Hold You Against Me (Stripped 4)

Drunk guys and girls move from bar to bar, in the street. There are some old folks who come out, a shirtless guy in a rainbow Speedo, a man in a cowboy hat shouting at people who walk by. A couple of people have pamphlets that promise to save our souls.

Pretty much a regular Saturday night.

Amy and I hit the sidewalk and head toward the opposite end of the street where the newer, shadier clubs open up. Of course that’s where Club X would be.

“Hey, girls, let me show you a good time,” a guy yells to us from across the street.

His friend laughs at him. “You fucking wish.”

Amy rolls her eyes but puts a little sway in her step for him. As much as she gives me a hard time about Shane, she enjoys the occasional drunk frat boy. They have their purposes, she says mysteriously. She means sex, and usually I nod along as if I know what that’s about—even though she knows I don’t.

We get catcalled all the way to Club X, where the line is halfway around the block.

“Not waiting,” Amy says. “Tell your boyfriend to come get us.”

Shane has a way of getting what he wants. Most of the time people just have to look at him. Something about him screams privilege, and they instinctively defer to that. But if that doesn’t work, he doesn’t m

ind slipping a couple twenties to get his point across.

Except if he has to leave his friends, he’s going to be grumpy.

“Come on,” I say, taking Amy’s hand.

I lead her up to the bouncer and give him my best smile. I don’t bother trying to be seductive, since I have exactly no clue how to do that. That’s Amy’s job. And besides, I have a decent track record with my innocent look. Maybe they think I got lost on my way to the library?

The bouncer gives me a once-over. He’s built and really pretty hot in a tight-black T-shirt. Occasionally they get upperclassmen for this job, but this guy looks a couple years older—and definitely unimpressed with the college-girl tricks. “Back of the line.”

“Please. My boyfriend is inside.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Tell him to come get you.”

“His phone’s dead.” The lie comes easily. “But he’s expecting me to meet him. He’ll be mad if I show up late.”

One eyebrow rises. “And that’s supposed to convince me to let you in? Girls shouldn’t be afraid of their boyfriends.”

The words resonate inside me, a blow that echoes through every tense moment with Shane, through every moment of my childhood—where I learned that men are best obeyed if I don’t want to be hurt. “I’m not afraid,” I say, but my voice sounds hollow.

The bouncer doesn’t appear convinced.

I’m saved from his dubious expression when Amy steps closer. The dewdrop choker she’s wearing emphasizes the expanse of bare skin the silver dress exposes. Her shoulders are slender, her breasts small. The bouncer’s lids lower in appreciation. They seem an unlikely match, the heavily muscled, tattooed bouncer and the pixie-sized good girl, but that’s what Amy wants. She comes from doctors and investors and engineers, each with their own set of impressive credentials and awards and hefty bank accounts. Her art major and the rough-looking bouncer amount to the same for her. Freedom.

Oh, and I can understand that. That’s what I’ve wanted my whole life, except now that I have it, I still feel tied down. Constrained by the expectations of my sister, my boyfriend. Unable to let go of the past.

Amy whispers something in the bouncer’s ear, and even though he hasn’t officially let me in, I scoot past him. She’ll keep him occupied for a while at least, and if she’s lucky, he’ll occupy her right back.

Chapter Three

The crowd has already heated up, moving as one large ocean, liquid heat filling the dance floor. I slide between bodies and duck waving arms toward the back of the club, where sofas and chairs are haphazardly arranged. There isn’t much seating in clubs like these, so usually people claim them fast. It doesn’t matter when Shane shows up, though. He can clear the best seats with a few crisp bills or even a smile.

That’s where I find him, holding court with one of his friends and several girls.

Two of the girls are chatting with Rick, a guy I’ve always found a little creepy. The other girl leans against Shane while he looks down her dress.

As I watch, he brushes his hand up her arm.

When I reach the table, Shane looks up. Guilt flashes in his eyes, and he gives the girl a shove that I find more disturbing than his flirting. She wobbles on her high heels before shooting me a venomous glance.

“Babe,” Shane yells over the heavy thump of music. “I thought you’d never make it. Get your pretty ass over here.”