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She’s back as quickly as she leaves, smoothing her palms over her black shirt that reads, Too Early. It’s an off-the-shoulder shirt that exposes a decent amount of her bronzed skin. She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts over fishnet leggings and Converse sneakers. She turns off my Nirvana record and puts on The Gaslight Anthem without a word. A slow melody blares from the old speakers and she looks satisfied with herself.
“About the wedding,” she calls to me over her bare shoulder. I don’t say anything, just wait for what’s next. “Apparently, my ex-fiancé is rushing into things. They’ve set the date for two weeks from today, and it’s in a tiny little town south of here, wherever his bride-to-be is from. They’ll be married on a Sunday, and the Friday night before is the combined bachelor and bachelorette party.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, like she thinks it’s stupid to combine them. I agree. “I honestly didn’t even know if I was going to go at all before you inserted yourself into the whole ordeal, but I think we might as well go to the party, too. Make a weekend out of it. Try out our acting skills. If music doesn’t work out for me, maybe I’ll be an actress.” Isla turns and winks at me, and while I know she’s just being funny, my heart suddenly starts beating a whole hell of a lot faster.
“I’ll pay for the hotel,” I tell her, figuring she probably doesn’t have extra money—being in college and working part-time hours. “Is there anything special I should wear for the ceremony?”
“No, you weirdo,” she scoffs. “We aren’t in the wedding party. Also, I’ll pay for my own hotel, thank you.” She smirks, kind of like she did last night, peeking up at me from behind long, dark lashes. Her tongue peeks through her teeth slightly and her smile fades as quickly as it shows up, leaving her biting the side of her bottom lip.
“So, ripped jeans and a Reckless Desires band tee, then? It’ll be good promo,” I tease, still trying to test the waters with this girl.
“I’ll be wearing a dress, so you should probably try to clean up at least a little bit.” She eyes me up and down and my body heats up. Her eyes leave mine and she stares out at the unruly crowd through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. “People really are grossly obsessed with you, Bordeaux Daniels, aren’t they?”
I wish she wasn’t so fucking attractive. I also wish my dick wasn’t pulsating in my pants over this girl standing in front of me who couldn’t care less about my status or my life. How ironic that it’s exactly why I give a shit about her.
“One question,” I say, and she looks at me with her honey brown eyes. “Can I request you to wear the same dress you wore when I first met you? Because—”
“You ass!” she interrupts as I wink at her.
Ten
Isla
Eunoia (n.) beautiful thinking;
a well mind.
___________
Manny’s breath is hot on mine as he slowly unbuttons my night shirt. Tangled up in my sheets, just like we always are, being quiet because my parents are home. I look up at him and reach out to trace the small lines on his face with my fingertips, moving my hands down his naked torso, and finally stopping when I feel his long, thick shaft.
I watch his facial expression change from want to full-on need. He tilts his head back slowly, careful to not allow himself to make a sound. For some reason this is even hotter for me—sneaking around, being quiet. I first work him slowly, then speed up as he reaches down to thumb my clit.
Clenching my eyes shut, I strangle a moan quickly before it escapes my lips. “Right there,” I whisper, opening my eyes and seeing his ivory skin contrast against my own.
But Manny doesn’t have ivory skin, I think to myself. My eyes trail up and meet Bordeaux’s.
I jolt awake, drenched in sweat. I wipe small beads of perspiration off my forehead and cradle my head in my hands. Holy shit. What the hell was that?
How do I go from having a sex dream about Manuel and end with Bordeaux’s mysterious blue eyes staring back at me? What the hell does that even mean? How did that happen? I lie awake for what feels like hours, unable to tame the wild, devilish thoughts of Manuel morphing into Bordeaux. When sleep finally comes, both Manny and Bordeaux linger in and out of my dreams for the rest of the night, haunting me.
* * *
“Okay, sexy mami!” Veronica says, giddily. “If you’re trying to get Manny to stare at you instead of that bride of his, I think you’re going to succeed in making him wish he was never born.”
I examine myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in Nordstrom’s. The dress hugs every curve of my body, almost like it was made for me. It’s short, but not in a, I’m trying too hard short. Also not in a, I want to upstage the bride short. As much as Emilia is not my favorite person, she’s not the one who cheated on me—that was Manuel.
“Tell me more about Bordeaux. He really just like... what? Swooped in and inserted himself as your date? Were you totally bombing when talking to Manny?”
“I was not bombing, Veronica,” I say defensively. “I may have been a bit caught off guard with him walking into the record shop, but I was most certainly not bombing it.”
She gives me a quick look, raising just one eyebrow at me before turning back into her dressing room; that look tells me she has no intention of believing a word I say.
And honestly, she shouldn’t. It’s hard to not still be all messed up when I see Manuel, despite everything that’s happened between us. I don’t want him back; I know he’s no good for me. And I think my conscious knows that too, considering my dream last night.
But morphing into Bordeaux...? Could a rockstar really be much better than my cheating ex? Is there a rockstar in the history of the world who hasn’t cheated on their significant other? Am I stereotyping all rockstars? You bet your ass I am.
Bordeaux is a literal depiction of dripping perfection when it comes to what women want. He’s muscular, sexy, talented, and confident. Extremely confident. There’s not much, if anything, he’s lacking—at least, on the surface. But I’m jaded, and I hate admitting that, but I am. It was hard to trust people in general after what happened when I was younger. It’s not something I even allow myself to think about. And then I let Manuel in, and he fucked me over. Eventually, I need to figure my shit out and allow myself to live.
I shake my head, looking at myself in the mirror.
