Ricochet (3 page)

“My boy Corey is spinning at Royale tonight,” Warren announced a few Fridays later. I had to give it to him. He was a persistent bastard. Whether I wanted to be by myself or not, he wasn’t having it. He wouldn’t leave me alone with my thoughts.

“Royale?”

“Royale. Roxy. Matrix.” He waved a hand. “Same club. Same shit. New name. Where have you been? Oh, right.” He grinned at me and ignored the video game we were playing. “You’ve been home acting like a hermit.”

He made it so easy to ignore him sometimes.

“Anyway, I guess one of the resident DJs had to …” He tapped his knee with the controller and looked up at the ceiling. Warren’s classic thinking pose.

His distraction afforded me the chance to, literally, murder him. He didn’t react to his character lying helpless on the ground. His lack of rage pretty much killed my thunder. I scowled at the TV.

“Never mind. I can’t remember the story. Anyway, it’s a big deal he got this gig tonight. I told him I’d come out. Are you down to go?”

“Works for me.” I shrugged. I hadn’t attempted to go out since my breakthrough and near breakdown at Faneuil Hall. I needed this—the interaction, attention,
female distraction. I needed it all.

“Really? Are you sure? Because last time—”

“Yes, I already told you. I’m fine. I’m back in the game. Time heals all wounds. All that shit.”

“All that shit, huh?” He snickered. Meanwhile, I could tell he didn’t find it that funny.

“You get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, if you—”

“Right, so call your boy.” I had no more energy for sentimental conversations.

Warren went across the hall to his condo to get dressed. Meanwhile, my focus was on pre-gaming. My drink of choice for the night was Cognac. A few shots in, and I was buzzed and tempted to stay in. Warren’s threats of violence got me off my ass.

“You’ll have to drive,” I said, feeling the need to state the obvious when I almost tripped on the way to the car. Warren was all for driving until I made it clear I meant
his
car.

“But—”

“You’re not driving it.”

I don’t know where his visions of driving my car came from, but I was more than happy to shut them down.

I would sooner sit my ass at home than let Warren behind the wheel of my car. He seemed to forget he was the same way when he first got his whip.

“I can’t believe you’re really
gonna make me drive the Beemer,” he said, complaining like a BMW was a hoopty. 

“Fucking spoiled ass.” I spat the words, struggling to buckle the stupid seat belt.

“You’re talking shit?” Laughing, he started the car. “You, who just got that new Jaguar for his birthday?”

“Yeah. I bought my Jag, though.”

“Still,” he said, grumbling.

I grinned. We thrived on pissing the other one off. Truth was we both grew up as spoiled shits. But my pops made sure I had a job the minute I was old enough to get a work permit. As the most naïve fourteen-year-old alive, I thought I’d be going to work with him, learning about finance and making more bread than I knew what to do with. Nope.
I was asking people at the local Stop and Shop whether they wanted paper or plastic
. It was good for me, though. I never once took shit for granted. I cherished everything and everyone I had—including Warren’s dumb ass.

“I think I’m drunk.” I nodded and instantly felt dizzy. “Yup, definitely drunk.”

“Thanks for stating the fucking obvious.”

“Fuck you! Wait, how is it obvious?”

“Because …”
He side-eyed me then glanced at the road.
“You mumbled some shit about not taking me for granted.”

“Oh.” I didn’t say anything else. Didn’t want him to get used to me being all nice and shit. Likewise, he didn’t add anything and the rest of the downtown drive was quiet. Warren drove like a fucking maniac, so it took us less than fifteen minutes to get there. I made the sign of the cross, thankful to have made it to the club alive.

“Now who’s the fucking drama queen?” Warren asked, mumbling under his breath.

The line to get into the club was nonexistent, so I expected it to be dead inside, too. I was wrong. The place was packed to the brim—people off to the side, others crowding the dance floor. Behind the bars, you could see the hustle of activity with bartenders rushing around each other to get from one order to the next.

“What’s going on tonight?”

“Uh, it’s Friday,” Warren yelled. “That’s what’s going on!”

We pushed through the writhing bodies and made it to the second-floor balcony. Behind the DJ booth stood a bear of a man.

“That’s Corey,” Warren said, which explained why the DJ grinned in our direction.
Corey waved us over then gave us a quick handshake before inviting
us to sit off to the side near the booth.

When the waitress came by, I ordered more to drink and ignored the concern on Warren’s face. He didn’t need to worry; I wouldn’t be running in the street half-cocked and tipsy tonight.

“Thanks.” I winked when she returned. Her giggle and smile made me puff my chest a little bit.
She must have liked what she saw.
However, that was the extent of our interaction. The extent of my interaction with anyone, really.

The vibe was
different than the other time we went out.
It was livelier while at the same time the crowd managed to seem more laid back. Still, it took an hour before I wasn’t feeling it anymore. No matter how much time passed in between my outings, this club shit was something I could only take in small doses.

“You’ve
gotta be fucking shitting me!” Warren
approached me with
a sour expression, as if he could smell that I wasn’t having a good time. “You plan on sitting in one spot all night?”

“No.” I rose, frowning. “I think I’m going to head out, though.”

Whatever he saw in my expression stopped him from talking shit, although I could tell he wanted to both argue and keep me from leaving. “Fine. Here.” He handed me his keys. “You’re good to drive, right? I can probably get a ride with Corey.”

I put my hands up. It was bad enough I was leaving, shitting on him and his plans to cheer up my moping ass. I wasn’t about to take his ride, too. Plus, I wasn’t sure I was that sobered up yet. “I’ll take a cab. Don’t worry ’bout it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved a hand. “Later.”

Before I got to the stairs, a group of five girls dancing in the crowd caught my attention.
Squinting, I focused, not on the group as a whole, but on the girl in the middle. On the way she moved. On the euphoric smile on her face. Most of the chicks in the club were fly—thick with pretty faces and plump asses—but none of that held my attention the way this girl’s smile did. Envious, I wondered what she was thinking about. W
as it the simple act of dancing that made her so happy? Was it some
one
, not just some
thing
? Have I ever looked that happy?
A sudden urge came over me. I wanted to approach her and ask what was on her mind. First, I needed to gather my thoughts and compose myself.

“What happened?” Warren sounded from over my shoulder.

I wasn’t shocked he was following me. Grabbing his arm, I pulled him to the railing and pointed to the crowd. “Who’s that?”

“How the fuck would I know?” he asked, his voice tight and clipped as she stepped out of my grip.
“That fucking hurt, by the way.”

Fucking crybaby
. “You’ll be all right.”

Just then, Corey came over to us.

"You know who that is?" Warren asked him, pointing down to the crowd.

“In the middle.” I made sure to specify since Warren could have been pointing to anyone. “The one with the really short, black hair.”

It took Corey a minute to figure out who I was talking about in the sea of people. When he did, he perked up. “Oh, that’s Elle. Cool chick.”

“Yeah? How do you know her?”

“You see that one?” He pointed again. “The one with the long, blond hair dancing next to her? That’s me.” His smile told me he was proud of himself and his girl. She was hot, something I couldn’t deny, but she reminded me too much of Arianna. I’d had enough of the J. Lo look-alikes for one lifetime.

“I’m going down there to talk to her.” I nodded, feeling determined. “Elle,” I said her name again. “I’m going to talk to Elle.” Both guys pulled me back before I could get to the stairs.

“Are you crazy?” Warren shook his head and pointed to the girls dancing with each other. “They’re in their zone, and by the looks of it, celebrating something. You don’t wanna mess with her right now.”

I didn’t get it. “How can you tell they’re celebrating?”

Laughing, Warren rolled his eyes. “Her head. She’s got one of them shitty crowns on. That’s Girl Code for birthday. Or worse, bachelorette party. Either way it screams ‘off limits’.”

Even though I wasn’t going to listen, for clarification purposes I asked, “So what you’re saying is I
shouldn’t
go talk to her?”

“Hey.” Warren put his hands up and took a step back with one of those “you’re on your own” smiles spread across his ugly face. I think he was just happy I wasn’t leaving and actually thinking with my dick and not my head or my fucking heart. “I’m not saying not to. I’m just saying—”

“I’m going.”

Neither he nor Corey said anything to stop me this time.

Slowly, I made my way down the stairs. I tried to act cool, calm, like I had my shit together, but my stomach was heavy with nerves.
Getting shot down didn’t make me nervous
. Rejection was the nature of the beast. It’s the
way
I might get shot down that worried me.

A simple no and a headshake I could deal with, but getting laughed at or being mocked was not something my fragile ego would be able to handle. What if there was pointing involved?
Just thinking about it almost made me run back to the guys.

A different feeling weighed my stomach down when I thought about leaving the club. I needed to find out a little about Elle. I didn’t want to have any regrets tonight. No what-ifs. And frankly, I didn’t want to spend another fucking night alone or hear another one of Warren’s lectures about moving on. With that in mind, I pushed forward.

As I got closer to the group of girls, the one Corey said was his girl leaned in toward Elle. They were no longer dancing. Elle nodded while her friend’s focus darted in my direction a couple times.

I’d learned the good and bad of that gesture. She was
either telling Elle there was a hot guy approaching and to look alive or to pretend to be her lesbian lover because there was some ugly creep staring at her.

Elle slowly turned her head
, locked eyes with me, and smiled. I did an internal fist pump.

The group of girls dispersed quickly, leaving Elle dancing alone. I exhaled and sent a quick thank you to God.
If they had stayed together, I might not have ever penetrated the pack unscathed.

I sidled up behind Elle and placed my
hand on her lower back. My confidence grew when she didn’t flinch away.

“
Wanna dance?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Nodding, she leaned against me.

Unfortunately, she almost took my eye out with that damn thing on her head. Its presence reminded me of what Warren said about why they might be at the club.

“What are we celebrating?”

She titled her head slightly and squinted.

“This.” I tapped the crown. “What’s it for?”

“My birthday!”

She was so loud I flinched back. When I felt her stiffen in what I assumed was embarrassment, I wrapped my arm low around her. I wanted her to feel comfortable, but really I wanted an excuse to keep touching her.

“Well, happy birthday, beautiful.” Cringe. I would forever leave that part out if I told this story to anyone.
Happy birthday, beautiful
? I should have thought of something better. Regardless of how I felt, though, my words had the desired effect. She relaxed into my embrace.