“So, have I,” he whispers, drawing out his words as he places one hand over my right knee. Whoa, calm down, cowboy.
“It’s getting late and--”
“Yeah, it’s getting late… We should get out of here,” he whispers, leaning into me. I feel the alcohol in his breath, and now I’m more than sure that John’s never going to have a chance with me. No, my legs are going to remain shut for you, Mr. Finance. Alcohol might be a lubricant, but it sure as hell ain’t deodorant.
I need to get laid, yeah, but I’m not desperate enough to do it with a walking beer keg. It’s sad how many people think they suddenly become cool after having a few drinks, or more than a few, in John’s case. Not everyone can be like Cody.
From what I’ve heard back in New York, my stepbrother can drink his own weight in whisky and still keep standing as straight as a soldier in formation. And, although he’s arrogant and annoying, I have to admit that there’s a certain appeal about him.
I wish I had never come here to this bar. I should’ve stayed home and got to know Cody better; I know that he’s my stepbrother, but that’s exactly why I should spend time with him. He’s family, right? Maybe I was too harsh on him. I know all the Manhattan stories—who doesn’t—but do I really know him? No, and that’s because I haven’t given him a chance.
But that’s going to change.
I’m going to leave right now and head home.
“John, I have to go. I enjoyed myself, but I must go home now,” I tell him, and he narrows his eyes slightly. This is going to be harder than I thought; I hope I don’t have to spell it out for him.
“I can drive you home,” he responds after a few seconds of silence, but there’s no way I’m getting inside of a car with him, drunk or not.
“No, that’s fine. Thank you, but --”
“I said I can drive you home,” he lowers his voice, and I feel a cold shiver going up my spine. He doesn’t sound like your regular drunk asshole, but something worse than that. Sigh, I sure know how to pick the right guys to go out with.
“And I said no.” I get up to my feet and reach for my purse, but he grabs me by the wrist. His fingers are curled tight, and he’s hurting me. But I don’t show it.
“Stay,” his voice is almost a whisper now, and his words reach me at the same time as the smell of stale beer.
“Get off me!” I tell him firmly, pushing my arm back and freeing my wrist from his hold. I might be a petite woman, but I won’t allow anyone to push me around like this. Push comes to shove, there’s nothing a kick in the balls won’t solve.
I turn on my heels and storm out of the Elephant Bar, racing past the full tables of customers. No one saw, or heard, the fast exchange between John and I, so nobody really seems to care about the hurried way I leave the bar.
It’s already dark outside, and I realize that I wasted more time than I should with that asshole. I could've been sunbathing with Cody by the pool, looking at his amazing—well, ahem, forget about that last part. Thing is, I could've been relaxing, but I came here and did the exact opposite.
Not a good start for my stay in the Hamptons.
I scan the parking lot, but there doesn’t seem to be a cab around. I take my cell phone out of my purse and start walking down the street, ready to call for an Uber if I don’t find a cab meanwhile.
That’s when I start hearing heavy footsteps behind me. At first I don’t even register them, but when they start closing in on me I look back.
And there he is.
John is walking unsteadily toward me. There’s a cigarette cocked in the corner of his mouth, and his glazed eyes are focused on me.
“What are you --” I start, but he grabs me by the arms and pushes me back against a parked car.
“You’re a tease, aren’t you?” he whispers, placing one hand on my leg and sliding it up. The cigarette drops from his mouth to the floor, and I blink hard as the smoke clouds my eyes; still, I reach fast enough to stop him just before he slides his hand under my dress.
“Stop it!” I cry out. “Are you crazy?” I try to push him back, but he’s grabbing me harshly. And he’s a big man, much bigger than I am.
“I’m crazy… ‘Cuz you’ve made me crazy,” he slurs, trying to kiss my neck. His lips fall on my skin clumsily, and their touch is enough to make my stomach turn. I might just throw up all over his face.
He’s going to rape me, he’s going to rape me, I think to myself hopelessly. There’s no way that I’ll be able to fight him off, especially when he’s drunk like this. I doubt that my kick-to-the-balls technique would work on him right now.
And the parking lot is deserted.
“STOP!” I shriek, but I know the music inside the bar is loud enough to prevent anyone from hearing me.
He’s going to rape me, I think again, trembling. He’s going to rape me.