All of their faces snapped up in shock, then the group scattered, leaving me alone with my douchebag ex.
“This is why you fucking came tonight, isn’t it?” I placed my hands on my narrow hips and glared at him as he discretely pocketed a fistful of cash. “I thought it was weird that you didn’t call me for a week and then showed up in a borrowed suit acting like we were BFFs, but it makes perfect sense now.” I swept an arm out in front of me, gesturing to where the congregation of hippies had been. “You just used me to get in here so you could find some new customers.”
“Lady…” Harley smiled, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Punk.”
Harley’s panty-melting grin morphed into the hardened glare of an outlaw as his eyes shot contraband bullets over my shoulder.
I spun around and held my hands up, as if that could possibly shield Harley from the wrath of Ronald McKnight. Knight’s hand shot past me and grabbed Harley by the tie. Yanking him forward, I found myself crushed in a Knight-Harley sandwich as the two men bared their teeth at each other over my shoulder.
Couples slow-danced around us as Steven Tyler sang about not wanting to miss a thing.
“Guys,” I warned. “Do not fucking fight here. Do you hear me? Knight, you could go to military jail, and Harley…” I swiveled my head backward to make eye contact with him. “You’ve got a pocket full of ecstasy, dumbass.”
Knight’s eyes and nostrils flared as he began taking slow steps backward toward the door, dragging our two bodies with him. “Fine,” he hissed in my ear through his clenched teeth. “We won’t fight here.”
Harley began pushing against my back, urging us to walk faster. “Let’s go, motherfucker,” He turned his head and spat on the dancefloor. “Anywhere you want.”
I should have done more to stop them, but the sensation of Knight’s chest against my chest and Harley’s crotch against my ass caused my hormones to mutiny and take over the whole damn ship. I wasn’t thinking about how to prevent bloodshed. I was too focused on the way their breath felt against my skin and their strong hands felt gripping my hips and arms.
We shuffled, locked in a three-person stalemate, out of the Egyptian Ballroom and into the hallway overlooking the two-story lobby below. As soon as we were out of sight, Knight wrapped his free hand around Harley’s neck and body-slammed him into the wall, not giving two shits that my body was in between their bodies.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Knight seethed.
Harley’s hands released me and wrapped around Knight’s neck in return.
Unable to speak, both men choked and glared at each other as I thrashed in between, squealing and grunting, cursing and shoving, kneeing and elbowing, until I heard a woman scream at the end of the hall. All three of us turned our heads at once to see my Spanish teacher, Mrs. Santos, clutching her chest in horror before running off to get help.
“She’s gonna call the fucking cops!” I screamed. “Stop it!”
I saw Harley’s fingers relax and fall away from Knight’s thick, corded neck just before I felt his body slide down the wall behind me and slump to the floor.
“Harley!” I turned and knelt beside his unconscious body, palming his cheek and feeling for a pulse. He was breathing, thank God, but he had deep, purple, finger-shaped welts on his neck and his beautiful baby face was flushed and red.
“Harley…” I slapped his cheek lightly with my hand. “Harley, wake up.”
I turned to scream at Knight, but the insults and accusations turned to ash in my mouth the moment I realized that no one was there.
Knight had vanished like a ghost.
Just then, I heard Coach Johnson’s voice boom through the lobby below. “Yes, officer. Right up the stairs there.”
Shit!
“Harley,” I whispered, more frantically. “Harley, the cops are here! Wake up!”
His eyes fluttered, but he made no effort to move.
Glancing back and forth between my unconscious ex and the staircase where the heavy footfalls of the law were approaching, I suddenly knew what I had to do.
And I had to do it fast.
Eight
Six people arrived at the Fox Theater in that white stretch Lincoln, but only three of us made it back out.
Goth Girl, Juliet, and I sat side by side on the ride home, guzzling champagne and giggling over our prom pictures, which Juliet had insisted that we pick up before sprinting out the front door.
“Steven is so fucking ugly,” Goth Girl hiccupped. “What the hell was I thinking? He looks like—"
“Lord Licorice from Candy Land?” I interrupted, causing Juliet to spit a mouthful of Korbel onto the off-white carpet.
“Oh my God, you’re right!” she cackled.
“Not that I’m one to talk,” I giggled. “Who the fuck brings two dates to the same prom?” I held up both eight by ten photos, fanned out in one hand.
“No shit!” Juliet snorted, nudging me with her shoulder. “You cocky as hell, girl!”
“Not as cocky as that motherfucker, Harley. I can’t believe he just used me to sell drugs at fucking prom.” I rolled my eyes and took another sip of champagne.
“So, what’s gonna happen to him?” Goth Girl asked. “I know he’s a dick, but I still feel kinda bad about leaving him there to get arrested.”
“Oh, he won’t get arrested,” I smirked, handing Juliet my champagne flute so that I could unclasp my silver clutch bag. Reaching in, I pulled out a fat wad of twenties, Harley’s flask, and a baggie full of pills stamped with little lightning bolts. “They don’t have any evidence.”
Juliet and Goth Girl squealed in delight as our chariot delivered us home.
Prom might not have turned out to be the magical night I’d envisioned, but I still managed to leave with two people I loved.
And call me cocky, but I made one hell of a profit too.
About the Author
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.
* * *
If that sounds like the kind of person you want to go around being friends with, then by all means, feel free to drop her a line. Just don’t be surprised if you get a reply at four a.m. with an inexplicable Shia LaBeouf meme or a text that was clearly meant for someone else. BB is what doctors call chronically sleep-deprived—or, as Ken pronounces it, depraved.
You can find her:
On email: [email protected]
On her website: www.authorbbeaston.com
On Facebook: www.facebook.com/bbeaston
On Instagram: www.instagram.com/author.bb.easton
On Twitter: www.twitter.com/bb_easton
On Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/artbyeaston
On Goodreads: https://goo.gl/4hiwiR
On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/bbeaston
* * *
Selling signed books and original art on Etsy: www.etsy.com/shop/artbyeaston
* * *
Giving stuff away in her #TeamBB Facebook group: www.facebook.com/groups/BBEaston
* * *
And giving away a free e-book from one of her author friends each month in her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/c4OCOH
Also by BB Easton
44 Chapters About 4 Men: A Memoir
* * *
The 44 Chapers Spin-off Series:
SKIN (Knight, Book 1)
SPEED (Harley, Book 2)
STAR (Hans, Book 3)
SUIT (Ken, Book 4, Coming Fall 2018)
The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall
Jaymin Eve
Short story featuring Jessa and Braxton from the Supernatural Prison series.
The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall.
A Supernatural Prison Short Story.
* * *
Copyright ? Jaymin Eve 2018
All rights reserved First published in 2018
Eve, Jaymin
The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall.
*1st edition*