It was time to look into a mirror. He needed to look presentable . . . attractive, even, tonight. He needed to be smooth and suave and charming.
He ran a hand through his thick curls. He wondered how long his hair had gotten.
His feet took labored steps up the stairs and down the hall. They stopped in front of the bathroom door and he pushed it open softly. His fingers stumbled along the wall until they reached the unfamiliar switch. The bathroom was flooded with white light, and he almost squinted as he entered the room, keeping his eyes on the sink as he stepped in front of the mirror.
He sighed softly and forced his eyes up.
God.
He had always known his hair was unruly, but whoa.
‘I have a ‘fro,’ he mused, on the brink of a grin as he thought of the famous ‘fros throughout history.
There was Michael’s ‘fro, Chuck’s ‘fro, Tina’s ‘fro, hell, Ike’s ‘fro.
He shook his head. And now there was Justin’s ‘fro. And he wasn’t even black.
He lost his fingers in the loose curls for a moment and sighed. He liked his hair.
He stepped back and looked at the rest of himself slowly, making sure he looked good. He was wearing a dark green short-sleeved, button-down, collared shirt which hugged his body loosely, two breast pockets with a lizard on the left one completing the shirt. His pants were straight-legged gold and dark green on top of black shoes.
“Justin, you should have lived in the ‘70’s,” he whispered to himself. He tucked a necklace behind the shirt, so it rested against his skin and shook his head to clear it before he gave himself one last look, a pained look in his eyes as he practiced a smile.
He rolled his eyes, disgusted in himself as he left the bathroom, turning off the light.
He wasn’t 16 anymore.
He only wished he was.
He hadn’t so much as gotten a glimpse of her yet. So far, all he’d gotten were a few winks, a couple of licked lips and several gropes from the girls in the room.
You know, the usual.
He sighed and ran a fingertip around the rim of his glass, staring at the brown liquid despondently.
He contemplated what it meant to be depressed, then wondered if he was. Then he realized he didn’t care. His eyes strayed to the bodies of good-looking young people rocking the beat a little below him on the dance floor.
He became overwhelmed with a very specific sadness and closed his eyes, pulling his lips taut as he fought the sensation away, pushing back tears which were threatening to flood forth.
This used to be him.
He used to be these people.
His mind flew back to two years earlier . . . his birthday.
His friends had been thrilled to throw another party, his friend Lance going all-out at his house with valet and professional catering and decoration while his other friend Chris made fun of him for being “so L.A.”.
It had been his seventeenth birthday and his friend Joey’s twenty-first. All of the guys had decided to just make it a huge occasion. He knew that the four of them needed things like this to give them something to do. Something they could be immersed in for some time to take their minds off of other things.
He had been ecstatic about the party, discussing decorations and music with Lance. Of course there would have to be a great soundsystem, DJ, and dance floor. Because that was all Justin did--dance. He would tear up the floor like he was James Brown, twisting and turning, bumping and grinding better than any other body around.
He had smiled. He had been excited by girls. He had had fun. He had laughed. He had gotten a little drunk and enjoyed himself.
He remembered that night as being one of the best in his life. He had had a little of every aspect of life--food, money, drink, and women. Some, he had had more than others.
Now, his eyes swept over the dancing bodies of dozens of young girls and guys and he sighed.
How happy he was when he was carefree and fun-loving like these people.
How fresh and alive he felt when he was dancing and eating and drinking and singing out loud.
Those days were over. They had left with the sharp slap of his closing the book on that part of his life. With his realization of human nature and who people were. Those days had left with his awakening, and now he wished he’d never woken up.
He wished he’d never wanted to wake up.
It seemed her eyes never left the door, and every time a blue-eyed man would walk in, she’d almost drop the pitcher she was holding and gasp. Then it would turn out not to be him and she’d be disappointed and pour another drink.
The club was busy that night, and she found herself all over the place, clearing tables and serving drinks and slapping the hands of overzealous half-drunk young men who had decided that her ass or her bosom needed to be fondled.
Sexual harrassment was a bitch.
“Hey, babe,” a husky voice breathed into her ear as two strong arms slinked around her waist, pulling her towards the voice gently.
“Listen, asshole, I am NOT a hooker, I will NOT sleep with you, and if you don’t take your hands off of me RIGHT NOW, I swear I will make you wish you’d been born a woman.”
The arms immediately left her body and she felt her captor step slightly away.
“Jeez, Storm. Sorry . . . I just wanted to . . .”
“Justin?” She turned to face the blushing brunette and began to blush herself. “I . . . I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you . . .”
He shrugged, his hands shoved into his pocket as his eyes darted across the floor. “It’s ok. I shouldn’t have done that . . .”
“No, it’s ok,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.
He looked up softly and a gentle smile spread across his lips.
He was wondering if this bashful boy act was working. By the way she looked, it was, but he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps he wasn’t playing up the introverted, embarrassed part enough. He decided he needed to blush a little more and set to work on flushing his cheeks.
“So you . . . you waitress?” His eyes looked away from her, embarrassed to look at her after what he’d done.
“Yep. Sometimes they let me DJ, but usually I’m just the run-of-the-mill waitress.”
“You’re not run-of-the-mill,” he said quietly. He chanced a glance at her face and found her blushing even harder and smiling at full-tilt. It was working. He needed to play up innocence and charm. Innocence and charm. He knew he could do it.
“Well, you’re no run-of-the-mill customer. How long have you been here?”
He shrugged, his hands still shoved into his pockets as he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “About a half hour.”
“I didn’t even see you come in.”
He shrugged. “I guess I was quiet.”
She nodded. They were both silent for a moment. "Well . . . ."
"Yeah." It became apparent to Justin that he really had no purpose in being here, and he smiled. "I'm gonna be sitting right over there." He pointed to a table in the corner, then dropped his hand to his side after she took note of the table.
"I'll come by and take your order, then," she said and smiled softly.
"And I'll be waiting."
She smiled girlishly. Oh, yes. She turned and walked away, heading for the bar. He turned and began walking to the aforementioned table, smiling to himself. It was working. She was so flattered. And that was exciting to him. It shouldn't take long, now. Now he knew she liked the shy boy, the sensitive guy. She wasn't looking for a bad boy. She wanted the one that wasn't going to hurt her. And how disappointed she was going to be at the end of all this.
"Hey, sexy, how are you doing tonight?" A scantily clad girl slid into the seat next to him, pressing her breasts against his arm lightly.
He flashed a smile. "I'm doing ok, how are you doing?" His eyes traveled to her breasts and he cleared his throat.
This seemed to please her, and she lifted her hand to run it through his hair softly. "I want a man," she said into his ear huskily.
"There are plenty around here, you shouldn't have a problem finding one."
"I want you." Her hand traveled between his legs, and he didn't even squirm.
"You're forward, aren't you?"
"When I see something I want."
He just looked at her.
"Meet me out back in five." Her hand slid over his thigh as she rose from the table and sauntered off, licking her lips in his direction.
Jesus, here we go again. A drink appeared on the table in front of his face and he lifted his eyes to Storm's smiling face. "I figured you for the rum and coke type."
'Maybe without the coke,' he thought. "You've got me figured out." He smiled, placing his hand over his chest. "A woman after my own heart."
He thought her face would break. "How long are you going to stick around?"
"What time do you get off?"
She was silent for a moment. "Eleven."
"Then I'll be here 'till eleven, at which time I will leave to accompany you to your door."
She shook her head softly. "Such a charmer."
All he did was smile. Once she was gone, he downed the drink. Five minutes should have passed. He cleared his throat and stood, heading for the back door.
His eyes widened, and he looked at her. "What?"
She smiled. "What's your story? Where did you come from, what do you do, where did you go to school? Just, anything. What's your life story?"
"I . . . well . . . ." He'd never been asked anything like that before from anyone except Jackie. And Jackie was special. He searched himself at the speed of light for something he could say that was true. "I . . . I'm from Tennessee. My mom still lives there with my two half brothers."
She nodded slowly. "That it?"
He let out a tiny laugh. "Nah. But I'm not really in the mood."
She nodded again. Slowly, he brushed the back of his hand against hers. He could feel her unconsciously turn her hand towards his, and he took the opportunity to intertwine his fingers with hers. He smiled sheepishly at her, and she grinned, then looked away.
"Well, this is it," she said after a minute and they stopped in front of a brick apartment building. He withdrew his hand from hers and stuck them both in his pockets. He leaned back on his heels.
"Will I see you again?"
She was smiling and blushing like a schoolgirl. "Um . . . I . . . I don't know."
"Please?" He implemented the crooked smile and slightly raised eyebrows, giving her the impression that he was hopeful, and cute as hell.
She laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess."
"Tomorrow?"
She giggled gently. "Yeah, tomorrow's fine."
"I'm picking you up at eight."
She just nodded.
"Good. I had a wonderful time tonight."
She nodded again. "Me, too. We should do it again sometime."
"Yeah." He started to back away. "Well . . . I better go."
"Yeah."
"I'll um . . . I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
He nodded, then turned and started to walk away. She began to turn, but was stopped by his voice. "Oh! And bring Cole!" And with that, he was gone.
She shook her head and opened the door to the apartment building. "Crazy," she whispered. "Crazy."
He kept his hands in his pockets as he continued to walk, his face completely sober. Grinning for the entire night had seriously made his face start to hurt and depressed him more than he thought he could be depressed.
He had just been on a fucking DATE. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he'd scheduled one for the next night. With her kid. Jesus. He removed his hands from his pockets to run them through his hair slowly. Jesus.
When he arrived home, he immediately started to strip, starting with his shoes and working his way up. Naked, he walked to the refrigerator and opened it, grabbing the carton of milk on the inside. He opened it and tilted it back, gulping the white liquid straight from the carton before placing it back in the stainless steel refrigerator and closing the door.
He ventured into the living room and stood there for a moment, all of his muscles taut. Something wasn't right. There was a distinct smell to the house that wasn't supposed to be there. He could smell it. He knew someone was there. God damn him for never locking his doors. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned his face before turning his body and facing the intruder.
She gasped and let out a small cry as she spotted him, stopping dead in her tracks.
"Tiffany!" He immediately recognized Chris' girlfriend.
"Justin . . . ."
"Tiffany, what are you doing here?" He made no attempt to conceal his nakedness and showed no hint of embarrassment over it, either.
"I . . . um . . . ." She was staring.
He rolled his eyes. She ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Tiffany . . . what?"
"Oh, Justin, I've loved you forever. I can't get you off my mind. The only reason I was going out with Chris was so I could get closer to you. I want you so bad . . . ."
He shoved her off roughly, and crossed the room to the black leather couch, giving her a disgusted look. She started after him.
"Justin, don't walk away. We were meant to be together."
"Tiffany, he's my best friend. You're his fucking girlfriend."
"Not anymore. I told him about us."
"What US???" His muscles were raging underneath his smooth skin and he glistened slightly from the sweat that had begun to form all over his body.
She stopped and spoke quietly. "About how we're supposed to be together. It's over between me and him. Now you and I can . . . ."
"Tiffany. I have a girlfriend." He ran a hand over his forearm, the golden hairs sifting in between his fingers. His fingertips traced all the way up his arm, the sinews quivering underneath his own touch as he rested his palm against the side of his neck, still staring at her. His stomach had begun to ripple slightly. He was starting to become bothered. Not by her, but by himself. By the thoughts he was having about forgetting Chris and banging this girl on his living room floor. He shook his head and turned away, his head down.
She watched as the finely toned curves of his back moved up and down, in and out with his breathing. Her eyes slid from his shoulders, down his smooth, perfectly shaped skin, down past the birthmark dotted on his lower back, to his . . . . He whirled around. Her eyes bulged.
"You should go," he said.
"But, Justin . . ." she began to step forward.
"Leave, Tiffany." His voice was so low and menacing that she stepped back. His hands were balled at his sides, his lips quivering gently over his slightly opened mouth. He took a step forward, his eyes burning into her. The muscles in his stomach rippled as he moved, the sweat glistening as if he had just exited a pool. He began to wonder if he should turn on the air conditioning. A low growl escaped his lips and he abruptly stood upright. "Just go."
And she did. She grabbed her jacket from a stool in the kitchen, and exited through the front door, closing it quietly behind her.
He sighed and laid his palms over his face. He rubbed up and down a few times before running his fingers through his hair and dropping down onto the couch. His still-damp skin stuck softly to the leather and he smiled slightly.
"I just said no," he said to himself. He paused, then laughed out loud. "I just said no. I just said no." He pounded his fist softly into the cushion next to him. "I just said no," he whispered, letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes.
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