Spiral (28 page)

“That’s nice,” Cherie snips, ignoring her. She turns two darkened, emerald eyes on me and forces a smile. “I’ll let you get back to your friends.”

Carly raises an eyebrow and looks disgusted as Cherie pushes away from me and parades through the crowd with her two “friends” at her heels. I turn and am sputtering an apology when Carly’s mouth twists with humor.

“I thought you looked familiar,” she says. I can feel myself turning all shades of red.

“Yeah, but – ”

“Hansen!” Mica interrupts, firmly shaking my shoulder. “Is that the girl from TV? What’s her name –”

I nod. “Yeah.
That’s
my step-father’s niece,” I tell him, watching Cherie rush out of view with her friends.

When I look back at him, his eyes are bugging out of his head like a cartoon character. “That’s the
cousin?
” he cries.

“
That is Trouble
,” I say, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ as he howls laughter.

“Oh, my man – you serious?” he nearly screams. “Are. You. Serious!”

“It’s not what you think,” I grunt. I glance over at Carly, hoping she hears me, too. “She’s just a brat I have to live with, and she drives me nuts.” Now that Carly knows who I am, or at least whoever the media has made me out to be, I expect her to dismiss me completely. There won’t be any convincing her that we are nothing more than family, especially after how Cherie just acted toward her.

But it’s not only Carly that I have to worry about putting false pieces together; Mica has already finished the puzzle and is standing in humored sympathy. My face grows hotter. I know this is going to be a big conversation we will have tomorrow, when Carly is out of the picture and it’s just us in the gym.

“My brotha,” he sighs, resigning to wait until tomorrow for the full story. “Let’s get this man a drink!” He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me toward the bar.

“Oh, my favorite bartender’s on tonight!” Carly cries out, her eyes like two bright lights on her face. Her body dances toward the bar, as though she is possessed by the music, where she is attended to immediately. Some things are so easy for girls that they are just wrong.

“Here you go,” the bartender says with a flash of his kindest smile, presenting three giant cocktails. His leering look in her direction annoys me.

I pull out money to pay for the drinks, but the bartender waves me off, yelling, “It’s on the house!” I’m puzzled and put the money on the bar anyway.

When Carly cocks an eyebrow at me, I say, “Gotta tip, right?” I want to impress her, and tipping is impressive, I think.

Or maybe not. She shrugs and sips her drink delicately.

I realize she may still be peeved about our run in with Cherie, so I extend a weak apology. “I’m sorry about Cherie; she’s always like that. It’s not you.”

“Actually, it’s you,” she replies with a playful wink. When I don’t catch on to her innuendo, she adds, “She’s clearly jealous; I would be, too, if my ex-boyfriend was hanging out with another girl.”

I feel my eyebrows rise in disbelief. “I’m not her ex-boyfriend. I was never her anything.”

“Could have fooled me,” she says.

I shake my head. “I’m not, I promise.”

“Okay. I believe you.” Carly giggles and takes my hand, blessedly forgiving. She nudges Mica for his attention. “Where do you want to go first? Balcony? Dance floor?”

“We’ll look around after this,” Mica says.

I’m not listening to either of them, instead staring at the drinks that Mica begins removing from the bar. He offers me a glass, but I hold up my hand and refuse it.

“No, thanks,” I say.

They gawk at me. “What? You don’t drink?” Mica teases.

I smile and pat my stomach. “Gotta watch my figure.”

“Yeah, right, take this,” Mica replies, shoving the drink back at me.

“No,” I protest. “I can’t, really. I have to drive, remember?” I won’t say the real reasons though. I glance back out at the dance floor, watching for Cherie and for people taking her picture. She’s drunk enough for both us. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to be alert in case something happens. I also don’t need anyone snapping a picture of me drinking, too.

“Whatever, more for us,” Mica chuckles. He takes one of the drinks and practically throws it down his throat in seconds.

Carly gawks at him, laughing, “Oh my!”

“What? I’m thirsty. A hot club can do that to you,” he comments.

As they drink languidly, I keep an eye out for Cherie, who I finally find back in her VIP section, center stage, making a complete spectacle of herself. She sways and swoops her hips to the music. I like watching her dance, but so do many other guys in the club. She relishes the attention.

Danika comes up behind her to dance against her body. She grabs Cherie’s hips and lets her hands travel down to her knees as she sinks lower to the floor. She twists slowly back up, and Cherie mimics the move. They giggle to each other, completely aware of the pairs of male eyes stalking them as they move together.

I hear Carly say, “Hey, we’re gonna go check out the second floor. You coming?”

But my eyes are locked, and I’m not listening. I watch a stocky young guy, dressed in jeans and a striped collared shirt, dance his way toward the girls. He looks familiar, but it’s hard to tell with the flashing lights and the distance between us. Cherie shakes her head and wags a finger at him playfully. She seems to know him. With a flick of her wrist, Danika sends Striped-Shirt back to his friends with his tail between his legs. He is aggravated but tries to play it cool by laughing and shrugging dramatically. I’m relieved.

When I look toward Carly and Mica to finally give an answer, they’re gone. I know I should go look for them, but I decide to stay put instead and keep an eye on Cherie and Striped-Shirt.

“Jack!” My head swivels, and a camera flashes, blinding me.

“What the hell, man?” I demand, shielding my eyes.

“Sorry, Jack,” the cameraman says. “Derek from
Dirterazzi.com
. It’s good to see you! What are you doing in here? You’re Cherie’s age, aren’t you?”

I think fast. “No, I’m older.”

“Huh. Not by much though, right? Are you here with Cherie and the girls tonight?”

I shake my head and turn around to face the bar, ordering a bottle of water. He continues to fire questions and takes another picture while I pay.

“So what’s going on with you two?” he presses. I ignore him. “How do you feel about her being seen out with Caz Farrell this week?”

I grunt, “Get lost, man,” and take a big swig of water. I feel fire building in my throat, as if I could spit flames at him.

He leans against the bar beside me. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to do my job, you know? They pay me to get pictures of you guys. You give me what I need, and I can help you out, you know? Use me, man, I can write your story for you, get the truth out there.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” I grumble sarcastically, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m really not interested in talking to him.

“Yeah, man, that’s what we do for each other out here.” He thumbs the air behind us. “Just the other night, Danika called me to come out for her 25
^th
birthday party. I got a lot of great shots of the Kidz Channel girls and, in turn, she got a story written about her on the blog. Builds her brand, you know? It works out for everyone.”

I turn and squint down at him. “25
^th
birthday? Danika’s 25?”

He grins. “Yeah, man, she’s an assistant. What, you thought she was a kid? How would she be Cherie’s assistant if she had to go to school and stuff?”

I’m dumbfounded and stare at him, trying to make sense of it all. Danika, nearly ten years older than Cherie, is the one enabling Cherie to drink and party? She even drives her underage employer to and from the parties and clubs and probably buys the bottles of booze for their late night Jacuzzi ventures, too. Now, more than ever, I want Cherie to fire Danika. If she won’t, then my mom and Jim will.

Reminded of her, I search the dance floor for Cherie and her friends. When I find them, the song changes, and the girls decide they don’t like the new song so much. They make their way toward the bar and right into me in a fit of laughter. Derek snaps away.

“Derek, can you give us some space, please?” Cherie says sweetly. “I’ll give you a few stills later, okay?”

“Of course. Thanks, Cher,” he replies. He snaps one more picture of her, and he walks away.

I gawk. “Seriously? That’s all it takes?” Cherie meets my marveling gaze and gives me a smug smile. She peers over my shoulder, noting that I’m alone.

“Lose your lame friends?” she asks. I shake my head and roll my eyes. I don’t like this version of Cherie. She reminds me of the Cherie I met on Christmas Eve, and I feel her getting under my skin.

“Shots?” Amber shouts out, although it was really more of a command than a request. Cherie nods eagerly, and Danika orders three lemon drop shots. Suddenly, she turns, and her eyes flash menacingly at Cherie.

Too many guys and cameras lurk nearby, watching them, watching me, waiting for something to happen. I try not glare at the strangers, but I can’t help it. Danika whispers something in her ear, and Cherie grins, nodding vigorously and giggling. Positioning my body possessively beside them to ward off their predators, I’m distracted from asking what they’re up to.

When I look down at the girls again, the scene is staggering, and I almost choke on my water.

Danika is primed and ready for the cameras to flash once more, a shot glass sitting snuggly inside of her cleavage. Cherie winks at her. Gracefully, she arches her neck and puts her lips to the rim of the shot glass. Once she has her mouth firmly planted around the rim, she yanks her head back and swallows the shot. She proceeds to lick any spilled drops off of Danika’s skin. The small crowd roars, and my brain turns to mush while other parts of me jolt with alarm. I can’t process what is happening fast enough to react.

“My turn!” Danika cries enthusiastically. Cherie carefully places a shot glass inside of her own cleavage and presents it to her assistant. I watch, befuddled, as Danika takes her shot with vigor. Whooping and clapping erupts from a group of men at the bar who have gathered to watch, and even a few bachelorettes prepare to pay homage to the scene by ordering up their own shots.

Cherie looks up at me and gives me a coy smile. “Want one?”

I promptly shake my head no, but I do. I can’t hide the panic that I feel rising into my chest. Cherie is making a lot of bad choices and attracting all the wrong kinds of attention. She’s making me mad and nervous at the same time. Worse, she’s choking the sense out of me and turning me into one of her panting admirers.

“Cherie, what is wrong with you?” I try to scold, regaining some of my dignity. But her friends are whisking her back to the dance floor. Danika and Amber laugh giddily to each other, and Danika reaches for her hand to pull her away. Cherie looks up at me, and I give her a warning glare. Does she know she is beginning to crack through my senses and make me nuts? Is that what she wants?

She smiles up at me. “Dance with us?” she says, and I catch the hopeful pitch to her tone. She reaches out for my hand. I want to say yes. I want to follow her and protect her from the men lusting after her right now. I want to touch her. I see headlines again, and I shake my head.

Watching the groups of predatory males who move in toward the girls like lunchtime in a zoo, I reply through clenched teeth, “I’m going for a walk.”

I slip away into the crowd while she follows Danika and Amber begrudgingly in the opposite direction. Behind me, I hear the girls shout about me to one another.

Amber: “Where’s he going?”

Cherie: “A walk. If he comes back with that girl –”

Danika: “Relax! He probably has to go jerk off.”

Classy.

M
y mouth tightens, and I’m ignorant of passer-bys as I enter the men’s bathroom, slamming into them if they don’t move out of my way. Someone curses at me, but I maintain tunnel vision and move swiftly to the sinks, thrusting my hands beneath the automatic faucets. The cold water does little to calm me as I sweep it over my face with my fingertips. I drench my eyes with it, desperate to clean away the image of Cherie putting on such a crude show in front of so many people.

What is she thinking? How could she do something so trashy? I try to convince myself that this behavior just isn’t like her. When other people are around, Cherie is a monster, doing whatever it takes to pacify the crowd, following and indulging her friends’ whims. I can feel my blood boiling at the thought of how she changes her entire persona depending on who is in the room.

An old, familiar possession threatens to overtake me. A fire is blazing in my chest and spreading through my arms. I look down. My veins are bulging. My knuckles are white from how hard I’m gripping the sides of the sink.

I should leave. I should go home before something bad happens. I feel like I could turn into King Kong and burst out of this club with Cherie inside one of my fists. I’d carry her to the top of a building, too, just to take her away from all of these eyes that are watching her implode.

But this is real life, and I can’t control her; she’s not my little sister, she’s not my real cousin, and she’s certainly not my girlfriend. She made it clear to me today that what I think, what I need, doesn’t matter. She can and will do whatever she wants. All the nights in the world spent sleeping next to each other won’t suddenly make her care how I feel about her drinking or her slutty performances.

Still, I can’t watch her do those things and let it go because I’m into her, big time. Every night, I’ve fallen a little harder, trusted her a little more, and risked losing my control with her. She’s the one who crawls into my bed and breaks down all the walls I’ve tried to put up, but I’m the one paying for it.

No one else knows this, of course. No one knows because I am Cherie’s biggest secret that I’m keeping, and that secret is instantly raging inside of me in this setting, where I have to watch other guys stalk her and lust after her; my feelings for her have permeated my senses and make me want to claim what’s not really mine with force.