Page 5 of Bent, Not Broken

“Where’s the girls?” I asked, pointing generally upward. Usually there were women in the skimpiest dresses I’d ever imagined pouring shots directly into the mouths of people lined up for the dubious, and pricey, opportunity.

She laughed. “The Lip Service doesn’t start till ten. You’re here early.” She smiled at me and went and mixed my super-extra-dirty martini without me asking, so I figured she probably knew who I was. I racked my brain and couldn’t place her. I left her a large cash tip because I felt guilty, chugged my dirty martini like it was frat party punch, and then gestured for another one. She winked and ran off for the next one. I’d gone through three that way, tipping well enough to earn almost instant refills, and was getting the warmth running around in my belly that I’d been waiting for, when a tall guy slid into the spot next to me at the bar. He smiled my direction, and he was cute, but I was vaguely disinterested. There was something about him. Something I should know….

“Hi, Madden,” he said, turning more fully toward me. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and a tight paisley shirt with suspenders, which was a thing, I knew, but not one that revved my engine. The shape of his lips, full and nice, was familiar, though, and he was almost tall enough that I would want to take him on the dance floor and hump against his thigh… but….

“Hi,” I said, in spite of myself. Outside of a courtroom, my mouth never passed up an opportunity to run, even when I would rather keep it quiet. “Uh… how are you doing? Greg?” I hazarded the name because it popped out of nowhere in my brain, like sometimes happened. He immediately perked up, and I wasn’t sure whether to curse my unusually keen, but lackadaisical, memory, or not. I hated feeling awkward, too.

“Not bad. I’m showing a few pieces at the art museum tomorrow night.” He beamed at me, all proud. “I’ve tried to call you a few times.”

“Really? I got a new phone,” I lied smoothly, angling myself toward him.

He nodded and his face flushed pink. I wasn’t sure he’d bought the lie, but we were both apparently willing to let it stand, and his smile flowed into something easy and relaxed. I unclenched.

“You do the iPhone, right? They crack so easily.”

“Yes, I’m an Apple man through and through.” We shared forced laughter, and I didn’t miss the heated look he cruised down my body. I bit the inside of my cheek and checked out his fucking terrible shirt again. Could I ignore that travesty? How badly did I want to get laid? I glanced up his body. Chest okay. Higher. Neck—masculine but not muscular. Up, and then I smacked into his eyes, and they were bright blue. He had sideburns that reminded me of a young Elvis, which, okay, I was a sucker for that bad-boy James Dean type. Something else moved in my memory. Last summer, three weeks. Greg did bad self-portraits. Liked rimming me but gave out on the last mile of a fuck and always made me ride him. Ugh.

Well, fuck, I could do it for one night. It’s not like I didn’t get to come, I just had to do all the work.

“Why don’t you buy me my next drink, Gregerino?” I asked.

He flinched, and I congratulated myself a little at having irritated him. I still hadn’t settled on fucking him for sure, and if something that small sent him running, it would be no loss. Instead he shuffled closer and reached toward his pocket. Interested, I kept track of that hand. Was I about to witness a little public tug? But no, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He stepped closer to me and uncurled his fingers—long, I couldn’t help but note—to reveal a small, golden-pink pill on his palm.

“What is that? It’s pretty.”

He rolled the round pill in his palm so that it caught the light, and I wanted to snatch it up like a magpie. “Something fun I got for myself tonight. There are two.”

My heart jerked in my chest and then sped faster. I glanced up at him. Those eyes. That mouth that would feel good on my dick. The pill. Talk about stupid. I didn’t even know what the hell he had, an upper or a downer? Some Molly? No clue. For all I knew it was poison.

“How does it roll you?”

His smile heated and he leaned down to speak directly into my ear, his warm breath sending shivers along my skin. “Not too bad. Real mild. You’ll feel good.”

“How good?”

“You’ll beg me to touch you all over,” he edged closer to whisper in my ear, and my stomach went warm and fluttery. The fucked-up part was, though, that I was more excited about trying some new drug than having his hands on me. Maybe if this little super-pill went in my mouth, I wouldn’t care that I’d already slept with him before. I leaned back to make eye contact with him and parted my lips.

He moaned and smiled. “Yes?”

“Do it,” I said, and resumed my baby bird impression. He popped the pill in and handed me his beer. I tipped it down the hatch. He slid his hand over my stomach, which was okay, and stared at me like I was the last man on earth.

“Want to hit the dance floor?”

“You’re not taking one?”

Something flashed across his face, and I had trouble parsing out the expression. My brain had grown pleasantly fuzzy over the last few minutes, and I had a second of real fear that maybe this was a bad idea.

“You didn’t poison me, did you?”

He laughed, but it wasn’t an entirely pleasant sound. “No, I just want to be able to drive us to my house. I have plans for you.” He looked so fucking smug, I assumed this—dosing up some dude to ride his dick—had been his less-than-evil scheme from the get-go, and lucky him, I was fine with that.

Shrugging, I grabbed his hand and tugged insistently toward the dance floor. He laughed and finished the dregs of his drink before plonking the empty glass on the bar, and then he stopped resisting my light pulls on his hand to follow me. We made our way out into the sea of music, and my eyes slowly adjusted. The shiny floor reflected what light there was and gave everything an underwater quality, but the wide space was still pretty empty.

The music thumped, electronic with a heavy bass and no words, and pulsed through me. The vibrations seemed to settle in my pelvic bone and slither around in my stomach. I’d gotten one thing right in my predictions about my evening: Greg plastered himself to my back and had an easily foreseen hard-on, but he was too tall to grind against my ass. He pressed himself in tight against the small of my back, and that was all right. Warm tingles rushed over my skin and the room felt hot. I swayed in his arms and undid the top two buttons on my shirt. My dick flushed warm and plumped, and I didn’t think it had much to do with… whoever this was with me. Fuck, what’s his name again?

“Wow, that was fast,” I said loudly above the music. He slid his hands around me and pulled me closer with his grip over my pecs. The touch was intimate, and when I focused on it, I was less into this, so I tried to ignore his kneading fingers. Vaguely I thought I should text River, but I didn’t. We rocked our way through several songs, him thrusting against my back like he was twelve with a pillow between his legs. It was fucking obscene, and I knew it, but I was too floaty and mellow to care.

Then a slow song came on, and that should have been even better, but my stomach started turning sour. As good as it felt to lean against him while prickles slid over my skin and made my nipples hard and my dick take notice, I had to stop because my stomach threatened to send my martinis back up the way they went down.