South of Sunshine (13 page)

“Nice tan you’ve got.” A snaky finger grazes my bare shoulder. I slink out from under the touch. It’s the guy with the cowboy hat that we saw outside. He stares me down.

Reflexively, I tuck my hair behind my ear, which signals to him I’m flirting, but I’m only reacting to my jolted nerves. “You have yourself a good time, you hear?” I say, turning my back to him, shutting off the conversation. I pay the bartender for the drinks, steadily ignoring the eyes piercing my back. I work to balance four drinks between my hands.

Cowboy Hat stands and scoots in closer. He’s a smidge shorter than me. “Why don’t you dance with me? Show me what you’ve got.” Pungent beer breath assaults me, but I notice he doesn’t have an over-twenty-one wristband.

My first impression, from when we drove by, was of his cute dimples and stocky build. Up close, he’s a stump—thick and low to the ground. He’s hanging on to the desperate end of “not quite twenty-one,” looking like he’s been rode hard and put up wet.

I struggle to breathe and put on my best “I’m friendly but not interested” hat. “You know, I’m just here with some friends, trying to keep it laid back. I’m not big on dancing.” I hold my breath.

“I’ve got it.” Bren’s assertive but smooth tone punches between us as she grabs two of the drinks. She smiles down at me, feigning ignorance of the waste of life behind her.

We walk back to Arthur and Van who have claimed a bar table in the middle, no stools. By now, bodies are streaming into the club more fluidly, and the dance floor is beginning to crowd. The DJ calls all the “single ladies” to the dance floor, playing the infamous song. Van drags Arthur out on the floor. They bust into a frighteningly accurate version of the video, minus the leotards and high heels. Bren and I burst out laughing. The thought of dancing with Bren makes me nervous. Old habits die hard, and I scan the room. Not that I actually expect to see anyone from Sunshine here among the deliciously bent.

The beat changes to a remix hip-hop song. Like bees on a honeycomb, bodies swarm to the dance floor and spill over into the seating areas.

I tip up on my toes into Bren’s face, lips so close I’d kiss them if we were anywhere but here. “Want to dance?” I ask. She eases a hand onto my lower back and with a smooth stroll, she guides me to the dance floor.

The thickening crowd swallows us up. In the dark, bodies start to blend. One big melting pot sways to the beat of the music. In all the push and pull of people around us, it’s hard to tell who’s who and what’s what. Some girls grind with girls, a show for their boyfriends. A few guy couples swing their hips together. No one gawks or points in horror at them, so I let my nerves calm down. Cowboy Hat squirms between two girls, thrusting with his Wranglers, only to get shoved to the side by the both of them.

Bren laughs at the spectacle and shakes her head. She slips me a hooded smile, luring me closer to her. I slide my arms around her neck and let my body speak my desires. The action drops her hands to my swaying hips, and she mirrors the motion.

She lowers herself around me and scoops me in closer, never missing a beat. Her lips are hot on my ear. “You’re driving me crazy.” Her words set off a frenzy in my body, lighting it on fire. It makes me wiggle against her more.

Thirst and exhaustion eventually win out, and we go back to our table that has long since been claimed by someone else.

“Let’s go to the back,” Arthur calls over the crowd. He guides us through a hallway that opens into a small lounge area.

My eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting. Blood red furnishings haunt the shadows, and faux candles flicker an eerie castle glow. The bartender—who I’m sure is wearing powder on his face and eyeliner—slaps four waters on the counter, per Arthur’s request. We gulp them down without pausing for a breath.

“Hello. Get a room,” Van says, nodding toward a groping couple in a dark corner. They come up for air and depart from the loveseat, and we leap at the chance to sit. My legs drape across Bren’s lap as we squeeze together in an oversized chair, while Van and Arthur take the small sofa.

Bren wraps one arm behind me and curls the other over my legs, tugging me more fully onto her lap. “I think he’s found his equal,” she says. She’s totally right. “And I couldn’t be happier with mine.”

My eyes meet hers. I’ve never been so smitten with someone. The cool ease and certainty she emits is like the sugary scent of honeysuckle that lures the butterflies. I can’t drink up enough of it. The dim light catches the glossy wet of her lips, calling me. The heat of her body underneath mine urges me forward. It’s a quick, easy kiss, but it fuels a burning deep in my belly. A wildfire spreads to the rest of my body and tingles.

“Y’all want to dance some—” Van’s voice drops off as he realizes what he’s interrupted.

I pull away from Bren’s lips, grateful that the lack of proper lighting hides my blush. “Yes, let’s go dance.” I jump off her lap, eager—even though that’s the last thing I want to do right now.

They rise to their feet. Movement in the far corner catches my eye. The outline of a cowboy hat looms in the dark. It leans forward slightly, so the floor lights illuminate his face, creepy like a flashlight under the chin. His leering gaze causes me to shiver. He takes a swig of his beer, then makes an exaggerated show of snaking his tongue across his lips, licking the foam off. It flips my stomach sour. I’m not sure how long he has been watching us.

“You ready?” Bren tugs at my hand. Arthur and Van have already taken off through the side tunnel to the other dance floor.

“Yeah. Sure.” I chipper my voice and find my smile. Bren croons her neck to see around me, but I pull her through the archway, tight on Van’s heels.
Please let the shadows gobble Cowboy Hat up again before she gets a peek.

We dance some more. My eyes continue to scan the perimeter. Like the predator I suspect Cowboy Hat is, he slinks along the wall, working his way around for a better position to watch us.

“Let’s dance in there.” I point to the adjacent room with another more crowded dance floor and a DJ. I lead the party train over to the other room and bury us in the middle of a thriving mob on the dance floor. My sights are locked on the passageway we just traversed, expecting a black Stetson to meander through. Two songs later, I start to relax when no one remotely like Cowboy Hat follows behind.

Bren snaps her fingers above her head, snaking her hips from side to side. I let myself loosen up and mentally smack myself for letting paranoia eat me up. Cowboy Hat has probably rustled up a set of girls and is riding the pony with them right now.

“Top this, baby,” Van yells at Bren, and he busts into his best dance routine. Arms flail and hips thrust as he does something between the Hustle and the Cabbage Patch. It’s awful but hilarious. I have to back up to keep from getting knocked out by a flying fist. I’m laughing so hard, tears well up in my eyes. Bren’s trying to contain herself, but she can’t help but laugh too. Van waves his arm in her direction, as if he’s passing the moves over. She accepts and pop-and-locks her own version, putting Van’s absurd jive to shame.

At first I think the push from behind me is coming from another onlooker bumping into me—until the guy’s arms lock around my waist and press me hard against his pumping pelvis. The tip of a black hat juts into my periphery. The musk of body odor offends my senses, and stubble scratches my cheek. I wriggle and writhe, trying to escape Cowboy Hat’s grasp.

“That’s it, sugar. Get on it.” He grunts in my ear, and his sour beer breath nauseates my stomach.

“Let go.” I try to pry his arms off me. In the middle of the struggle, he’s managed to pull me away from the action happening on the dance floor, and I can barely see the top of Bren’s head over the crowd.

“Don’t worry about her. She don’t have the equipment to give you a proper good time.” He quickly replaces his hands the moment I pry one loose.

I search the faces bobbing around me, hoping to snag somebody’s attention for help. No one seems to notice the bear hug this guy has on me or the panic in my eyes. My pulse breaks into double time. The best I can do is swivel in his arms and face him. More of that stench of beer slaps me in the face when I do.

“That’s right, work on him,” he says, pushing his boy-parts into my thigh. “You won’t be the first carpet muncher I’ve had to set straight.”

The fight in me throws up a fist. I clip the bottom of his chin. The chomp of his teeth snap his mouth shut. His hat flips off his head.

He steps back, holding his mouth. “You made me bite my tongue, you bitch.”
Now
people turn their attention to us. He bends to pick up his hat.

Bren’s lean build steps into the newfound space between Cowboy Hat and me. “Keep your
fucking
hands off her,” Bren barks. I have never heard her cuss, much less imagined the f-word flying out of her mouth. Her arm blindly reaches back for me, and I latch on to it for dear life. As bold as her words may have been, her body shakes like a leaf. Granted she’s a towering oak and he’s a stump, but she’s still a girl. Surely she’s not going to fight him. I’m vaguely aware of Van and Arthur flanking my sides, huddling more than protecting.

Where the heck are the bouncers?

Cowboy Hat wipes the blood and spittle off his lip with an angry swipe. “Seems like the both of you need a little of
this
to straighten you right up.” He grabs his groin and gives it a good shake. All eyes scrutinize Bren and me, as if they are just now putting two and two together. The music pulses around us, but no one is dancing.

“Excuse me?” I pop off, shoving past Bren. I stand face to face with the POS. Now that I’m out here, I’m not sure what I planned to say. Old survival instincts kick in and my mouth just dumps the first thought that comes to mind. “Are you hitting on my boyfriend?” I gesture to Bren.

Holy shit, I cannot believe I just said that. Bren’s athletic build and short hair buy me some doubt but not much.

Cowboy Hat scrutinizes her for a quick second, shaking off his uncertainty. He looks like he’s about to say something that will set everyone straight on just exactly who and what we are, but I cut him off before he can speak.

“Hey, just keep your Justin Bieber obsessions to yourself. Okay?” I thread my arm through Bren’s and march us right past him, holding my breath the whole time.

What the hell was I thinking?
I glance over to see a jaw-dropped Van and a stoic Bren. Oh man, this is not good.

Outside, as fresh as the night air might be, it’s not enough to fill my suffocating lungs. My heart gallops the Kentucky Derby.

“Holy crap, Kaycee.” Van wraps a congratulatory hug around me and jostles me with his enthusiasm. “You just called your girlfriend Justin Bieber.” His body shakes with laughter.

Nervous laughter tumbles out of me. I squeeze Bren’s hand. She forces a smile on her face but refuses to look me in the eye.

“You shocked the crap out of that redneck,” Arthur says.

“I was sure she was going to rope you and me in there, and call us her bitches,” Van says to Arthur. They both laugh, replaying the scene—especially what I said about Bren. They razz her for having a boyish smile, telling her she should drop basketball and try a career in pop music.

Adrenaline rushes through my body, making my hands shake. I watch Bren politely laugh, but she’s not happy. My feet move forward, headed toward the parking lot, but I’m numb all the way to my toes. I’m not sure what came over me. Yeah, I hated the guy for his cruel words and hateful slurs, but honestly, I said those things because I didn’t want to be called out for being a lesbian.

The reality of what I just did sinks in, and I know I’ve totally screwed up. I’m sick to my stomach knowing how bad I must have embarrassed her. Denied her.

We walk Arthur to his jeep, say our good-byes and nice-to-meet-you’s. Bren and I leave them alone to say their own private good-bye. I lean against the hood of her car, happy the back of the lot is devoid of streetlights. She settles next to me, but not cuddle close like she normally is.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean … it just came out of me.”

Bren sighs and looks up at the stars. I can tell the way she bites her lips, she’s chewing on her words. Her silence tortures me.

“Dang it. I’ve totally effed this up, haven’t I? See, I told you I sucked at this.” I use my shirt to blot under my eyes.

“Don’t go and do that.” Her arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in her chest. “This is not the end of the world. I just—please stop crying. You’re killing me.” She briskly rubs my back. “Hey.” Bren tips my chin up and witnesses a tear drop. “No one’s hurt. We’re fine.” She releases a resigned sigh.

“It could have gotten real ugly, Bren.” I lay my head against her chest again. “And I chickened out and called you my boyfriend. I didn’t even have the balls to defend what I am.” Tears leak from my eyes like they’re spigots.

“Please, babe. No more tears.” Bren eases me off her, gripping my shoulders. Her stern brow pinches tight. “I just … I want to make sure you know what I am—I’m your girlfriend. I can’t pretend to be something else. I don’t want to be something else. And I need to know you’re not pretending I’m anything but your girlfriend. Okay?”

“Boys are disgusting,” I say and get a small smile from her. “You are like smokin’ hot. God, your hair, it’s so freaking sexy.” This gets me a bigger smile. “I swear, I know exactly what you are. I’ve thought
a lot
about what you are, trust me. Okay that sounded perverted. You know what I mean. Tonight, I was scared. That’s all.”

“I get it. You said what was necessary to keep you safe. That’s all I want. For you to be safe.” She pulls me back in. Her arms squeeze around my head. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. But I’m glad to know you can handle yourself, even if it means getting creative. Did you seriously clock him in the chin?”

I laugh against her chest. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Her hand makes circles on my back. “I don’t think you have any idea how much you mean to me, Kaycee.”

The sound of my name from her lips makes my insides purr. I look up at her. The streetlamps from the back of the club barely light her face. I want to ask her just how much I mean to her.