Page 15 of Choke

“It’s perfect!” She chirps.

Perfect is a stretch. It is incredibly short. I haven’t worn anything this short since working at the bar. I only did it at that time to earn more tips. I run my hands over my stomach, looking in the mirror and considering that Rosie and I aren’t that dissimilar. She uses her body to earn money. I did the same back then. Sure, I wasn’t going as far as having sex with people for money, but really, it’s comparable.

She pulls the gold dress over her head while I watch her, deciding I am incredibly inspired by her. She chose to do something most women are too scared to do.

“Rosie, you are so fucking cool.”

She turns to face me, looking surprised. A slow smile grows across her beautiful face.

“YOU are so fucking cool! Now, finish your drink. Let’s go!” She responds, pulling me into a quick hug.

Grabbing my drink off the dresser and looking over the bottles of perfumes on display. She has many scents, Baccarat Rouge, Louboutin, Le Labo. High-end scents. I’m smelling one I’ve never heard of when I spot a bottle tucked into the back.

“You have this cheap drugstore one in this lineup of designer perfumes?” I ask, reaching for it. Removing the cap, the sweet vanilla cookie scent fills my senses. “I used to wear this exclusively.”

“I know! You introduced me to it, and there is nothing like it. It’s my go-to date perfume because men cannot resist it. I swear it is one of those pheromone perfumes you see online.” She laughs, taking it from my hand and spraying it on her neck and wrists.

She hands the blue bottle back, and I spray it on myself—on my neck, wrists, and thighs. I have always loved the idea of my thighs smelling like cookies. We glance at the mirror one last time, finish our drinks, put on heels inappropriate for a bar, and leave. As she locks up, I think, tonight, I’m going to be more like Rosie.

Rosie skips past the line and up to the bouncer. His face lights up when he sees her. He leans forward, kisses her cheek, and then steps aside to let us pass. The line behind us groans. She grabs my hand and pulls me behind her. With my other hand, I gently tug the hem of the dress down.

I feel naked.

We head straight to the bar, the music loud and full of deep bass. Recognition shines on the bartender’s face when he sees her. She leans across the bar, whispering in his ear. He smiles broadly, nodding and looking toward me. I smile and survey the bar. It’s massive and packed. Club, this is a club. Not a bar. Looking back at Rosie and the bartender, I notice that in her current position, her dress has ridden up, and her ass and a bit of her tiny panties are visible. I stand behind her, seeing several sets of eyes trained on her. She is a walking billboard.

She straightens beside me, handing me a drink. I take a sip, and it tastes like a hangover; it’s so sugary. Too easy to drink. She leads us to a booth, and we slide in. She sips her drink while her eyes scan the room. I can’t help but smile.

Bending toward her to avoid yelling, I say, “You look like an animal on the hunt.”

She meets my eyes and smirks deviously. “I am.”

That kind of night.

We talk about the club and some men she’s already marked as having good potential for the evening—she is magnetic. Next to her, I’ve never felt more visible than I do right now. Men at the bar get their friends’ attention and point towards us.

I am about to comment on it when she says, “People are fixated on you!”

I huff at that suggestion, replying, “It’s you, babe. They’re looking at you.”

She shakes her head slightly, setting her drink down.

“No way. I come here all the time. I never get this kind of attention. It’s you, that dress, those tattoos.”

My cheeks flush a little. I am used to being stared at because of my tattoos. I never feel like it’s with desire, but there’s no denying the looks our little booth attracts. The words ‘fresh meat’ come to mind. We finish our drinks and decide to dance a little. I could use a way to burn off some of the alcohol in my system.

We make our way to the center of the dance floor. The bar I worked in did not play this kind of music. I recognize none of the songs and take Rosie’s lead on how to move to the music. She sways her hips back and forth, running her hands through her long, blonde hair. The crowd creates a type of circle around us. Her hands land on my shoulders, and I place mine on her hips. We twirl and sway, moving closer together until we straddle each other’s legs, grinding.

She oozes sexuality. One more drink, and I might pay her for sex. I chuckle at the thought, my head fuzzy from the drinks. I close my eyes and drift away. Rosie moves away slightly, dropping my hands; I turn my back to her and feel her arms wrap around my waist. No, not her hands; these hands are large. My back hits a broad chest, and a masculine scent fills my nose. I lean my head back and continue to sway. Reminding myself to be more like Rosie. The warmth of thestranger is delicious. When was the last time I had a man’s arms around my body?

Too long, I decide.

I spin around, aware of his body pressing into mine. His spicy, distinctly masculine cologne invades my senses. My hands slide up his shoulders, and I notice the muscles beneath his shirt. His hands flex on my waist, and I drape my arms around his neck, opening my eyes. He’s tall, taller than me, anyway. Dirty blonde hair pokes out of a baseball cap. His eyes are bright blue. He is gorgeous. My eyes fall to his chest, and a gold cross necklace is barely visible under his Henley shirt. Heat pools in my stomach.

He leans in and speaks directly into my ear, “Can I get you a drink?”

His warm breath heats my already hot skin, and sweat builds up my lower back. I lean around him and spot Rosie dancing and singing with another guy—his head nuzzles into her neck, and a mop of dark hair shields his face, but I can see he’s also tall, lean, and muscular. I return my focus to the stranger and nod. He takes my hand and moves us through the crowd, creating a shield with his body. I can’t deny how much I love the safe, protected feeling I get from this simple action. He leads me to the opposite end of the club, leaning over the bar to order for us. I scrunch my nose slightly. I’ve always hated it when men assume they know what I want.

Let it go, Lex.

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