Page 44 of Boss of My Panties


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When I get out of the car, the music is incredibly loud and it vibrates through the asphalt, even all the way in the parking lot. I can just imagine how deafening it will be once we get inside. Again, I just want to go home.

“Come on.” Tom rests his hand on my ass, guiding me forward. He grins down at me as he cops a feel. I bet he does this to all unsuspecting women, and that they let him because he’s rich and famous.

Once we’re inside, I feel so out of place. There’s a mass of whirling, twirling bodies that gyrate against one another. We’re almost immediately pushed onto the dance floor, and people keep pressing against me as I’m sprayed with droplets of sweat. Drunk girls giggle like a pack of hyenas, and creepy men circle the perimeter, trying to catch unsuspecting prey to take home.

I want to leave, but I can barely even move within the press of the crowd.

To make matters worse, Tom is all handsy with me, and I just can’t get into it. His touch does nothing for me. It’s crazy, I know. This is my movie crush, but the chemistry just isn’t there.

“How do you like it, babe?” he screams over the music.

“Fine.”

“Huh?”

“Fine!”

“I can’t hear you,” he mouths, bopping up and down in time to the music.

I shake my head to signal that it doesn’t matter.

He shrugs, beckons a waitress, and orders a drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“No I’m good,” I say. “I’m underage, remember?”

He pouts like a whiny little boy.

“Oh, come on. One little drink isn’t going to hurt. Remember – tonight, no one knows that you’re only eighteen.” He chuckles before pulling me closer and grabbing my ass, squeezing it hard between his fingers. “You’re one sexy eighteen-year-old though, I’ll give you that.”

The waitress returns with his drink. I have no idea how the woman keeps the liquid from spilling given that she’s constantly being jostled. But Tom doesn’t even wait. He grabs the drink, tilts it back, gulps down the amber-colored liquid, and then places the glass back on the tray. “Another.”

The woman nods and walks away.

“Shouldn’t you take it easy?” I ask. “It’s pretty early still.”

“What?”

“You’re doing a lot of drinking!” I shout, hoping he can hear me, but then again, it’s so loud that it’s hard to hear myself think.

“Please,” he chuckles. “I can handle much more than that. What do you think I am? A lightweight?”

“Well, someone has to drive us home…”

“Huh?”

“Forget it.”

I start to walk away, but he grabs me by the wrist and reels me into his body.

“Where do you think you’re going, kitten?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay.” He lets me go, and begins crazy-dancing a bit, with his arms and legs flailing at odd angles. I quickly force myself through the crowd. The further away I get from him, the more relieved I feel.

It’s a miracle that I manage to make it all the way to the bathroom without someone spilling their drink on me, but finally, I’m inside. The bathroom is disgusting. This might be a fancy nightclub, but apparently, the janitors don’t get paid well enough because it’s legitimately a pigsty. Somehow, everything is wet. And I mean, everything. The floor. The sinks. The walls. Even the ceiling’s dripping with moisture. Did someone have a water balloon fight in here or something?

To make matters worse, wet tissue paper is all over the place, making a sodden mess on the floor.

I tiptoe toward the mirrors, feeling my skin crawl.

“Oh, Stacey, I think you drank too much.”

“What are you talking about–”

And then the sound of someone throwing up. The poor girl sounds like she has it pretty bad.

The smell is atrocious.

I turn on my heels and quickly dart out the door. I can’t handle being in there for another second.

At the bar, I order myself a glass of water. The cool liquid helps calm me down, and I keep a tight grip on my glass while paying close attention to it. I’m not dumb. This sort of place is a breeding ground for party drugs, and I don’t want to get roofied. I’m smart enough to know that Tom Benning won’t take care of me.

Speaking of which, where did he run off to?

I scan the club, trying to find him. He’s probably bouncing on the dance floor or something. If I had to guess, he’s getting handsy with some other girl.

What did I ever see in that guy, anyway?

Sure, he’s hot, but that’s about all he has going for him. He’s a complete fail as a gentleman. He’s sexist. He doesn’t know how to dance, even if he says he does. Trust me, the Pee Wee Herman bopping along isn’t sexy, and I don’t even know how to dance.

It’s strange because he’s such the leading man, at least according to box office results. But his sex appeal on the silver screen doesn’t transfer into reality. I don’t understand it, but he doesn’t turn me on. Not even a little bit.