Good For You
When she turned to signal to another girl on the dance floor, I got a better view of her face. The resemblance to Dori was so strong, I felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. She downed the rest of her drink before the two of them headed for the door, his arm around her as she staggered in those stripper heels.
That stagger decides it. I slap a C-note on the bar and push it towards the bartender, pul ing out my phone and texting John to meet me up front. My eyes never leave the girl as I trail them towards the door. “Hey, Reid Alexander?” someone says, and I shake my head. I don’t have time for that shit now.
We al reach the exit at the same time and I grab the guy’s shoulder in the way you’d stop a friend to say hi.
“Excuse me.”
He turns, annoyed, holding the girl upright. She’s crashing fast, her head propped against his chest, her hair obscuring her face. “Yeah?”
I focus on him. “Yeah, man, you’re gonna have to find someone else.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about? Do I know you?”
“No, but I know her.” I nod towards the girl. I have no idea what I plan to do with her. Bring her to the party? Take her back to her girlfriends and ask them what the hel they’re thinking, letting someone this plastered leave a nightclub with a stranger?
“And?”
What a douche.
“And she won’t be leaving here with you.”
He sizes me up and isn’t impressed. Mistake. “Who the hel are you? Nevermind, I don’t give a shit. Just back off before I kick your ass.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’l be doing that, and I don’t think you’l be leaving here with her, either.”
I spot the left hook before it’s ful y thrown, dodge it, grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back like a pretzel while catching the girl around her waist and pul ing her to my opposite side. The big guys never see it coming.
They’re too conditioned to their size and muscle obliterating any offensive launched.
In the same instant, John shows up with the bouncer, and suddenly we’re getting al kinds of attention. For al of his invariable stupor, my best friend is an expert in some things
—like inducing authority figures to see things his way. He’s already slipped a couple of fifties into the bouncer’s hand and they disappear into a pocket as I explain that this girl is obviously in no state to leave the club with a stranger. I’m obviously in no state to leave the club with a stranger. I’m only guessing they don’t know each other, of course, based purely on observation. But no one gives the douche a chance to refute it before he’s passed off to another huge tattooed guy and escorted out. His missed punch was enough to get him ejected.
“How do I know she knows you?” The bouncer peers at me, smarter than most guys who stand around at the front door flexing muscle, gathering phone numbers for closing time booty cal s.
I look down at the girl, hoping she’l play along, and in that moment I realize that the girl in that hot outfit and under al that makeup is Dori.
She frowns and blinks slowly, leaning into me. “Reid?”
“Hi, Dori.”
“Hi, Reid. You aren’t real y here, are you?” Her eyes tear up. “I don’t feel so good.”
That’s enough for bouncer man. “Al right, off you go. Be safe.”
Too late.
*** *** ***
Dori
My eyes are so dry that cracking them open is agonizing.
I’m in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar gray-blue room.
The furniture is smooth and dark-grained. The scent of the pil ow under my head, though—the scent is vaguely familiar.
Not floral or citrus, but something heavier—clean and concentrated. Male. Dark blinds are pul ed shut, but light filters in through the crevices between the slats. It’s morning… or later.
Someone is tapping on a keyboard behind me. I rol over warily and Reid Alexander’s gaze shifts from the laptop to me at the sound. Pul ing his hands from the keyboard, he leans back in the desk chair and stares at me. A satisfied smile works its way across his face. I must be dreaming. Should I feel this horrible if I’m dreaming?
“Good morning.” His voice is low, and somehow I feel the reverberations of it beneath my sternum. My fingers flutter there, as though I can brush the panic away. I’m not dreaming. I’m in Reid’s bed. Not some random stranger’s.
Reid’s.
“I thought I dreamed you.” The words whisper from my parched throat.
His head tilts to one side, his mouth shifting to something less sarcastic, more amused. “That may be the most enchanting thing I’ve ever been told after spending the night with a girl.”
I swal ow the little saliva I can generate. My mouth is as dry as cotton, my lips chapped. “What. Happened?” My voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
“You don’t remember?”
I close my eyes, trying to recal anything past the last guy I fol owed to the dance floor—the one with the too-sweet smel . “I… don’t remember anything.”
I force my eyes to open when he stands, moving to look down at me. Mouth set in a grim line, he peels the cool gray sheet back and I pul taut, expecting air on bare skin, but I’m stil clothed in the tank and skirt I wore last night. We did it dressed? Or… he redressed me?
Taking my elbow, he gently pul s me from the bed, but my head is heavy and throbbing, and my equilibrium is shot. When I sway, he scoops me into his arms and the room tilts crazily. I hold on, groaning. The smel of his bed was just an echo of the spicy maleness of him, stronger now, my face against his chest. I want to curl up into him and sleep, but he’s walking away from the bed. I briefly assume that he means to take me outside and deposit me on his doorstep, where I can be picked up for transport like a FedEx package.