It's only after getting a handful of scratches on my face, and a dozen heeled shoes to my toe that I finally reach the front row of the spectators who are eagerly watching Christian Beneventi live on Magic Mike.
Christian now flexes his biceps, almost falling from the bar counter. He is drunk too, totally wasted. His body moves tipsily in tune to the music, rolling his hips, rather sexily.
I don't want to stop him. It's funny watching him, and I want to join the league of girls crazily videotaping him, though for different reasons. But as appealing the idea was, I resist and will myself forward.
'Christian?'
He pays no attention to me, though I have the attention of all the others. I should've let Jared come get him.
I try again. 'Christian, baby?'
Christian stops suddenly and looks down at me. His pupils are heavily dilated, and I know he's a goner.
'Coral, Coral, darling?'
I want to gag, but I raise my arms to him. 'Come down, sweetheart. Let's go.'
Christian pouts, and he looks adorably cute. 'But I want to dance.'
I am about to open my mouth, when someone beats me to it.
'He wants to dance, so let him dance.'
'Yeah. Stop ruining our fun, bitch.'
I am about to hit her in her silicon chumbawombas, when Christian jumps off the counter and pulls me to his chest.
'She's my girlfriend. How dare you call her a bitch, bitch?'
The crowd gasps, and I struggle to pull myself away from sweaty Christian without physically hurting him.
'If she tells me to stop, I stop.' He looks at me, tucking my hair behind my ear. 'Let's go.'
I nod and pick his shirt from the table. Christian takes a wobbly step forward, then another, then another and then:
'Ooops.'
I catch him mid-fall. I lug him up easily, and throw his hand over my shoulder, curling my own hand around his waist. The guys look impressed, though the girls stare in wonder at how I managed to heave a heavy man onto me. Jared is, thankfully, just where I left him, though his bottle is empty now.
'Come on, Jared. Let's go. Gimme the keys.'
Jared gets up obediently and hands me the keys to his Camaro. He throws his hand over my shoulder too, and I wrap my left hand around him. It is quite the sight as we leave the party; I am lugging two drunk guys, twice my size, out of the club.
'Hey Jared,' Christian stage whispers loudly. 'My girlfriend is so strong.'
'I am going to throw you down and kick you where the sun doesn't shine.'
'And she is so angry. But she's hot when she's angry.'
I pull him up sharper, but they both hang on me like deadweights. I pull up to the Camaro, and throw Jared to the backseat.
'I want to drive.' Christian curls onto my arm strongly, refusing to let go.
'Christian, you are drunk.'
'No. I am not. I am the DD!'
'And what does that mean?'
'Don't Drink.'
'Wrong answer.'
'You'll let me drive if I get it correct?'
'I'll think about it.'
With a forceful push, I thrust Christian to the backseat too, and I get into the car myself. I back out of the driveway, and switch gears.
'I got it! It's Drink and Drive.'
'Wrong.'
'Drunk Driver?'
'Wrong.'
'Uh, Drink Driver?'
'Wrong.'
'Man,' Jared drawls. 'You are so stupid when you are drunk. DD stands for Donald Duck.'
I bite my lip.
Christian is silent, contemplating. 'You sure, bro?'
'Positive. Who's the American, here?'
'Okay. The answer is option A Donald Duck.'
'Wrong.'
'Oh, shit.'
I pull up into the parking lot, and pull the two idiots out.
I half-drag, half-carry the two chunks of meat to their room. I prop Jared against the wall as I fumble for the right key. Christian buries his nose into my neck.
He's distracting me, wtf. Stop doing that. Don't. Oh, god. Shit.
I click the door open and pick Jared back up.
'You smell good.' Christian nestles further into my neck. 'Like miele.'
I let go of both of them once I'm inside. Jared drops to the floor, deadweight, though Christian stands, swaying slightly on his feet.
'Ha, lightweight.'
I sigh deeply. I bend over and pull Jared up by the collar, drag him across the floor and push him up onto his bed, until his upper body is spayed over the mattress and his legs dangle outside.
Christian wolf-whistles; a sound that goes whit-whoo. 'That was hot as hell.'
I roll my eyes and make it to the door when Christian grabs me by the arm. 'Where are you going?'
'To my room, duh.'
Christian eyes flash mischievously. I think it's the alcohol.
'Let's go for a drive.'
I cross my arms across my chest. 'Christian, you are drunk. Sleep it off.'
Christian pouts. It's cute.
'Oh come on. Let's go around New York City. Please?'
I find myself wavering. I look into his green, green eyes and find them sparkling with a kind of wildness. My eyes trail over his shirtless self – I left his shirt back in Jared's car.
'I don't want you to throw up in my car.'
'We'll go in his.' Christian points to an unconscious Jared.
'Hey man, is there a problem if we take your car out for a drive?'
No response.
'See? No problem.' He grabs my hand and pulls me out. 'New York, here we come.'
/////
'I am the King of the World!'
'You are going to fall out of the window and bang your head on the concrete if you don't sit inside the car.'
Christian leans back in promptly, before standing up and sticking himself up the moon roof. He spreads his arms to the sides.
'I am the King of the World!'
I want to bang my own head on the paved road. Literally. I haven't looked after a drunken ass since god knows when. Zach knows I hate it when he drinks out of limit, and so he makes sure that he stays out of the Casa whenever he is dead drunk. The others don't drink much, me being the most sensible – I don't drink at all.
Christian totally is out of it, I doubt whether he'll remember a single thing tomorrow. Drunken Christian is also lax with keeping up his attitude with me, so I guess that's a plus.
Its midnight and New York, being New York, is awake. I successfully moved onto the quieter lanes, given the fact that Christian was drunkenly cursing and flipping off the other drivers out on the street. I didn't want a drunken brawl on the streets, even though I liked fights. Not with Christian in this state, anyway.
I slow at a traffic light. The roads are deserted, and the whole area is deadly quiet, with a serene blue black sky dotted with stars stretching infinitely above us. The only thing disturbing the serenity was Christian Beneventi, bare chested and abs on show, singing loud in his thickly Italian accented voice. His accent deepens when drunk.
Why did I notice that?
'Yoo hoo hoo and a bottle of rum!'
Why? Why did I do this? Was I ever, ever incapable of saying no? Why hadn't I shut the bloody door on his face and called Zach to pick me up?
I am so lost in my thinking that I don't notice the sleek black Spyder that cruises to a stop right next to me.
'Hey, sexy! Want to ride?'
Great. More drunk assholes.
The thing with driving around New York at night during weekends is having to deal with drunk and high hobos. Like now.
I cock my head to the side and observe. There are five men, all drunk, and the driver's a punk with a metal ring through his nose. The man riding shotgun is deliriously high, his pupils are wide as a goddamn wall. All of them sneer and eye me hungrily. I feel their gazes crawl into my skin.
I need to get out of here, before I go on a blood rampage.
Christian has gone quiet, and I raise my eyes to him. He is still up the moon roof, but he has fixed the black car with a steady, fiery green gaze.
'Hey, SEXY, yo! We will show you a good time!'
I fake smile. 'No thanks, sweetie. I'll manage.'
'Don't be a killjoy, hottie' One of the ugly dudes leans over from the backseat. 'We'll be quick, promise.'
Before I can make a real classy comment about his ugly face, I hear a growl.
'Go fuck yourself, Cazzo!'
The light turns green and I slam down on the accelerator. Christian jerks backward, but keeps himself from falling, as we speed off in a burst. I sneak a look into the rear-view mirror, and sure enough, the Spyder is right behind us. I note the license plate mentally.
Christian turns and faces them, hurling Italian and English curses left and right. I mutter under my breath and I take sharp turns and drive at 240 miles, trying to shake them off our trail. But it isn't easy, not with Christian giving away our location like a goddamn siren.
I grab him by his belt loops and pull him back down.
'Hey,' he protests. 'I am the man in the relationship. I remove my pants.'
'Shut the hell up.' I yell, taking another turn and switching gears. I look at the rearview mirror and sigh in relief. They have lost us.
'That was so cool, miele!' Christian's voice cracks, possibly from all the screaming. 'Water?'
I look in the dashboard. 'No. No water.'
'Water, please? My throat hurts.'
'Should've thought about that before yelling.' I spot a deserted supermarket and pull into its parking lot, which is basically empty, except for a couple of shopping trolleys.
'Wait here.' I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out. Christian follows me.
'No. No. No.' I push him back by the shoulders. 'Stay in the car.'
He stands stiff, unmoving.
I groan. 'Fine. At least put on your damn shirt.'
He doesn't even flinch.
'Whatever.' I state, more to myself than him, and I enter the supermarket.
It's a shabby one, with a single cashier girl, who looks visibly grumpy at the prospect of new customers at one in the morning. But the grumpiness gives way to star struck admiration and her eyes feast on a gloriously shirt-less Christian.
I roll my eyes and move to the shelves, picking up two bottles of water. On second thoughts, I also grab some juice bottles, a bag of Cheetos, pretzels and a bottle of aspirin.
I wait patiently at the checkout for the girl to stop drooling and empty Christian's back pocket of the frozen pea packet he had snitched. I drop it with the stuff I picked and pay the cashier. I chuck Christian a bottle of water and walk out, and he follows me like a lost puppy, much to the girl's chagrin.
I am dropping the stuff in the backseat of the Camaro when a pair of strong hands encircle my waist. Christian Beneventi pulls me up and throws me over his shoulder and I find myself face to face with his butt.
My inner Hulk roars.
'Put me down, you drunk asshole!'
He does. He puts me down into one of the empty shopping trolleys. My hips press against the cold metal.
'What the?'
Christian propels me forward, holding onto the trolley. He pushes me as fast as he could, building up momentum, before standing onto the grid base of the trolley, as we whizz through the parking lot.
'Are you mad?' I palm my face. 'Stop, Christian.'
He doesn't. He puts a single foot on the ground and pushes his weight forward, like a skateboarder. 'Christian!' I am angry, like super-mad. I twist around, trying to grab him. He dodges, pushing me out of the parking lot like a baby on a stroller, and moves to the road.
The roads are empty, but it slopes down on a steep tangent from the level of the supermarket. I turn back at Christian and his eyes gleam with a drunken madness.
He's going to do it.
'Christian.' I try, my voice edgy. 'Don't. This is a bad, bad idea. Let us go home.'
He stares at me for a moment, then nods. He pulls the trolley backwards, from the edge of the steeping road, walking back in reverse. I wait for him to stop moving backwards and turn back to the parking lot, almost hissing a sigh of relief, but that is when it clicks.
I am such an idiot.
With a war cry that would've made Sparta proud, Christian breaks into a run, pushing me and the trolley down the slope.
'YOU, SON OF A GUN!' I yell, as we fly down the road with an uncontrollable speed I can't even think about. My hands grip the sides of the trolley. 'WE ARE GOING TO CRASH, YOU NICOMPOOP! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, CHRISTIAN EFFING BENEVENTI!'
We are still going down, and the slope doesn't seem to end. Just when everything seems out-of-control and disastrous, the wheel of the trolley pops clean off.
Christian launches into the basket with me with a 'Oomph' and the trolley loses balance. We zigzag along the road, me trying to hold our vehicle steady. Christian's naked chest presses onto me, holding me down.
'WHAT THE HELL, CHRISTIAN! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!'
'YES!' Christian yells back, his mouth close to my ear. 'I LOVE TO DIE!'
The trolley goes over a pebble and I lose whatever minimal control I had over it. It swerves off the road and we hit a post, the trolley tumbling over and spilling us onto the road. I fall, and Christian falls on top of me.
The wind gets knocked out of my lungs.
Christian fumbles to get up, his hair getting caught on my shirt. His face is too close to mine, and he stares at me, his chest heaving. He looks at me, and I feel like the world stops spinning. He is moving closer, and even closer, and we're barely an inch apart, and I could smell the alcohol in his breath. I suddenly can't move, it's like I am frozen to the ground. I almost sigh and close my eyes when he manages to free himself somehow.
'That was fun! Fun ride!'
He sounds like an eight –year-old, bastard.
I lift myself off the road, clutching my ribs. Christian goes a shade greener, like his eyes and he gags. He spots a garbage can next to the post and runs to it, vomiting into it.
I clutch the post and slide down to the ground, leaning against the post to catch my breath. Christian retches and spews Projectile VOMIT round 2 again, gripping the trash canister with his hands.
Once he is done, I pull him back up the road and give him another bottle of water from the car. He drinks it, gets in the car and promptly passes out.
I get into the car myself. I pull the seatbelt around me and watch the stupid fellow beside me. He grabbed me and threw me in a freaking cart! Finding Arrigo was part of the job, babysitting his drunk son was not.
Christian looks so peaceful in his sleep. His mouth is open slightly, and he gives out slight, manly snores. His chest is bare, but now glistening with sweat. I avert my eyes. I am no stranger to six and eight pack torsos, but Christian's just makes me squirm.
I push the key into the ignition, and a phone rings. It's Christian's. He doesn't stir.
I reach over and thrust my hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pull his phone out.
Alice.
I don't answer it. The call rings on to voicemail and stops. I place the phone on the dashboard and gun the engine, and it rings again.
Alice.
I let it ring again. I look at Christian – he wouldn't like it if I pick up the phone. And she wouldn't like it if I picked up either. I wonder whether Christian would remember anything of tonight when he sobers up.
Alice.
It rings a third time. Should I wake him up? Should I answer? What will I say?
I accept the call and press the phone to my ear.
'Christian?' It is a clear, female voice.
I clear my throat. 'No, it's –'
I'm cut short. 'Rach?'
Okay, so she knows Rachel. And she is close enough with her to call her Rach. Definitely the ex.
I begin again. 'No, it's –'
I'm cut short once more. 'Coral?'
Okay, so now I'm stumped. She knows me? Or she knows my second persona? How does she even know me?
Have I got to worry about a vengeful ex now, too?
'Yes. Do I know you?'
Alice laughs politely. Too polite. 'No. But I do. Christian's told me a lot about you.'
My eyes trail over to Christian again. What has he told about me? What is there to tell? And who is she?
She is speaking again. 'Is Christian there with you? Can I speak to him?'
'Uh,' I clear my throat again. 'He's not in a condition to talk now.'
Alice sighs. 'He's drunk, isn't he?'
I am stumped again. She knows him too well.
'Yes.'
'He's with you?'
'Yes.'
'Can you do me a favor? Bring him to Boston?'
Okay. So that's where he went with Jared's car last time she called. He goes there every weekend.
I think back. He was supposed to go today, that's why he was the DD.
He still visits his ex?
A voice presses within me. What if she wasn't his ex? What if they are together, and she's up a high tower, like some crapped up fairytale, and he's the prince who goes to the rescue every weekend?
Does she know that he's my fiancé now?
She must have known. He must've told her about how a supposedly stupid Londoner agreed to be the fiancée he could parade in front of his family in exchange for him helping out with notes.
Ha, the irony.
'Coral? Are you still there?'
I hesitate. I don't want to mess with things that have got nothing to do with me. Christian's Romeo and Juliet story is none of my concern: I have one goal, get to his father and kill that pathetic excuse of a human. Then, Coral Collins is done.
'I don't think he'll like that, Alice.'
'No, he won't have a problem. It's urgent, Coral. Please?'
I grab at straws. 'I don't know the address.'
'Easy. I'll text you the address. Thanks a lot, Coral.'
She hangs up.
I groan and check my watch. Two-thirty. It's two-thirty in the freaking morning and I am at a supermarket god knows where, with a passed out idiot next to me, contemplating whether to take the said idiot to Boston.
Christian's phone pings with a text from Alice.
Right on cue, mine does too. I fish out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.
It's Zach.
Zach: Is the party over? Pick you?
My fingers hover over the keypad. I look at Christian, sleeping oblivious to the dilemma in which he has pushed me in.
Me: Yes. No. Going to Boston.
/////
I'm back in action.
Yaaaaaaaaaay!