Push

chapter Twenty-Two

It was after midnight when we finally fell asleep, and now David is jostling me, telling me I’d better get moving. Telling me I’m going to be late for work if I don’t get out of bed. I can hear the alarm sounding, but I am in a mist of sleepiness. I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to remove myself from David’s arms. I don’t want to see my puffed-up face in the mirror, or the empty box on the table, or the metal pieces scattered across the floor. I just want to lie here.
But David won’t let me. He pulls himself away from me, sits up and climbs out of bed. He walks over to my side and turns me so my legs are hanging off the bed. Then he pulls my arms until I am sitting up.
“Come on, Emma. Let’s go. Get ready, and I’ll take you to work,” he says.
“No. I don’t want to go,” I say as I lie back down.
“You have to,” he says, pulling me back upright.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because if you don’t, then he wins.” F*ck that shit. He’s right. Michael wants me to be wrecked about his little present. And I am. But that doesn’t mean I have to show it.
I stand up and walk to the shower.
I leave the bathroom door open, and a few seconds later, a naked David is standing behind me. Without saying a word, he opens the shampoo bottle and starts washing my hair. I am facing him, and he is watching his hands weave through my hair. Then he tilts my chin up, and the water rinses the bubbles from my hair. David washes my whole body with what I can only describe as kindness. He is careful and slow and tender. I am bewildered. My heart swims with appreciation, and my tired limbs slowly wake with every stroke of the washcloth. His touch is as sensual as ever, but there is no expectation, no innuendo in it. Only care. When he is finished, I offer to do the same for him. But he stops me, telling me I should get out of the shower and get ready for work. And so I do. I get dressed, we eat some breakfast and get into the car.
On the way into town, David mentions that it is Tuesday. His poker night.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to sit in your cubicle with you today,” he says, “but you are coming with me to poker tonight.”
“Really?” I say. “Why?”
“Because I don’t trust him, Emma. And I don’t think you should be alone. Not for now at least.” I am surprised at the resolution in his voice.
“Oh.” It is all I can think to say.
“I’d like to pick you up after work and take you with me. We can grab some dinner on the way,” he says. He pauses for a few seconds, then draws in a big breath before continuing. “But I need you to know that tonight probably isn’t going to be what you expect. I don’t want you to be surprised by that, okay? The whole poker night thing, I mean. It isn’t just a bunch of guys sitting around playing cards, and I need to know that you’ll be cool with whatever is going on. I need to know that whatever happens tonight, you aren’t going to flake out on me.” What the f*ck does that mean?
“I’m not sure what to say here, David. I’m not one for flaking out, but depending on what the hell you are talking about, I’m not making any promises.”
“Those f*ckers can take things too far sometimes. That’s all I’m saying. And I just want you to be safe. I don’t want you leaving without me or something.”
“Well, since I probably won’t know where we are, or how the hell to get myself home, the chances of me leaving without you are pretty slim.”
He looks over at me from the driver’s seat. “Just promise me you won’t dick around with Brad again, okay? That you won’t give him any more fodder.”
“That I can promise,” I say. “And I’ll keep both my shoes on this time.” David is grinning at me now, and I am smiling back at him. It feels good.
We pull up to my office building a few minutes later. He double-parks and puts on his flashers. Then he tells me to wait. He gets out of the car and walks over to my side, opening my door and helping me out. It is something he hasn’t done before, and I’m wondering why he has chosen to do it now. He closes the door behind me, pulls me against him, and plants a kiss on my lips.
“Bye,” he says. “I’ll see you right here at six. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be,” I say as he is walking around the back of the car. He opens his door, and without thinking, I add, “What’s with the chivalrous shit all of the sudden?”
He shrugs, and just before getting into the car, he says, “It comes with the girlfriend status.” And with that, his door closes and he drives off.
* * *

The morning passes quickly. The new understanding Matt and I have seems to be working out well. He doesn’t say a word all morning unless I speak first. When I ask a question or make a comment, we have a little back and forth. And then it’s over until I decide to talk again. It’s quite civil. I also discovered that Matt’s witty. I would even say our go-rounds are kind of funny. Entertaining, at least.
At lunchtime, I open my cell phone to discover a text from David.


Hi.


Hi back.


How’s the day?


Good, actually.


Happy to hear. The douche bag there?


Yes.


He keeping his hands off?


Yes. Of course.


Good.


I was wrong about him, though.


Oh?


Turns out, he’s nice.


Nice?


Yes. In a douche bag sort of way.


Oh.


No worries, though. I’m all yours.


Always, I hope.


What? Did he really just type that? I’m not quite sure how to reply, but a heartbeat later I send the old standby....


:)


A moment passes without a reply, and I think that maybe he’s angry I didn’t say something more. Maybe he’s embarrassed and wants to take it back. Inside I’m freaking out a little, but when his reply comes, I’m relieved that it is a complete change of subject.


I’m nervous about 6:00.


Why?


Just don’t run off, ok?


Jesus, David. U r freaking me out.


Worried what you’ll think.


I can tell you right now what I’ll think.


What?


I’ll think u should take me home early and reinstate my f*ck-buddy status.


No going back now, GIRLFRIEND.


Damn.


There’s an equation u aren’t seeing here.


What’s that?


Girlfriend status = indescribable benefits + countless perks.


Beyond this morning’s chivalry?


Well beyond.


I decide not to reply. I want to leave all this hanging between us. It could make for a spectacular evening.
* * *

The rest of the day is uneventful. Matt and I do lots of work on the design and even manage to progress to Phase 2 a few days ahead of schedule. The next thing I know, it is ten to six. I shut down my computer, gather my things and head for the elevator. Today was nice. Today was normal. Today was fun.
I walk out of the building alone, expecting that David may be waiting for me in the courtyard again. But instead, he is standing by his car. It is double-parked in the same spot it was this morning. When he sees me, he opens the passenger door and winks at me. He looks seriously delicious. He’s got bed-head as usual, but he’s cleanly shaved and dressed in jeans and a dark, short-sleeved T-shirt. Great. I’m going to look like a freak going to a poker game in my work clothes.
“Hey,” he says as I toss my bag into the floor of the front seat.
“Hey, yourself,” I reply. Once I am in the car, David closes the door and walks around the front. I watch him run the fingers of his left hand lightly across the hood of the car. His eyes are on me, and the thumb of his other hand scuffs across his lower lip. I see a little nervous smile on his face. Or maybe it’s a wicked one. It’s hard to tell the difference.
He gets in and leans over the console, reaching for my neck. His lips meet mine. It is another one of those kisses. The “food poisoning” ones. When he pulls his face away, my eyes stay closed, and I am smiling from ear-to-ear. I must look ridiculous.
“What?” he asks with a little chuckle.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just thinking about those indescribable benefits and countless perks.”
He laughs a little and puts the car into gear, pulling out into traffic. Once we are on the highway, headed out of the city, David puts his hand on my knee and looks over at me.
“We have a quick stop to make before we grab some dinner,” he says. “I have to pick something up, and you have to get changed.” Into what? I wonder.
“Don’t be mad, but I brought you some jeans to change into. I didn’t think you’d want to wear your work clothes tonight, and I forgot to tell you to bring something,” he adds. “I just pulled the jeans and a shirt out of your closet. I grabbed your chucks, too.” Oh. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure it is,” I say. “Thanks.”
He reaches into his pocket and produces my blue panties with the black lace. The ones I was wearing the first time we f*cked. The ones I left hanging over the back of his chair.
“And I brought you these,” he says with a slight smile. “I thought maybe you’d like a fresh pair.” My eyebrows go up as his face glances over at me.
“Hmm,” I say, feeling a bit plucky. “I was thinking that maybe I won’t wear any at all tonight. That way I can guarantee you won’t be the one to run off.”
“I won’t run off, Emma. No matter what you are, or aren’t, wearing. That much I know.”
“Good,” I say.
Soon we are pulling into the driveway of a small house. The neighborhood is kind of ramshackle, but the house seems decently well-kept. David tells me this is where some of his poker buddies live and that I can get changed here. He has to grab a few cases of beer from the basement. We walk right in the front door without knocking. It’s open, and the house seems empty. On first sight, it is clear that this is a bachelor pad. There are dishes in the sink, dirty clothes draped over the furniture, shoes piled by the front door, mountain bikes leaning against the wall, and empties scattered around.
David tells me I can go back to one of the bedrooms or the bathroom to get changed if I want to, but there is no guarantee what I might find back there. I tell him that if there’s no one home, I’ll just change here in the living room.
“Suit yourself,” he says as he heads back through the kitchen and down into what I’ll assume is the basement. I open the bag David has packed for me and start to undress. Before I put on my jeans, I decide to switch into the blue panties. I’m flattered that he thought to bring them, and I know I’ll get a small thrill out of teasing him about them all night.
I have one foot into the leg of my jeans when David comes back up the stairs. He is carrying two cases of beer, one stacked on top of the other. His eyes rise and meet mine, and I freeze, bent over my jeans. His eyes are smiling, but the rest of his face is still. He walks over to the kitchen table and puts down the beer.
“Don’t pull them up,” he says. “I want to take them off.”
He is in front of me two seconds later, his hands on my waist, pulling me toward him. His eyes are on mine, and they are full of fire. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he drops down, pulling my jeans and the blue panties off in one swift swoop. He kneels beneath me, looking up at my face. He grips the inside of my thigh and lifts it so my foot is resting on the arm of the sofa. His hands make their way around to my backside, and he forces my crotch into his face. I hear a slow, tense exhale, and then I feel his mouth on me. It is soft and slippery and awe-inspiring. All the feelings of perfection and clarity that I felt lying on the hood of his car under the bridge return and seep into me. Sensation is jackhammering through my body, spreading out from where his mouth is. Out of him and into me.
My hands move quickly to the back of his head, sinking into his hair, goading him on. My hips push forward, meeting his mouth, letting his tongue wash against me over and over. As his fingers enter me, the pins and needles traipsing over my skin sink in hard, biting away every bit of powerlessness that I have ever felt. It is so quick. He is so quick. His tongue and fingers incite my body until I am hanging right on the edge of an orgasm. Then, as if this was not enough, David’s other hand slips across my ass, spreading my wetness against my backside. In one smooth, incredible motion, he slips a finger into my behind. It glides in and out of me in syncopation with the movement of his other fingers. His tongue is still lapping against me, and I am groaning like a f*cking dog. I can’t help it. I want him to know what he is doing to me. I want him to know how right this is. How close I am. How he is the one making me feel this way. How everything that radiates out of him crashes straight into me. And then I lose it. I come, gripping his head and pulling his hair, and shaking until my body is ready to drop to the floor.
I can feel him smile when his hands pull away. I drop my leg down off the arm of the couch to steady myself, and he clasps my hips to hold me still.
“Holy f*ck,” I say.
I look down at him, kneeling beneath me, with his hands on my hips. He looks empowered and excited and hot-as-shit. David takes off his shirt and tosses it on to the floor behind me. Without a word, he pulls me down until I am on my knees in front of him. He turns me around and pushes my shoulders forward, pressing my face into his discarded shirt. He holds me that way—facedown, propped up on my knees, ass in the air—gripping both my wrists behind me. I hear him unzip and feel his fingers slide into me again, this time with more force. He is pushing into me hard, and my body ripples with a now-familiar need. He pulls them out only long enough to rub me in a few slow circles, then they are inside me again, pushing me back upwards.
Before I drop over the edge again, he pulls his hand away and stops. I can hear that he is touching himself now, stroking himself feverishly. The sound is primal. Greedy. Masculine. It makes me want to pull my arms out from his grip, and take him into my mouth. It makes me want to f*ck him like a madwoman. His breath drags and stutters. A moment later, I hear him come with a deep sigh, and I feel drops of liquid hit my back. He enters me again, quelling my greed, letting go of my wrists so that he can grab my hips. I bring my arms up under my chest and push my body on to all fours so I can look back at him. So that I can see his face. I am watching him do this to me, and it is sexy as hell.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
I cannot take my eyes off him, even as I come. My body twists around him, drenched with satisfaction. Waves of pleasure roll off me, sinking my body to the floor.
The carpet is rough against my skin. David pulls out of me, but he remains on his knees between my straightened legs. His breath steadies, and he swats a hand sharply against my backside. The sting is a sharp counterpoint to the contentment flushing over the rest of my body.
“Ouch,” I say. “What the f*ck was that for?”
“Making us late,” he says.
“F*ck you,” I say, still lying on the floor. “You started it.”
“No. You did.” I turn back to look at him, and his hands are on top of his head, in surrender. “Christ, Emma, you in those panties...”
“Ahhh,” I say with a coy smile, “so that’s it. It’s just your underwear fetish again. I see now that it has nothing to do with me—or those countless perks I was promised.” I writhe against the floor in hopes of inciting another touch.
“It has everything to do with you,” he says, standing up and zipping his pants closed. “Everything.”
I smile at him, gather my clothes, and head back to the bathroom to clean up. The place is filthy. I don’t think anyone has taken a brush to the toilet for centuries. Gross. I try not to look around too much as I wipe myself clean with the last few stubby squares of toilet paper left on the roll. When I am finished, I dress and walk out to the car. David is putting the last of four cases of beer into the trunk, and as he closes it, he looks up at me. Then he walks to my side of the car and opens the door.
We drive for fifteen minutes, and after quickly choking down a drive-thru burger, we pull into a parking lot situated beside a tall apartment building. I know we’re on Carson Street—wherever that is—because I saw the sign when we turned the corner. David shuts off the ignition, and we get out of the car. He opens the trunk, stacks the cases of beer on to a folding dolly that was stashed in the backseat, and begins to wheel it toward the door. When we are about halfway there, he stops and turns to me.
“Emma,” he says with pause. I can tell he has more to say, but I already know what it is about.
“No worries, David. I’m cool. I’m not gonna leave without you. Really.” I can tell from the look on his face that my words are exactly what he wants to hear. “We just confirmed my girlfriend status on the floor of your friends’ house. I’m not going to rile the troops. No surprises from me, I swear. Stop acting like I’m a f*cking daisy or something.”
He lets go of the dolly and kisses me quickly on the lips.
“Okay,” he says, “and I am well aware that you are not a f*cking daisy.” He is smirking at me now, and I feel better.
Before I know it, David is pulling open the door to the apartment building and wheeling the dolly of beer down a ramp into the basement. At the end of the hall is a double metal door. I can hear voices and music inside. He raps on the door, and Brad opens it. When Brad sees me, he smiles from ear-to-ear.
“It’s about f*cking time you got here,” he says to David. Then he turns to me and holds out his hand for a shake. His eye is no longer black and blue. I look at David as I shake Brad’s hand and say a brief hello. I still want to knock him across the chin for his little stunt with my shoe, but I know David would prefer I keep quiet, and so that’s what I do. Brad lets go of my hand, and David and I walk into the room.
He was right. This is far from a couple of guys sitting around a table playing poker. It is clear that this is a finely tuned game. I’m certain that it is both professional and illegal. I’m also certain that I’m not supposed to be here. There are about two dozen felted tables around the room, each with its own group of players—all of which are male—and its own dealer—all of which are female. Scantily clad females. Beautiful, scantily clad females. There are also a handful of half-naked waitresses walking around the room toting drinks. I am the only other woman here, and I suddenly feel out of place. Very out of place. At least I am not in my work clothes, I joke to myself.
As I stand here gaping openly at all the goings-on, David walks past me, pulling the dolly toward the bar in the center of the room. A few steps into his trip, he turns back to look at me. His eyebrows go up and he shrugs. I see his lips forming the words “told you.” It makes me smile.
I follow David, who is now lifting the cases of beer up on to the bar. But before I can get to him, one of the waitresses throws her arms around his neck and plants a kiss on his lips. I am frozen in my tracks, a swell of rage building in my chest. I want to rush at her, to knock her off of him, to smash her down to the floor. But I don’t because I promised David that I wouldn’t freak out. Damn her. The kiss is blissfully brief, because the moment their lips connect, David calmly pushes her away. He says something to her, and she lets go of his neck instantly. He drops his hands on to his hips, and she starts to laugh, throwing her head back and sticking out her chest. When she stops laughing, she looks over at me and then back at David. Then she slinks away from him, sending me a small wave as she goes. I want to flip her the finger, but instead I plaster a psychotic “girlfriend smile” on my face. One that I hope conveys both attitude and arrogance. One that I hope David sees, too. It is my way of telling him that I am not about to let some half-dressed whore ruffle my f*cking feathers.
Now it seems that I have something to prove. I vow to not get visibly fired up at all tonight. I’m going to lay myself down for him. To show him that I can handle whatever is about to be dished out. I promised him exactly that, but up until now, I thought it was a moot point. I didn’t think anyone would be able to fire me up. But clearly this poker game isn’t what I thought it would be. I’ve got one sentence to say to David, and I need to say it before I see anything like that again.
“Don’t make me kick your f*cking ass,” I say, looking him dead in the eye. He is wearing a look of utter surprise.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smile in his voice. He grips my wrist for a second and skims his thumb across it. I am sure he can feel my skin burning. When he lets go, I grab a beer from the counter and turn on my heels. I want to watch.
Despite feeling incredibly out-of-place, I decide to wear my confidence like a goddamned badge. I’m not going to cling to David tonight. I’m going to treat this poker game like it’s precisely where I belong. I don’t know how to play poker, and I’m not sure they’d let me play anyway, but I do know how to drink. And flirt. And pretend.
David spends a good amount of time behind the bar, unloading the beer and pouring drinks. Then he moves around the room, chatting with the gamblers, checking in with the dealers, swapping wads of cash for chips. He talks easily with the waitresses who all seem to know him very well. They are flirtatious and engaging, and I know that he is watching me carefully from across the room to see my reaction to their touches and smiles. But I see now that it is part of the game going on here tonight. It is more than a poker game. It’s an atmosphere of energy, sex, money, alcohol and business. Watching David is mesmerizing. He is exuding light, and whenever he glances at me, I feel my breath stick. Suddenly I am feeling very f*cking lucky to be this fine-ass man’s girlfriend. I want to stand next to him, to touch him. I want everyone here to see that he is mine and I am his. But I don’t, because I don’t want to be that kind of girlfriend. The word “covetous” pops into my head because it is precisely how I am feeling.
I’ve been leaning against the wall drinking beer and watching for the past hour and a half. I decide I’m done with the wallflower shit and step out into the room.
Two hours later I am drunk as hell, sitting at a table right next to Carl. My ass alarm is sounding loud and clear, but it doesn’t stop me from chatting Carl up because I know that David is here, standing right next to me. Carl might be a fat prick of a landlord, but he is funny as shit. Telling stories, playing cards, slurping down shots, smoking cigars. He is riotous. Unfettered. Gregarious. I haven’t laughed this much ever.
I think David is enjoying seeing me let loose, though I’m not sure how he is feeling about me sitting so close to Carl. He puts himself between us the moment Carl leans a little too close, and his hand spends a minute or two on my shoulder every time another male sits down at the table. David hasn’t said a word to me all night since his “yes, ma’am” hours ago. But he is watching me like a hawk.
Groups of men have been coming and going through most of the night. Brad seems to be a doorman of sorts, deciding who is allowed inside and whose drunk ass to kick to the curb. It is a role he must take seriously because he hasn’t cracked a smile since we got here. There are another three or four men here that seem to be part of the operation. I recognize them from David’s bedroom. David is clearly good friends with them, but he doesn’t introduce me to any of them. I know they recognize me from that night, though, because they all smile knowingly when our eyes meet. I think David is right—they would like to have a crack at me. And they would gladly take him down for the opportunity.
As Carl is telling us a hysterical story about a female-only dirt bike race he once staged, Brad opens the door to let in another small gaggle of men. My eyes fly open when I spot Matt in the group. Matt! He is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, smoking a cigarette and smiling at the friend he’s walking in with. I see a long, dark tattoo on his right forearm. What the f*ck? How did I not notice that before? Long sleeves. He always wears long sleeves. I glance up at David, who is also watching the men walk in the door. He looks down at me and raises his eyebrows. Ahh. I can see on his face that he has known the douche bag all along. I shake my head at David, and he gives me a shrug. Then he walks over to Matt and they talk. Matt looks over at me and raises his chin. I give him a sheepish wave and narrow my eyes at David. What the hell is going on here?
Matt and his friends swap money for chips and sit down at a table to play. I try to climb gracefully out of my chair, but I end up stumbling away. I can hear Carl and his table mates chuckling softly at my drunken gawkiness. I am clearly more intoxicated than I thought. My head is light, and despite my confusion about Matt, I feel euphoric. I feel perfect.
But I also have to pee. As I am walking toward the hallway at the front of the room that I suspect leads to the restrooms, I feel a hand grab my arm and turn me around. My dizzy head moves faster than my eyes, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that it is David who has stopped me. His hand is still holding my arm, and I see fire racing across his face. What’s this? He must be angry with me for getting so drunk, for sitting so close to Carl, for flirting and doing shots and waving to Matt. Oh, he’s mad. He’s really mad. I haven’t seen this from him, and frankly, I’m surprised at the intensity of it.
Both his hands are holding me now, gripping my upper arms. Steadying me. His face looks cross, and his brow is tight.
“You promised,” he says sharply. “You can’t leave.” What?
“I’m not leaving, you ass. I’m taking a piss.” Relief brushes across his face, and his eyes briefly close.
“The bathrooms are in the back,” he says with a sigh. And then his arms are around me, and his tongue is sweeping into my mouth. Right here in front of this room full of people, he is kissing me like a f*cking porn star.
When he pulls away, he tells me that he thought I was bailing because he didn’t tell me about knowing Matt. He tells me what I already know—that this gambling ring is private. And illegal. No one is supposed to talk about it outside of Tuesday nights. Outside of this room. They could all go to jail for a very long time if they let the wrong person in the door. I lean into him and joke that I’ll be sure to keep all their shenanigans under my hat.
“Shhhh,” I say, with so much drunken silliness that I want to punch myself, “it’s all good, baby. I got your back. Because you, David Calgaro, are one fine-ass man.” I pat him irreverently on the chest, and he shakes his head at my sloppy drunkenness. My neck feels floppy, and I roll it backwards and start to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he says with a grin.
“Me. I’m funny,” I say, poking myself in the chest with my own index finger. “When that half-dressed girl kissed you earlier, I wanted to wring both of your f*cking necks.” Oh, this is bad. I am going to say more than I should. I am about to engage in the whole so-drunk-it’s-embarrassing thing. “I wanted to knock you both to your knees. David, I don’t give a flying f*ck about your knowing Matt. It’s business. Whatever. But what I do give a flying f*ck about is you. You, David Calgaro. I give a flying f*ck about you.” Oh, sweet Jesus. What am I doing?
David is grinning at me. No, he’s laughing at me, and my face starts to feel the heat of my own embarrassment. I am blushing, and he likes it.
“Go, take your piss,” he says, after a beat. “Then, come find me. I’ll see your flying f*ck and raise you an indescribable benefit.”
When I come out of the bathroom, David is sitting at the card table with Carl and a few other men. He has a stack of chips in front of him, and I get the feeling he is about to kick Carl’s ass. He looks at me as I walk over to the table. Carl hands me another drink.
David motions for me to bend down so he can tell me something. In a whisper he says, “I’m going to score one of those benefits for you right now, Emma. Whatever you want.”
I shift my head so that my mouth brushes against his ear. “All I want is for you to give a flying f*ck about me, too,” I murmur. I look straight ahead. I don’t want to see David’s face for fear he might be snarking at my drunken declaration.
But instead of laugher I hear, “Already done.” And I feel myself tighten inside.
“I’m glad to see you two found each other,” Carl says loudly. “You’re quite the pair.” His eyes move up and down my body before falling on David’s face with a scandalous grin.
“F*ck you, Carl,” David spits. “Keep your mouth shut and play.”
“Rent’s due the first of every month, sweetie,” Carl says to me. “Don’t forget. I wouldn’t want to have to kick you out.” It feels like a threat.
“Screw you, Carl,” I tease, not believing this is the same man I was flirting and laughing with a few minutes before.
David looks up at me, and even with my glazed eyes, I can see that he is pleased.
For the next hour, they play. And I drink. The rest of the room slowly clears out, and before I know it, our table is the only one left. Even Matt and his friends have disappeared. Despite the fact that I don’t know a thing about poker, I know that David is winning and Carl is frustrated as hell. He is no longer laughing and teasing and telling stories. Instead he is swearing and scowling and making cracks about what a shitty maintenance man David is. David is just soaking it all in. It must be par for the course on Tuesday nights. But it is all getting too serious for me. I want to push Carl’s face into the table, to smack him upside the head. To tell him to go f*ck himself. I am sinking in anger. Anger fueled by alcohol. And by lust. I want David to put down his cards, punch Carl in the face, then scoop me up and take me home.
But what I get instead is a rush of vertigo. And a second later my hands slide down David’s bird-covered arms, and I am on the floor.