"Rae, get your black ass in the damn car!" Janelle's voice slices through the quiet night air like a whip.
If my current life were a TV show, it'd be called Living with Janelle. If she weren't already filthy rich, I'd swear someone was paying her to ruin my life. Usually, no one has to drag me to a club; I love it, but tonight's different. And yet, here I am, caught in the whirlwind that is my crazy friend.
"I'm not going!" I shout back, trying to sound firm.
That's a lie. If I were really staying in, I wouldn't be in this halter-cut, bodycon dress with a cut-out design that matches with the color of my skin. Janelle didn't just force me out the door; she did my makeup, styled my hair, and insisted on every detail, right down to my heels.
I'm standing by the passenger side of her black Aston Martin, arms crossed defiantly, while she waits, already tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.
"My house, my rules. Now get the fuck in here."
If anyone else heard her talk like that, they'd think she's insane and rude, but I'm used to her brand of crazy. I roll my eyes, let out a long sigh, and finally slide into the car.
"You're gonna thank me later," she says, firing up the engine and zooming out onto the street.
I side-eye her. "Yeah, right," I reply, sarcasm thick as I sink back against the soft fabric seat.
There's no over-the-top interior here, just the fresh scent of vanilla and leather filling the car. My gaze drifts to her outfit—a black halter neck cut-out mini dress that fits her perfectly. Her long, pretty brown braids fall across her shoulders, and unlike me, she's all about the jewelry, flashing what I'm pretty sure is a diamond necklace. With her light makeup, she's annoyingly pretty, and it's not like she's even planning to end the night with anyone. She'll just sit there, flirt with all the guys, and leave them hanging with a swollen dick.
"Girl, I've got some hot gossip for you. You're not gonna believe it." Janelle's eyes glint with excitement.
"What?" I ask, trying to sound uninterested, even though I'm eager to hear what spicy information she's got.
"You know Avielle?" Janelle asks.
"Who the fuck is Avielle?"
"Avielle Hales? The rapper. Byron's ex-girlfriend."
"Oh. That stupid ass bitch with a failed career." Her face flashes in my mind, and my lips twitch in disgust.
Normally, I'm not one to trash talk people, but Avielle Hales? When Byron told me he was dating her, I was cool with it—I literally didn't give a shit about who he was seeing. That is, until she called me—no idea how she got my number—and warned me to stay away from Byron if I didn't want to end up in the headlines of some blogs. Byron found out and, well, broke up with her.
Janelle turns to me, eyes wide. "Whew, That… was wild," she confesses with a laugh.
"What's up with her? Did she die?"
"Jesus, Rae, calm down. Nobody died," she reassures me, casting glances like I need help. "Have you heard her new album?"
My eyebrows furrow. "Why would I listen to that?"
I'd rather blast an arrhythmia at full volume.
"Guess who she made a whole diss track about."
Not that I care, but… "Nia Sky?"
"Nope."
"Imani?"
"Nope."
"I swear, if it's not Kiana Mye—"
"It's you."
I blink at her, confused. "Huh?" I'm pretty sure I didn't hear her right. The last time I checked there's no rapper named 'you.'
Janelle nods at me. "Rayna Tayson. Does the name ring a bell?"
There's no fucking way that bitch did that. "You're joking," I reply in disbelief.
She gives me a serious look. "I'm not. She dropped the album last night, and it's already blowing up, mostly because everyone knows she's talking about her last relationship with a famous superstar athlete. She claims he was cheating with some 'other bitch'—then goes all out dissing you."
"Play it."
My expression stays blank. I don't even know how to react. My dislike for Avielle Hales wasn't even that deep; I'd never met her, never heard of her until Byron brought her up.
Janelle plays one of the songs, and I listen carefully as the beat drops.
… Best friend? More like a bed friend.
Runnin' round town like a dog on a leash,
She a part-time whore tryna play main role.
Ten outta ten? Nah, She a one at her best.
He's only with her to pass time,
Bae, I'm the melody and she just a rhyme…
Janelle turns off the music just as the chorus is about to hit, glancing over at me with a look of concern. "You okay?" she asks, keeping half an eye on the road.
Avielle Hales sang a whole album and dissed me. Me?
A giggle escapes me before I break into full laughter. "I don't know what Byron said to her, but somebody better get her a bandage." I'm still catching my breath as Janelle joins in, her laugh ringing out in harmony with mine.
When her laughter fades, she looks at me with an impressed smile. "For a second, I thought you were actually gonna be upset."
I raise an eyebrow. "Why would I let someone who looks like a failed science experiment get under my skin?"
Janelle snorts. "Girl, your morning face with drool could beat hers in a beauty contest, and I'm not even tripping."
"Exactly!" I say, then pause, tilting my head toward her. "Wait—I don't drool."
Her lips curl into a smirk. "Okay."
I smack her with my bag, and she chuckles. "I don't drool!"
"I didn't say nothing. No drool? Okay."
"The way you said okay makes it sound like you don't believe me," I say, rolling my eyes. "I DON'T."
On second thought, I like it here. I didn't want to come because… why was that, again? Well, guess I'm here now, so a little fun—and alcohol—won't hurt.
I pour myself another drink from the bottle beside me and push it over with the growing collection of empties. I've had only one… two… four drinks? Eh, not even that much. I take another sip, feeling the warmth spread through me.
Janelle ditched me the second we walked in here, like she always does. I've been here about an hour, no sign of her, so I'm just parked at the counter while the dancing rages on across the room. If I step onto that dance floor, I'd probably end up puking on somebody.
The music is not so loud. The disco balls are flashing red and blue lights all over the place. I've already brushed off every guy who's tried to chat me up, but I can still feel them giving me that look from across the room.
I gulp down the last of my drink, reaching for the next bottle, but a hand snatches it away. "Hey…"
"I've been watching you, and I can't anymore. You've downed seven bottles," Janelle says, giving me that disappointed mom look.
I gape at her, reaching for the bottle. "Seven? That's a lie," I argue, counting with my fingers. "I've only had…" I trail off, frowning as I count. "Four." I proudly hold up four fingers.
She raises an eyebrow. "That's three."
I squint at my fingers. "You're the one who's drunk."
Janelle sighs, putting her hands on my shoulders. "Rae, look at me," she says, and I blink at her, my lips curling into a smile. "You really need to get laid."
I keep smiling, and she laughs, tilting her head toward the dance floor. "See that guy in the white T-shirt? He's been eye-fucking you since you walked in here. And, based on what I see, he's got what it takes to knock you right back to your senses."
"Can I have the bottle back?" I pout at her.
She shakes her head but hands me a different bottle. "Do whatever," she says before disappearing into the crowd.
I'm not drunk.
Janelle's just being paranoid.
I fill my glass and bring it close to my lips, then pause. I think I saw my phone flash while Janelle was talking to me.
I reach for it and see one new notification. If I were really as drunk as Janelle claims, I wouldn't have noticed that.
UNKNOWN: Red suits him best.
What the hell does that even mean? It can't be from the faucet guy, can it? He didn't reply to Janelle's texts, and I haven't received any other messages from him—or her—for the past two days.
What do they want from me?
On second thought, I think my pussy needs some company tonight. I slip my phone into my bag and head over to the guy in the white T-shirt.
He stretches his hand out for me, as if he knew I was gonna come to him. I place my hands in his, and he draws me in for a kiss, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer. His grip is firm, his lips intoxicating—more so than the alcohol I've consumed.
I wrap my arms around his neck, opening my mouth wider to let his tongue dance with mine, losing myself in the moment. My thighs are slick with desire, and I can feel my knees threatening to give out beneath me.
I pull back slightly, staring into his eyes. All I see is lust, and all I want is for him to fuck me until my brain goes numb.
"Wanna go upstairs?" he asks, his fingers tracing the line of my cleavage, sending more juices out of me.
My bottom lip slips between my teeth, and the moment "Yes" escapes my lips, his mouth crashes against mine again. Without hesitation, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his torso.