Have Kids, Then We'll Talk

"Drink this," Addie Ross mutters, shoving a glass swirling with clear
liquid at me. One whiff tells me it's apple-flavored Bacardi rum. Ew. I
hate this shit.

So, instead of downing my medicine like a good little boy, my eyes sweep
Addie's outfit. A patch of white skin slips out from underneath a tight
tank top, hugging her in all the right places. Short skirt slipping
against her pale thigh barely covering anything at all. If she just
moves her leg a tiny bit to the right I might be able to see up -

"What are you staring at? God, you perv. I expect that shit from one of
the horny, lame-ass kids at school but not - oh, wait... you are a horny
lame-ass."

I grin, loving her for all she's worth. Out of all my friends, Addie has
to be the one who's always, always, been there for me. In all of
her mocking sincerity, she has to be my longest surviving friend. If
only I could just get her to see me any other way than the scrawny
7-year-old she tried to sell on ebay...

"Hey, you gotta play hostess," she says softly, nodding her head towards
the doorway.

My neck snaps to the the front door, craning to see past the
immeasurable amount of people drinking drinks harder than some flavored
vodka, lighting up rolls of paper and sitting back in the blue-grey
fumes, kissing each other like a Y2K is going to dump them into
never-ending darkness. My eyes finally find a girl, right about my age
and right about my type, stepping awkwardly into the apartment, let in
by some random trying too hard to pretend he's rich.

Yes, Madelyn fucking Way has made it to my party.

Forcing myself not to run and greet her, I dip my fingers into the
disgustingly sweet drink and flick the alcohol at Addie's face.
"Host. I'm a guy, Ross. Want me to prove it to you? I have no
issue with showing you exactly what makes me a man-."

Then she throws her champagne (typical that she's drinking champagne
instead of actual party booze. Maybe that's a habit she picked up in
scene-rich Las Vegas) in my face, giggles and walks away.

"Thanks, bitch!"

Her middle finger greets me as she walks away, hips swaying sexy in the
mini skirt she has covering the skin I so want to see.

I get lost staring at her legs that when Jared Way comes up behind me, I
jump nearly a foot out of my skin, sloping more liquid on my already
soaked shirt.

"Madie's here. You going to introduce yourself or shall I call for the
trumpets and Dick-clad flags?"

"I can do it myself, 'kay thanks."

"If you say so, Richard."

I leave him standing there with a smirk on his face and start walking
over to Madie. I snatch a shirt that someone already lost playing strip
poker and use it to sop up the champagne on my face and hair.

"Hey, Madie. You look nice," I say, grinning.

She returns my smile and mutters a soft hey in response. It's
only with serious concentration, more concentration than I've ever used
in my entire life, that I resist giving her the same one-over that I
gifted to Addie. No need to scare this honey away, too...

I guess she thinks I'm weird or something because, before I say anything
else, she makes a move like she's going to walk away. Yeah, I won't have
that. I grab the bottom of her skirt and tug teasingly. The back of my
hand grazes her thigh and I bite my lip instead of licking it. That
might be a bit obvious, huh?

"Like my place?"

With her own hand, she brushes mine away from her skirt and takes a few
steps in front of me. This time, I can't think of anything to stop me
from watching her slender legs move. As if she hadn't a care in the
world, she throws a couple glances at the apartment and says over her
shoulder, hips cocked, "Yeah, not bad."

Ohmyfuckinggod. How did she make that sound so hot?

Again, she starts to walk away. I would love to stand there and see her
legs move, thighs rubbing together and imagine all the skin hidden by
those damn clothes. But I'd rather put as little space between us and
make my fantasy a reality.

So I rush and stand very close behind her, my chest nearly on her back
and my lips at her ear, "Can I get you drunk?"

Now I've got her attention. She spins around, face temptingly close to
mine. It takes all my self-control and the e-major scale for my bass not
to start sucking her face right there.

"Why would you want to do that?" She asks, head tilted to the side and a
quizzical little smile lighting up her face. She looks so pretty right
now, confused and amused by my words.

I have my answer ready. Cryptically, I say, "So you'll have no
regrets... or does that work the other way around?"

More confusion crosses her face and she asks slowly, voice at a low
intimate level (or am I just imagining that?), "Regrets for... what?"

"Think about it, Mads. You'll get an answer." I pull on her skirt again,
harder than last time and a flush darkens her cheeks. I turn away from
her, focusing on that last mental snapshot. If she and I don't end up
hooking up tonight, then I might need to remember her pretty face for my
next... er, special alone time.

The night wears on: guys get into fist fights, someone breaks my dad's
stereo system. The old bitch a floor beneath us has the nerve to tell us
to shut up. Some chicks are sobbing their hearts out on the floor of the
bathroom and someone, somewhere is making a soundtrack to their own
personal sex in the city.

Of course, I get bored of it all right away. Nothing seems to compare to
the Chicago atmosphere and Chicago life, even if it really is so two
years ago. Jared vanishes after we take our pants off on top of the
coffee table during a rendition of Ice, Ice, Baby and Addie's too busy
talking to the douchebag and fag king Aiden Way (later I catch them
snogging which makes me debate shooting Aiden in the ass). Everyone else
is too nosy (or disgustingly sexual) about my dad so I stop talking to
them right away. And Madie... Madie's spending her time dancing with
some fugly fuckers and slamming back cup after plastic cup of Miller
lite.

Jealousy rears up in my stomach, spreading fast to the rest of my body.
I don't look away from her close embrace to that Lazzara kid I invited
out of pity (and because he does my homework most of the time). I don't
look away even though I think the envy is going to burn a hole right
through my eyes, light the rest of my face on fire.

While she drinks all my beer and dances with all of those guys not
worthy of her, I keep right on with the plain vodka. Everybody's a
billion times better to talk to after a few truckloads of Absolut in my
veins, so I don't stop drinking. After a while, my head swells up bigger
than the sun, buzzing with intensity. With my new, hugeass head, I look
around for Madie again.

She's dancing by herself in the center of the crowd, occasionally joined
by some guy just trying to get in her pants (the difference between them
and me is that I have money and status - what do they have? Food stamps
to keep them company?). I step in between her and some guy, moving in
time with the song.

Her body doesn't stop grinding against the air before her. Sleek hips
gyrating, lost to the swell and burn of the fastpaced song cranking out
of bass-angled speakers. She doesn't even seem to notice that Dick Wentz
has replaced Loser-Wannabe #6 as her dance partner. Her eyes are closed,
pale lids shooting beams of light.

I can't help it. She's moving in a way that makes every part of me
tight. My chest, my lungs, my smile, my jeans. She looks so fucking hot
dancing alone. "You smell so drunk..." I slur, words tripping over each
other.

Madie opens her eyes, reaching out and pulling me close to her, hand
snaking around my waist and clutching at my back. Like a lover, almost,
the way her fists are clenched tight."You look drunk," she giggles. Her
hips had been on mine, tight as her skirt, and she pushes herself away
slightly, teasing.

It's enough to drive me crazy. "Baby, that's 'cause I am drunk."

"Me too..." Her feet make her stumble into me, straight into my arms.
She fits so perfectly there, like she belongs in the cove of my
outstretched limbs.

"You're really pretty," I mumble. Her shirt is knotted in my hands, a
mirror image of hers. I don't remember her being this close or smelling
this good. Vanilla... vanilla and rain and beer and weed and so goddamn
fucking sexy.

She whispers her reply, voice too hot to be fair in my ear, "Thank
you..."

I tilt my head to the side, thinking hard. If I kiss her... "Madie."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me."

Smooth, girly softness presses itself against my chest. Her hands,
pretty little hands, grip my back, nails digging into my skin. The music
around us surges up, overwhelming.

She looks at me.

Then, before I know it, my lips are on hers and it tastes so good. Every
slip of tongue, fresh in my mouth, sends shocks through my body. I can
hardly breathe because this girl tastes so fucking good.

My hands knot tighter still in her shirt, trying to keep my balance even
though my every will is screaming for me to lie down. It all spins,
nothing is straight, everything is one big slur and I don't know
anything. I know nothing but Madie and the feel of her on me.

We start moving. Her lips don't leave mine, I hope they never do, as we
slip into my room. It takes a couple times for me to get my hand on the
door knob, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's too lost, wherever she
is and whoever she's with.

Just as my hands reach under her shirt, searching for more soft skin to
meet mine, she pushes away from me. "You know... I am really
drunk."

She stumbles into me. I catch her by the waist, slipping my thumbs
beneath her shirt and rubbing the skin stretched over her perfect
hipbones... A smirk sticks to my face when she shivers.

"What does it matter?" I don't care anymore. I don't care that she's
drunk, I don't care that I have enough alcohol in my system to flood all
of Manhattan. She'd never sleep with me if I was sober anyway. Who'd
sleep with me? Stupid, scrawny git I am...

Yeah, reputation I got? Manslut, womanizer king? Not me, but it
is my dad. I've had sex with a total of two women. Just because I
don't correct people when they call me a player doesn't make me a bad
guy... like I said, I have a reputation that I inherited from my
father.

Whatever. Fuck that. I'm not my dad. Even if I was... am... then it
wouldn't matter anyway. I have this gorgeous, drunk chick pinned against
a wall and my tongue is tracing her collarbones. She doesn't care who I
am, or who my dad was.

I push her towards my bed a little, lifting her shirt over her head and
throwing it across the room when she doesn't object.

"We won't remember..." Madie's voice quavers. Her body is shaking and I
know, I fucking know, that she wants me. Just as bad as I want
her. All misgivings about her attraction to me are catapulted out the
window. This chick wants me and who am I to deny Madie fucking Way?

"That's the point." I fall back on my bed, confidence radiating out of
me like wind from a fucking fan. "Make your choice, Madelyn Way."

Her hesitation is nothing. Just the booze slowing her senses, dulling
the cold - no, hot - hard fact that she want me.

"Let me do this for you..." I grab her hand, pulling her on top of me.
Her chest lands straight on mine. Our legs overlap and the bottom of her
cute little skirt reaches the button of my jeans.

She moves, grinding against me, her hands feeling the curve of my neck,
outlining my chest. I groan, placing my hands on her hips, savoring the
feel of her body on top of mine yet under my hands. She kneels, one
carved leg on either side of me. In the cool darkness of my room, I can
just make out her outline, feet above me. My hands still on her hips, I
push her down on my crotch, wanting her to know how excited she's making
me -

"No..." With tripping fingers, she pushed me hands away, trying to get
up.

Anger, hotter than the sweat pooling on my forehead from just looking at
this girl; anger, much stronger than any other feeling I may be
experiencing wells up in me. Adrenaline and ecstacy flow in my veins and
she wants to stop? How the fuck can she let this go on so long and then,
with a lame, single word, expect me to stop?

Oh, hell no. She's got me all hot and riled up, my pants uncomfortably
tight. She's going to finish what she started.

I grab the back of her neck, pulling her back down with force and a kiss
murdering her lips. My free hands slides on the smooth skin of her
thigh, under the skirt, between the legs... "Madie, come on... don't be
a fucking tease."

Amazingly, especially since I really thought that comment was going to
earn me a right slap to the face, she lets me kiss her neck, touch her
in ways that bring even me pleasure.

"I'm not... I'm not a tease."

My fingers unzip her skirt, yanking it down along with scraps of cloth
barely covering anything anyway. Her eyes, half-closed, shut all the way
as I strip her down.

Seeing her there, vulnerable beneath my touch and naked to her
surroundings brings me a wave of remorse. She looks so tiny, small on my
grey bed sheets, pale skin sinking in. It's a tragic sight, nearly
unbearable, and I want to make her safe. I want to kiss her like I mean
it, like she's the only thing in the world I want.

But we're too far in. I can't stop, don't want to. "No baby," I whisper,
the pads of my fingers smoothing over her pale face, "you're no tease."