Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 8

  He’s probably just worried about me getting caught and he’ll be implicated as well, fucking golden boy he is.

  So I roll my eyes before gripping the knob angrily in my hand to jerk the door open with such force it hits the wall behind it with a bang.

  “Fucking anywhere but here.”

  My Uber driver pulls up to a club downtown not more than twenty minutes later, and the second I step out of Dave’s Subaru, I’m hit with the pulsing music coming from within the club.

  I’m not huge into the club scene, but tonight, I need to dive headfirst into any vice I can find. Anything so I don’t go back to the hotel hard up and in need of an orgasm while River is there. Or worse, stuck thinking about the bullshit demands from my stepfather.

  The line outside moves quickly enough and in less than five minutes later, a bouncer checks my ID before ushering me into a mass of hot, sweaty bodies. The club is dimly lit by blacklights, and my eyes take a minute to adjust before observing everyone’s clothing glowing while they grind and dry fuck on the dance floor to some techno shit I don’t recognize.

  I scan the perimeter, searching for the bar. Spotting it on the back wall, I make my way through the throng of drunken idiots to get my hands on some booze. Because, boy do I fucking need it.

  It takes a while to get the bartender’s attention, people lining up to grab their drinks two deep, but eventually it clears out enough for me to grab a place near the end. Ordering a Jameson neat, my favorite homage to my father, I watch the people on the dance floor.

  They lose themselves in the music, the atmosphere.

  What I wouldn’t give to live carefree, even if it was only for a night. One night of freedom from my demons seems like a small ask of the universe. But still, it never seems to hear my fucking pleas.

  When the bartender, an inked up guy appearing to be in his late twenties, slides my two fingers of whiskey across the dark wood, I toss it back in a couple swift gulps, relishing in the warm fire burning down my esophagus and into my stomach. I signal to him for another before slamming down a fifty on the crowded counter.

  He quirks a pierced brow at me, but doesn’t say anything, simply refilling my glass with three fingers this time. Telling him to keep the change, I go to leave the bar, but a hand claps me on the shoulder, startling me.

  I don’t turn around right away, preparing myself to meet River’s annoying as fuck stare of disappointment I’m sure is written all over his goddamn face.

  Did he seriously fucking follow me?

  But when I turn to see whose hand is on me, I’m surprised to find it attached to Jaxson Hopkins, one of the cornerbacks I played against tonight.

  “I thought it was you, Grady!” he leans into my ear, hollering over the music. He gives me a drunk grin when he pulls back slightly. “You want to come party upstairs with us? Private room with the goodies up there.”

  At that, he rubs his nose, signaling what exactly he means by goodies.

  Drugs.

  And by my guess, it’s one of my favorites.

  The decision, while it should be an instantaneous fuck no…is the exact opposite. “Lead the way, man,” I tell him with a smirk.

  I follow closely behind him as we weave through the mass of bodies to reach the stairs to the upper level housing a smaller bar and some private booths and even a few private rooms. Once he clears me to get into the VIP section with the bouncer at the top, I find myself in one of those rooms. The music is the same as it is out in the public part of the club, just set at a lower volume. As if whoever designed this place knew some people want to actually hear themselves think.

  Lounging on red plush couches, I spot three other guys I played against tonight, a defensive end, the safety, and one of the offensive linemen... and a slew of girls.

  Or maybe it’s a harem?

  I couldn’t tell you, I just know the ratio of cocks to pussy is extremely low, and by the looks on their faces, was the entire point.

  But what draws me in the most is the baggie of white powder sitting on the mirror-topped table.

  Cocaine, my old friend.

  I absently lick my lips, the blow calling to my blood like the long lost escape it is. I haven’t touched the stuff in years. Part of my deal with my stepfather for making the night I can’t seem to forget, nothing more than another skeleton tossed in the back of my closet.

  But what was I saying earlier tonight? Wanting to forget my demons?

  Jaxson must notice my eyes locked on the coke because he gives me a playful shove towards the table. “Didn’t take you for anything more than a weed man, what with all the Heisman talk. But I’ll play. Since your team lost tonight and you’re our guest, I suppose you can take the first line if you want it.”

  Fucker, get real. I probably snorted more lines on my seventeenth birthday than you have in your entire life.

  That alone should give me enough sense to not get high with a bunch of fuckwits I don’t know from Adam.

  Still, I’m not in the mindset to oppose.

  Sinking to my knees, I take the rolled up bill a blonde girl with a huge rack is holding out to me before pouring a line onto the table.

  A warning niggles in the back of my mind, telling me to stop. Years of sobriety are about to be tossed out the window, and for what? A night of fun, drowning my trauma with every vice in the book?

  Alcohol, drugs...sex?

  Shaking my head, I lean forward and inhale the powder in one swift move, the burn tingling my nostril and back of my throat is pure fucking bliss.

  Fuck, I’ve missed this.

  I take another line before handing off the bill to another girl, this one a redhead. My fingers wrap around my tumbler of whiskey I’d set on the table beside me, bringing it to my lips to take a long pull of the liquid. The burn of the alcohol mixes with the sting of the cocaine at the back of my throat and I feel…good.

  Really fucking good.

  The best I’ve felt since…

  My thoughts screech to a halt as fast as they can manage in this state because there’s a dead fucking body on the table where I took the lines of coke.

  But it’s not just anyone’s body. It’s Deacon.

  His lips are blue and look as if they’d be cold to the touch and his gray eyes I always thought looked like liquid silver are open, staring at nothing because…he’s fucking dead.

  No, no, no. Deacon has been dead for years.

  Since that night in high school.

  My brain tries to grasp at those straws of sanity, but it’s not fucking working because the body is still here, inches from me, dead as dead can be.

  I blink a thousand times—a million times more—and he’s still there.

  No, my logic tries to reason with my inebriated brain. He’s not here. This isn’t real. I’m just fucking tripping out.

  But he’s so lifelike, even for a dead person. So real and right fucking there.

  Looking down at my reflection in the small corner of the table that Deacon’s body doesn’t take up, I notice my eyes are bloodshot to hell. Pupils blown to hell.

  Yep, definitely fucking high.

  But this high is nothing like I’ve felt before. My skin itches all over and every time I go to scratch it, I think I do, but then…did I actually do it or only think I did?

  I look up at Jaxson, who is sitting with the blonde girl who gave me the bill to take my line and is it fucking hot in here?

  It is, isn’t it?

  I swallow down the rest of my whiskey in an effort to cool myself, but it only proceeds to make me warmer. It boils me from my stomach out and holy shit did I leave my stomach on the stove? Is that why it’s boiling?

  No, you idiot, the tiny piece of rational brain tells me, you’re out of your mind right now is all.

  “What the fuck did I just bump?” I manage to ask. Or, at least I think I ask it. It’s a question better asked before I took the hit, but better late than never, right?

  But then, I must speak the words because Jaxs
on laughs at me. “It’s a special mix. Got a splash of MDMA in there. Makes for some phenomenal fucking once you get past the initial paranoia.”

  Ecstasy?

  My mind is racing at a million what-the-fucks per second.

  I’ve done E before and I’ve done coke before. But never together.

  And holy shit, I will never do them together ever again.

  Ever, ever, ever.

  Even in this bumped up state, I know I’m in for one helluva crash.

  I watch transfixed as he pops the girl on the ass, motioning for her to get off his lap so he can rise to his feet. Extending his arm, he pulls me up and he’s really strong because I fly through the air but somehow still land upright.

  “Why don’t we go grab you another drink at the bar to get you through this first bit of the high,” Jaxson says, his hand on my shoulder as he leads me back to the door. Glancing back, I see the little blonde following us. But more importantly, the table doesn’t seem to have Deacon’s lifeless body lying on it anymore.

  So I’ve got that goin’ for me at the very least.

  “Kayleigh here can help you get what you’re looking for once you’ve got your drink,” Jax continues, oblivious to my internal ramblings that’d earn me a one way ticket to a psych ward.

  Help me get what I’m looking for? Fuck dude, all I’m looking for is a way to get home. I gotta go take my stomach out of the oven. Or was it off the stove..?

  But then the girl…Kayla, was it? Or Kylie?

  What’s-her-fucking-name gives me a look. It says hi, I’m down to fuck in the bathroom of this club and never see you again.

  Well, what do you know Kandy, I’m down to be the one fucking you in said bathroom.

  I smirk down at the blonde, finally starting to feel the ease of the high slide over me. The paranoia, the anxiety, it’s long gone and I’m exactly what I want to be.

  Free.

  At least for the whole ten seconds it takes to get to the bar on the second level. Because at the end of it, I see him.

  A piece of my past, but this one isn’t dead. No, he’s very much alive. At least, according to his twin sister, he is. Neither of us have heard much from him for a while.

  Well, maybe if you didn’t ruin your fucking friendship with the guy the night before he left for college…

  Blinking rapidly, I try to focus. To see if it’s really him. I know he moved out to this area for school, so the possibility is high. The coincidence would be fucking insane, but it’s possible…

  And when a set of dark hazel eyes meet mine, I know it’s him.

  “Let’s get you that drink,” blondie purrs, her fingers plucking at my shirt over my pecs. Her movement causes me to snap my attention back to her. It’s only for a second, but when I look back up to meet his gaze again…he’s gone.

  Vanished into thin fucking air.

  Holy fucking shit, I’m higher than the fucking Empire State Building right now.

  Little blondie taps on my chest again, bringing my stare back to her. Looking down at her this close, I realize she is pretty. Pouty pink lips and huge icy blue eyes that scream come fuck me. And I'm certain they work well for her when it comes to that request.

  Yet even in my coked up, drunken mind, I know fucking her is a bad idea. Try a fucking terrible idea.

  But it doesn’t mean I’m going to walk out of here without getting laid. I can’t go back to that damn hotel room still hard up and have to sleep in a bed next to River fucking Lennox all night.

  Nope, I’m going to continue down the self-destructive path I’m paving for myself right now because fuck River Lennox, my stepfather, fucking everything.

  Fuck. It. All.

  “Why don’t we find somewhere more…private,” the girl says in voice meant to be sultry, but it’s fucking loud in here so I can barely hear the words. Still, I nod in agreement and she takes my hand to lead me back down the hallway we came from, stopping outside the men’s room.

  I push open the door, and she’s on me like a fucking suction cup.

  Yeah, I know that doesn’t make sense but she has literally suction cupped her mouth to my throat like one of those creepy sucker fish that attaches itself to the sides of fish tanks.

  Shit, now I’m thinking about water and I’m thirsty again. I can’t seem to remember…did I get another drink at the bar?

  I guess it doesn’t matter because Lady Dracula is currently leaving the world’s biggest hickey on my neck and I’m getting seriously fucking annoyed, even in this fucked up state my brain is lingering in.

  But that all changes the second she starts rubbing up against me and my cock starts taking notice.

  He never notices much if I’m being honest, but this little twitch is a good fucking sign.

  What can I say, he’s a lot more picky than I am.

  Not wasting any time, she cups me over my jeans, rubbing against my length with her palm and the heel of her hand. And it feels really fucking good.

  Atta boy, I praise my dick, being grateful he’s going along with the game plan tonight. Namely, fucking a random chick so I get some fucking relief and an escape from reality, if only for the short time I’m buried balls deep inside her.

  My eyes slide closed while she works my jeans open, slipping her dainty hand into my briefs to pull out my cock. It’s currently in half-chub form, but that’s only because it was being ground up against by another body. In all honesty, a goddamn monkey could get my dick in half-chub territory, and I’m not into fucking bestiality.

  What the fuck are you even thinking right now…? Bestiality, Rain? Really?

  Her warm fingers wrap around my girth, giving it a few quick tugs, but it doesn’t do shit for me. I groan in frustration, wishing for once I was fucking normal because the shit she is doing doesn’t work for me. It never fucking does.

  That might be the most infuriating part of having sex as my preferred vice at this point in my life. I never am attracted to the girl the way I should be.

  She could be the hottest woman on the planet, and she won’t do anything for me down south. Not really.

  Regardless of who she is or what she looks like, her hand is always too small, too smooth. Making me wish it was my own instead. And when her lips wrap around my length, the texture of her chapstick or lipstick or lipgloss or whatthefuckever is always too sticky on my length.

  It doesn’t belong there.

  And don’t get me started on pussy. It’s always too soft, too warm, too fucking…pink. I’d much rather fuck a girl in the ass, but most one night stands aren’t down for back door play, so I’ve learned to take what I’m able to get.

  All of this put together and adding in that I’m usually not sexually attracted to women and...yeah, I’m fucking convinced

  I’m asexual.

  It makes the most sense to me. It’s what I have to be.

  There’s no other explanation for why I’d rather have my own fist wrapped around my cock, the hard, calloused skin stroking me to my own release, rather than be with a girl. Having to think of that kind of grip on me to even get it up for a girl.

  But I’d be lying if I said it was always my hand I envisioned around my cock while I was being jacked.

  No, I shamefully must admit, it belongs to another man.

  Like right now, as this blonde chick strokes my cock in her hand, I’m not thinking about her. Or my own hand.

  No, it belongs to him. The one I just saw—or think I saw—at the bar. His brown hair, now a disheveled mess from me running my fingers through it. In my mind, his dark hazel eyes bore into mine as he takes me higher and closer to the place I need to be.

  And like every fucking time I think of him, I’m hard as a rock.

  But only this time, those eyes I’m staring into inside my head shift and turn the color of aquamarine. A deep teal, rather than a green brown.

  Only, I’m too fucked up to care those eyes are all wrong, that they belong to my fucking nemesis, because I’m turned on and ready to get t
his show on the road.

  Honestly, getting this high always seems to help when I need to fuck. It’s like my brain needs the extra stimulants to get my body on the same page of what exactly it is I want when it comes to getting laid.

  I don’t know. Whatever it is, it works like a charm. Like it always did.

  I slap the girl’s hand away from my cock before I lift her in my arms. My hands palm each of her ass cheeks as she wraps her legs around my waist to open herself for me. Pressing her back against the wall, I thank Jesus himself for the creation of skirts as I move her underwear to the side and guide myself to her entrance, bottoming out in her after one deep thrust. Her eyes roll back as her head hits the wall behind her, letting out a breathy moan.

  A moan too light and airy for my liking.

  Shifting my hips, I begin moving inside her, grinding against her pelvis with each thrust.

  And it feels…good.

  I mean sure, it almost always feels good. It’s sex for fuck’s sake.

  But every goddamn time, it’s like there’s something missing. And no matter how hard I try, I can never put my finger on it.

  My mouth latches onto her neck, sucking the supple skin between my lips. I’m harsh enough to leave a serious hickey for her to remember me by in the morning and from the state of her incoherent mumblings and glassy eyes, she sure as fuck isn’t going to remember anything else.

  Plus it seems fitting, knowing I’ll be sporting one to match.

  I start pounding into her, not giving a shit about finesse or my stamina. This isn’t about impressing some chick with my skills in the sack. I frankly couldn’t give two shits what she thinks, seeing as I’ll never see her again after tonight.

  It doesn’t take long before she's writhing in my arms as I drive into her with reckless abandon, moans of ecstasy coming from her mouth.

  But fuck, those moans are too fucking loud, too high pitched, and they hurt my fucking head.

  So I cover her mouth with the palm of my hand and fuck her harder, giving her the clue to shut the fuck up.