AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I was never super close to any of Manuel’s friends, and I’m sure as hell not close to Emilia’s, all things considered. Having Bordeaux here makes me feel less alone, protected in a way. I’m grateful for him and his willingness to drop his own life and come here with me. Especially since Veronica isn’t here.
Bordeaux bends down and whispers in my ear, making a show of us, snaking his arm around my back, “You just need to follow my lead tonight, Isla. Like right now, smile and laugh. Pretend I’m telling you how badly I want to rip that dress off you. Take it from a pro. I got you.”
I laugh, because clearly, he’s taking this very seriously. But now I can’t stop picturing Bordeaux ripping my dress off me and showing me exactly what all of these screaming women always pounding on the record shop door are wanting.
“Showtime,” he whispers again.
Bordeaux playfully picks me up and spins me around, planting a firm kiss on my forehead before putting me back down on my feet. We link hands, lacing our fingers, and walk over to the group like we’re hopelessly in love.
Sixteen
Bordeaux
Whelve (v.) to bury something deep;
to hide.
___________
I give Manuel a quick once-over. When he came into the shop shortly after I first met Isla, I wasn’t sizing him up, but I realize that’s exactly what I’m doing now. He’s Hispanic, with light brown skin and dark features. He’s shorter than me—actually fairly short in general. Maybe five-five or six compared to my six-foot-four frame.
He looks like the designated, nerdy frat boyfriend I would have beat up a few years ago. I never started fights, but I was also never one to shy away if punches were thrown. This dude is my polar opposite—at least, in the looks department—so if he’s what I’m competing against then I’m not exactly sure how to compete.
Am I competing? Fuck. I don’t know. She says she doesn’t want him back and she seems like a pretty straightshooter. When Manuel came into the record shop, I didn’t think anything of him. Then, as I overheard their conversation, something inside of me wanted to protect her. She was handling him just fine on her own, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. The shrill laugh, the way she crossed her arms over her chest like a defense mechanism. I could have let her send him packing but at the same time, I know who I am. I wanted to burn the dude the minute I realized what was going on. Sure, I didn’t know he was an ex-fiancé, just thought he was some old ex-boyfriend, but still. Something in those moments made me swoop in and act like we were dating—like we are dating—and I don’t regret it.
Even if this was a competition and Isla just isn’t admitting it to me, I can’t compete. As much as I want Isla—and I do want her—I feel a pull toward her I can’t ignore; I should just leave her the fuck alone. I quite literally ruin people. I ruined my parents. My mom left and my dad turned into nothing more than a drunk, so I successfully ruined both of them. I clearly am not capable of giving or receiving love, as deciphered by one of my many therapists as a child. So why would I pull Isla in only to push her away?
I still haven’t come to terms with the feelings I’m feeling for the girl, and I’m clearly not going to tonight with her looking the way she looks. My main problem right now is the fact that I have never wanted to pull someone into my arms and claim every single inch of them as mine. But that’s exactly what she makes me want to do. I’ve been trying to pick this apart for days and I think it all comes down to the fact that I have never met anyone like her. Ever. Her confidence radiates off her and she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. There’s something about the chase, and I haven’t had to chase a woman in a long, long time. If ever.
Manuel’s expression isn’t lost on me, or his bride-to-be, it seems. His mood seems to shift entirely as Isla and I walk up to him, hand in hand, after I made a show of picking her up and spinning her around. His mouth is down-turned at the corners, and tiny red blotches suddenly appear on his skin.
That’s right, my dude. You should be pissed.
“Isla.” Manny’s bride, wearing a short white, form-fitting dress, nods in Isla’s direction and stumbles a little, saying her name in a huff. She’s clearly already been drinking. She probably dislikes that Manuel’s ex-fiancée is here. What woman would want someone with Isla’s sexy curves and beautiful smile anywhere near their man? There is no doubt in my mind that she hates that Isla’s invited to this party. Isla and Manny’s families must be crazy close to survive the breakup between their children. I don’t get it, but I don’t have to.
This girl standing in front of us could never hold a candle to Isla. Sure, she’s pretty enough, but she’s no Isla. In fact, I don’t think he could have found someone any more different, at least in appearance. Isla and Manuel’s fiancée are polar opposites. His fiancée’s hair is blonde and short, she’s rail-thin, and she’s tall, almost as tall as me. They make quite a strange-looking pair, but I’m not here to judge love.
I smile, looking down at Isla as she gives a quick, what I think is a snarky smile to the girl, and then flashes her eyes toward Manuel. “Hey, Manuel. Congrats again.”
“Hey again, Manuel,” I say, flashing him my best fake smile and taking note that his girl can’t seem to keep her eyes off me. She looks at me like a lovesick puppy with hearts in her eyes. Damn. Sorry, dude.
Manny doesn’t acknowledge me in the same way the rest of his friends do. Two more girls stare at me and their boyfriends...? Husbands? Whoever the hell they are seem to be just as infatuated. Manny gives me a quick nod, lips stretched into a thin line, and turns to the group. “Let’s get this party started! To the bus!” He tosses his head back, taking a long swig of whatever’s in his Yeti. Yeah, he’ll probably need a lot of that tonight.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the driver of the decked-out party bus turns down the music and calls out, “Five minutes and we’ll be to your first destination of the night.”
Some shitty 80s music blares from every direction, colorful lights illuminating the dark bus as we drive into the nearest large town’s bar scene. There’s two long, silver stripper poles, one is inhabited by the already drunk bride-to-be, who has one leg draped lazily around the pole, eyeing Manuel in a seductive, provocative way. Her thong is on full display as her dress rides up. It’s a sexy number, and all I can do is picture Isla wearing it. Fucking snap out of it. The bride-to-be looks more like she’s severely constipated than sexy as she bobs up and down on the pole, but to each their own.
My attention is quickly stolen by Isla, who stands and moves in front of me, swaying her hips to the beat of some old Beyoncé song that starts playing. Whoever is picking these songs clearly does not have a favorite genre because they’ve been all over the damn place. Isla’s arms are stretched upward over her head as she continues to sway. Her dark-colored hair is long and flowing, and it just adds to her sex appeal, tumbling down around her shoulders, wavy and beautiful. It’s hard to keep my eyes off her, the way she looks as she loses herself in the music. Her skintight red dress plunges deeply, almost down to her belly button, showing off her full cleavage. She’s confident in her body, as she should be, because it’s perfect.
I try to shake my feelings, remembering this is all just a fake date. This isn’t real.
But the woman standing in front of me is very, very real. And I’d be a damn fool to not take advantage of this moment.
I stand, grabbing her by the waist, aware that all eyes are on the two of us as I grind into her, bringing my hand to the back of her neck to pull her head close to me. I rest my forehead on hers, taking her by surprise. Her eyes are closed, and she bites her bottom lip as she palms either side of my hips, forcing me to sway in time with her, pulling me into her. Our bodies move together, and it feels natural and right. Like this is exactly where we’re meant to be. Right here in this moment, the world moving fast around us, but the two of us colliding together at our own speed.
Our lips are a mere fraction of an inch apart; I can almost taste them, voluptuous and crimson red. I want to give into this moment, press my lips against hers and part them with my tongue. Being this close to her is dangerous territory. Real fucking dangerous territory.
