animosity and underlying hate.
But this—this place where we are right now—I’d never trade this for anything. And that has me feeling more content than I have in a long ass time.
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