Page 19 of Keeper
“Sure.”
The two girls struck a haughty pose for the camera. Trying to steady my hand on a crowded dance floor, I snapped their picture and gave Marta her phone back.
“Sorry I keep making you do that, but you know how it is,” said, adding in a sing-song voice, “It’s all about the content!”
If Marta’s goal for the night was truly to get me laid, she was probably the worst wingman in history. She was a sponge for attention and she happily soaked it all right up. We couldn’t walk five feet without someone else recognizing her. Other aspiring models needed their pictures taken with her, while the guys were compelled to try their luck, and best pickup lines, on her.
Not that I’m complaining. Actually, I was relieved that she wasn’t trying to pressure me into hooking up with some random guy. I didn’twantto sleep with some stranger I’d never see again.
But it was sort of amazing how Marta’s presence was like a bright light, so intense and so blinding that my own presence was simply blotted out. My spirits began to dampen. It wasn’t just the feeling that people didn’t see or acknowledge me—it was something worse than that. I started to feel like my purpose at the club was to document her night.
As soon as I had those self-pitying thoughts, karma paid me a visit in the form of some drunken creep. He grabbed me from behind, his hands pawing at my hips, and muttered something in my ear. I slunk out of his grasp and yelled, “Don’t touch me!”
Definitely not the kind of attention I need tonight, either.
Marta hurried over and checked on me.
“This dance floor is bananalands!” she shouted. “Wanna go somewhere we can talk?”
I nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Cool. I’ve got a VIP booth reserved. Follow me.”
I followed in her wake through a packed crowd of bodies. We left the humid heat of the dance floor and climbed a set of stairs to the second level, where our VIP booth was waiting. The giant booth was shaped like a horseshoe and had a privacy curtain. We went in, and Marta pulled the curtain shut so we could truly be alone.
I let out a deep breath.
“That wascrazy,” I said. “It’s like literally everyone here knows you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said. “I have to make the rounds when I show up so everyone knows I’m here. Once they’ve seen me and the photos are taken and tagged, I can officially go off and do my own thing.” She poured two screwdrivers and handed me one. “Here’s to us: two bad bitches.”
We touched our glasses together and drank.
After our toast, Marta’s phone came out and she texted up a storm. I waited patiently until she’d put the thing down.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the quarterback. He wants to meet up. I swear, he’s so needy sometimes.” She rolled her eyes. “He’ll be here in a bit. Hopefully before my phone dies.”
Whoa,I thought.I’m about to meet a pro athlete.
“That’s exciting,” I said. “Are you guys serious?”
“Serious? With a professional athlete?” She threw her head back and laughed. “Do you have any idea how these guys are?”
“Not really,” I said. “But I guess I can imagine. Jocks were bad enough in high school.”
“Wait.” She tilted her head, her memory jogging. “You dated a jock in high school?”
“Well …yeah.” I stared at her, unsure if she was serious or not. “Brendan, remember?”
She fidgeted with her hair. “Oh, right. Yeah, I guess he played baseball, didn’t he.” She movedrightalong. “Anyway, I can promise you, pro athletes are like high school jocks except on steroids. Er, no pun intended, but honestly,that’saccurate, too.”
We both giggled.
“Anyway, they’re walking egos. They think they’re God’s gift to women. Worse yet, because they’ve spent so much of their lives in the gym or tossing around a ball, they have very littleactualknowledge. We’re talking room temperature IQs, okay? When you look into their dull little eyes, you realize there’s nothing—nothing—no one’s home. Forget about any kind of meaningful conversation. And when they’re with their ‘buds,’ all they talk about is how bad they wanna ‘crush some puss’ and how many ‘kills’ they’re racking up on the road.”
“Ew!”
“Exactly. Ew,” she agreed. “That’s why I don’t feel bad about stringing this guy along. He says he loves me butwhatever.I don’t believe him.”
