Good Girls Go to HeavenbyYourLittleAngelle©
Christie finished the small container of yogurt she held, still hoping to talk Amber out of her plans for the evening.
"It will be hot, rowdy and crowded. Wouldn't you rather stay here and give ourselves a manicure? It would be so relaxing. I picked up this gorgeous little pink polish yesterday at a fabulous price and it'd—"
"No." Amber sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "We are going to the damned Greek festival and that's it. If I have to drag your skinny ass there by your hair, you will come along. There's a beer and booze tent, tons of foreign college guys here for the summer, and we'll all get so drunk we won't remember what we did. It will be fanfuckingtastic! I need to indulge in some Bacchanalian debauchery tonight. My loins require the sacrifice of seminal fluid, and I won't be happy until I get some cock. Now, go change, girl. Twilight approaches and we're... Well... I'm on a mission. And I won't leave you here alone."
Realizing that further resistance was futile, Christie got up from the bar that served as their dining table and reluctantly sulked off into her bedroom, irritated that her friend's never-ending quest for sex always seemed to get in the way of a potentially peaceful evening.
All the smoky bars, meat-market clubs and local events they could endure were theirs for the taking, and Amber saw no need to pass any of them up. But, to Christie's way of thinking, Amber could just as easily attend these outings alone. However, to Christie's extreme displeasure, she refused on most occasions. It took Christie's period or job schedule to sway her, and even then she campaigned for company though the chances of Christie coming along didn't exist.
This event in particular had been one she put off—she associated it with her late lover and former best friend, Jake. The wound was still not fully healed, and she found herself easing back into events she associated with him with painful slowness, unable to quite move on, although she knew she must at some point. Their favorite restaurant had been unbearable for her for nearly six months after she lost him. But, recently, she had been able to go in for coffee and a dish of fruit and not burst into tears. Amber was merely trying to expedite the process by the means she felt would bring about Christie's recovery, never mind how hard it was for Christie along the way.
Scraping hangers along the rod in her closet, Christie selected an outfit for comfort, not conquest. A simple white tank dress that didn't accentuate her curves but flared at the hips, a pair of low-heeled white strappy sandals, and a basic ponytail was the outfit of choice.
She applied a bit of mascara, lip-gloss and very lightly misted herself with an inoffensive floral perfume. Giving herself a once-over in the mirror behind her bedroom door, she nodded, satisfied, and braced herself for the onslaught of criticism from her best friend and roommate.
"No. No, honey..." Amber's pale blue eyes briefly scanned Christie's reflection in the mirror like a mother chastising an incorrigible child while she continued to apply her own war paint. Christie's nostrils were assaulted by Amber's "Come and Get It" perfume, and her eyes were drawn to the "porno lips" Amber had applied with a crimson lip pencil that was so dark it was almost black. "You don't want to go out in that! You look like Barbie without the slut factor. We can—"
"I'm comfortable, and this is the only way I'm going," said Christie, folding her arms over her diminutive bosom and leaning against the door jamb as she waited for her friend to finish her make-up. "I'm going to have some awesome Greek cuisine, maybe a little wine, and then I'm coming back here. So, if you're going to bring some poor piece of man-meat home, can you at least wait to fuck him until you two are in your room?"
"Amateur," Amber mused, tossing her hair out of her eyes as she tended to her pencil-thin brows. "You just don't get laid enough."
Perhaps this was true. After she lost Jake to that damned boating accident last summer, her interest in men in general and sex in specific had curled itself up like a blossoming flower in reverse. She was snug in a tiny green bud that never felt the warming sunlight of desire or the life-giving rain of lust. She just didn't feel ready, and knew that it would be a long time until she was. Jake had shared so many of her firsts, and she was in no hurry to forget that.
A troupe of gorgeous belly dancers took the outdoor stage and began to sway and thrust to some sultry Arabic Trip Hop that boomed from several high-quality outdoor speakers. The more seductive music had helped the tone of the Greek Festival change from one of family fun to a more adult affair. Wine was consumed more freely, and a younger crowd, dressed to stay cool and impress, replaced the harried families that had dominated earlier.
Christie sipped, from a plastic cup, a nondescript red wine provided by a local vineyard. She watched beautifully costumed women from varying ethnic backgrounds. The audience began to applaud a rhythm for them, and the leader of the troupe smiled appreciatively as she moved with her girls.
Amber had ditched her for a group of young Asian college guys an hour earlier, and they had been separated by the crowd. The sky was a velvet veil of ebony above the festival, and the mouth-watering aroma of spicy lamb and garlic wafted through the air, attempting to entice her already-full belly.
She was bored. She had visited the palm reader. She had visited the beaded jewelry display. She had even gone back for seconds because the food was just that delicious. But that had been two hours ago, and she was burning through her allotted amount of cash, and getting more intoxicated than she would have preferred.
She wove through the crowd, away from the stage and out towards the less densely crowded parts of the festival site. Here the noise crowd was softer, and the air had a freshness that only occurred on balmy June nights when the earth had awakened and embraced the warmth. There were play areas for children, with slides and climbing toys along with patches of grass that would be shaded by majestic trees in the hot afternoon sunlight. It was to here that she intended to retreat, to sit with her wine, to watch the merriment of those around her, and to try not to think of the summer that she and Jake had attended the same festival, kissing almost the entire time and speculating on their future together.
Her eyes were fixed heavenward, contemplating the slow, sleepy clouds that were moving in profusion across the sky. They looked heavy and promised rain with the humidity in the air. That was just as well, she figured. It would give her a reason to cut out early. Amber had given her the keys "...just in case I have other plans.". She had enough money for a cab if she had to use one, but hoped she would be able to drive herself home.
A vaguely familiar scent tickled her nose, and she tried to place it as it grew in strength. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes and tried to think clearly through the haze of alcohol that was clouding her mind and making her body tingle. Club. Goth club. She had smelled this scent at a local microscopic Goth club when Amber and a few of her rebellious-artsy-brooding girlfriends had convinced her to go drinking back in March. It was...
Just inches from her left ear she heard the unmistakable crackle of someone dragging on a Djarum clove cigarette. She hadn't even noticed that someone had seated themselves beside her on the concrete slab bench. Not wanting to appear rude, she turned to offer the new comer some idle conversation to pass the time.
"Your friend left with a carful of guys who didn't speak English." The man next to her shrugged. A piercing in his brow caught the light from a nearby pavilion. Seeing the concern rapidly manifesting upon her pretty features, he quickly added, "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. But I saw you two arrive together, and I saw her leave, like an hour ago."
"Ummmm..." Christie was speechless. Her eyes were too busy taking in every inch of the individual beside her.
And individual was an appropriate word . She did not see people like him every day, especially with the company she kept. He was very pale. His complexion seemed as if it was kept away from any sunlight at all costs. He had a brow piercing and a nose piercing, and she thought she caught the glint of a tongue piercing as he spoke in a low, expressive voice. He wore a black, button-up, short-sleeve shirt, black slacks, and black boots. His arms were covered with tattoos, and he smelled of clove and something woody and sensual. Sandalwood, perhaps?
"Well at least she left the car for me. Good thing I took the keys just in case."
"Well, mademoiselle..." Her bench partner lifted the not-pierced eyebrow, gesturing toward her cup of wine with the smoking length of his cigarette. "You've been indulging, I see."
"Yes, I have," she retorted quite tersely. This man had no right to follow her around, nor be her moral conscience. "But I will sober up and be just fine. Who are you, and why have you been following me?" He extended a somewhat delicate hand with long pale fingers.
"I'm Jacob, and I'm supposed to write an article about this event for the local paper." He patted his pocket, briefly removing a Blackberry before hurriedly shoving it back with an embarrassed grin. "I got lazy about the notes, since I'm partnering with someone else, and have just been sending myself the short-short version in emails to pass the time." Christie flinched when he told her his name. He noticed and offered her a quizzical gaze from bright green eyes. "You okay? You look awfully pale."
"Yes, I'm fine. I just had a friend named Jacob. That's all."
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
His expression sobered a bit. "Gotcha. Tender subject. Listen, you look exhausted and bored out of your mind. I haven't had a bit to drink here. The wine isn't up to my standards." He offered a self-conscious smile, and continued. "If you want, I can drive you home. I swear you can trust me. I have some Mace in my pocket and I'll give it to you. I just don't like to see people drink and drive. Working at the paper and having to write about all the nasty accidents makes you sensitive to that sort of thing. If you think I'm trying anything funny, you can blast me in the face and run like hell."
"I have my own Mace in my purse. Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll just wait."
Jacob sighed and turned his gorgeous eyes to the raven skies above, apparently studying the clouds as she had been doing just moments earlier. She marveled at how long and dark his lashes were. And how black his hair was. It must have come from a bottle.
Suddenly feeling a bit more bitchy than she meant to, she felt the need to amend her refusal. He seemed nice enough, and only had her safety in mind. And, if only he knew how familiar she was with drinking—and the danger and misery it had caused her just one short year ago—he would undoubtedly have extended the same offer, only more emphatically.
"It was really nice of you to offer. I just don't let some guy I've never met drive me home."
"Well then, would you care to dance until you sober up enough to drive? It would make me feel better." He was a persistent casual-conversation partner. The worst kind, but she found herself unable to shake the good manners and politeness she had been raised with, even though she longed to do so.
"If it will get you to ease up a bit, I suppose one dance won't hurt."
It wasn't an easy thing to admit. Christie had tried to tell herself it was simply because she was a little drunk. But she was actually having a good time with Jacob. Not only had he remained the perfect gentleman while dancing with her, but he had practically been chivalrous, throwing her wine cup away for her and buying her a refreshing citrus soda, being sure to keep his hands on her shoulders or upper arms at all times while they danced, and very aware of her naked and defenseless toes while they moved within inches of his heavy boots.
By the time the rest of the crowd was descending more into rum drinks and rowdiness, she was actually sobering a bit and realizing how much she was enjoying his company. Most of the belly-dancers had left. A few still lingered to mix and dance with the crowd. One statuesque blonde dancer was teaching a blushing older woman her moves, while two more were sipping sodas and chatting with a knot of flirty teen boys.
The music continued in the same hypnotic genre, and Christie found herself moving an inch or two closer to her companion. Jacob noticed as well, and offered her a surprised stare from almost angelic eyes. They were large and round, peering at her from behind the long, black tendrils of his unruly bangs that lent him innocence even when his expression was troubled or serious.
By the time she was sure she could drive, she found herself no longer wanting to go home alone. She would dance with this kind man, and see if perhaps he wanted to go out for a little dessert when they tired of this scene.
An accidental stumble on her part changed that plan entirely. The damned heel of one of her sandals got stuck in a pitted section of concrete, and she briefly lost her balance. She fell into the deceptively thin yet very strong arms of her dance partner. He caught her with ease. His arms were surprisingly strong around her waist as she reached for him to steady herself. But still she slammed her nose into his shoulder. She yelped in discomfort before she could help herself, and hoped she wouldn't have a nose-bleed all over his shirt.
"You okay?" Jacob inquired, trying to stifle a laugh as Christie righted herself and rubbed her nose fretfully. "My collarbone got you. Here. Let me see..." One of his hands took hers away so he could carefully examine the injury.
Without thought, he deposited a kiss on the tip of her fine little nose, losing the battle with his laughter at the comically wide stare she gave him. "Your nose looks fine."
No effort was made by either party to separate. They continued to dance, and their eyes continued to gaze into one another's oblivious to the atmosphere around them.
A transformation was happening in her mind as the night went on, and it came as little surprise to Christie that she found herself kissing another Jacob at the Greek Festival. After all, a name was just a name, and it had been such a long time since she had kissed anyone. The joy of warm kisses was so addictive, even to the most immune and jaded heart. It was surprising, however, that it just occurred out of the blue with no guilt or apprehension, as if it were the most natural act she could commit. It hadn't occurred to her that it would happen, even while he held her in his arms, with his hands still remaining properly on her upper back.
Moments after the stumble, they had began to talk about leaving. She had planned on inviting him out for dessert, but had instead handed him her keys as they stood together in the crowd. Then, possessed by a flicker of long-neglected desire and spontaneity she couldn't blame on the wine, she offered him her lips.
Unable to know why she had done what she did, she merely allowed herself to embrace him. To reach up and gingerly trace the stubble on his jaw as his tongue mingled with hers. The feeling of his piercing against her tongue making her shiver.
His hands had grown braver, venturing up and down her back with the slowness and precision of someone struggling to remain chaste before daring to plunge down and briefly cup her bottom.
"You know," Jacob breathed when at last he broke the kiss to cradle her face in his hands. "I can look at people and read a lot in their eyes. You wanna know what yours say?"
"They say that you've been alone for a long time. That you are confused about what you want in most areas. But there is one area of your life you are very certain about right now." Christie lifted a brow with cynical amusement.
"Really? What's that?"
"I'll tell you in the car."
"How did you get down here? What about your car?"
"I live downtown. It was a nice walk."
"Well, then—let's go. I can't wait to hear the revelation you have to share with me."
They left the festival behind, and walked the two blocks to the compact car she drove. Jacob, true to his word, handed her a small black cylinder containing pepper spray. He opened her door for her, closed it once she was comfortably seated, and then walked around to the drivers' side to climb in and start the engine.
Christie felt a bit tense being alone with her handsome dance partner. Reaching forward to switch off the thudding electronic music—compliments of a mix CD of Amber's—she offered him a cautious glance from her seat. He nodded, easing the car out onto the street.
"Where do you live?"
"Orchard Place apartments." She hesitated only briefly, slightly stunned by her own cooperative participation in this adventure.
The car glided along the city streets, which gleamed with the first few light drops of rain. Jacob let one hand leave the steering wheel to reach for hers. She extended it and felt a meadow of butterflies take wing in her belly as his cool fingers closed firmly around hers.
"So, anyway, here's my observation about you, Christie. You're a good girl. Student with a part-time job. The ideal daughter. You probably even had a steady boyfriend. Whatever. But what I see most? You're tired of being a good girl. You want to get to your apartment. You want me to come in. You want to go to your room. And you want me to give you a good fucking until dawn."
If it had come from someone else, Christie would have dismissed it. But, as Jacob spoke, his fingers didn't caress her hand in a suggestive manner. He didn't offer her tomcat glances from the corner of his eye or lick his lips. He stated it as the simple truth. And, as she listened to him speak, she was aware that he was right. Just hearing the word "fuck" from his mouth made her nipples tingle. And the very thought of doing it made her vagina contract.
"That's an interesting observation," Christie said without much inflection. Her gray eyes were distant as she watched the tiny diamond drops of rain fall against the windshield. "I suppose we'll have to see what happens back at my apartment, won't we?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. We will indeed."
When Christie and Jacob entered the apartment, Amber was apparently not home yet. The light beneath the kitchen cabinets was on. But, save for that, the place was dark and still. Christie tried to return the can of Mace to her chauffer, but he shrugged it off. She put it aside with an embarrassed smile.
"Well," she sighed, pausing awkwardly near the door. Jacob followed her in, closed the door behind her, and then dropped to his knees. "What are you doing?"
Without a word, he began to unbuckle her shoes. Lifting one shapely calf in his arm he removed her right sandal. His eyes did not leave her feet as his fingertips gently caressed the warm silk of her bare leg. Then he did the same with her left sandal. Rising to his feet, he stepped out of his boots to reveal black socks. Leaving them beside her shoes, he offered her a caddish wink.
"What will your room-mate say when she sees my boots beside your shoes?" He gasped foppishly then mimed a shocked expression. Without waiting for her, he brazenly strode down the hall rtowards the bedrooms.
"Let's see..." he peered into Amber's room. Crimson sheets. Ebony velour blanket. Erotic posters on the walls. The faint hint of heady perfume. He shook his head emphatically, turning to the door across the hall. "Ah. Here we are. Come on, Christie. No need to be embarrassed about this adorable room of yours. And don't worry. You can accomplish a lot in a twin bed. Trust me."