I dressed up to the nines, donning my naughty-and-never-nice little red dress and a three-inch Louboutin pumps. Red had always been my color, but tonight I surpassed even my own expectations. Tailored to perfection, the dress clung snug to my breasts and showed the flare of my hips. The fiery cloth provided a nice complement to my complexion that was a delicious light mocha. I looked splendid. Better than that, I looked glorious. For sure, a gorgeous woman like me could land herself a guy like my date, Damien. Damien, the unit of a man who was now looking at me from across the bar. Hungry eyes trailed my body up and down.
Inferno.
There goes another place named to mock me. Come to think of it, there were a lot of these establishments in my town. There was a casino named Hell's Gates on 51st Street and a rundown motel just across it, with a flashing neon sign forming its name, The 7th Commandment. There was also a strip club called Lucifer's Girls, not a block away from the two. Of course, who could forget the kicker? The Blue Ball Church with a signage that said: Be Pure and Fill Your Cracks with Christ. Comedy gold.
How come I haven't noticed these before? I freaking love this town.
My feet carried me across the room and took with it ten lustful gazes, which further fueled the foxy little grin I sported. I admit, it was nice to turn heads wherever I went.
"Fancy seeing you here," I said in almost a whisper, leaning in close to Damien's ear as I placed a teasing palm on his bulging biceps. I put his signature leather jacket on the counter, folded next to his beer. The guy grinned and his smoky gray eyes glittered at the attention.
"You look stunning," he replied, not taking his eyes off me.
I smelled his sandalwood perfume, and our eyes met in a dangerous dance. There wasn't loud music. Inferno was more of a pub than a regular dive bar or club. The bar area was full and busy; tables filled with patrons. The whole pace was dim enough to give me plenty of cover to make me work my charm.
"Buy me a drink?" I asked, raising a playful brow. My innocence was not an illusion, nor was it implied. I took time to put on my makeup, but from the looks of where the things are going tonight, my lipstick was going to be smudged and licked off beyond recognition. How exciting.
"What are you having?"
"Gin martini. Lemon peel."
"You heard the lady," Damien said to the bartender. The bartender, whom I'd noticed was looking at us—or me, to be more specific. I gave the guy a wink. It sent him to fix my drink while I talked to my date.
"You come here often?" I asked, tracing a playful finger on his forearm.
"No, not at all," Damien rasped, focusing in on the gesture. "It seems like a good place, though."
"It is. Pleasant atmosphere."
I took my drink from the bartender and thanked him before taking a sip. I was told that I had the drinking preferences of a rich, middle-aged Floridian divorcee in the 70s with a couple of boyfriends on the side. Oddly specific, but I didn't mind it. The night was crescendoing to its peak, so I allowed myself to two more drinks before I felt the slight buzz in my system. Perfect timing as they turned the lights down low. The music hummed; beat after beat echoed. Before long, bodies began crowding on the dance floor. The atmosphere changed, and people started pairing up.
"So, what do your parents do for a living?" my date asked me, playing with a wavy lock of my hair as I ran my hand all over his chiseled chest. Closer, I pushed my body into his. He hummed, appreciative.
"My parents are small-time businesspeople who are now retired at Staten Island. How about yours?"
"Meh, my father's a mechanic and my mom's a housewife. Nothing too exciting, ya know?" Damien grinned and put two fingers on my chin, tilting them up to meet his lips in a kiss. I hummed as his powerful arms snaked around me and I felt his bold tongue on the entrance of my mouth. As I buried my fingers in his hair, I indulged him and let him explore the sweet caverns of my mouth. An irritated clearing of a throat brought us out of our little world and I grinned as I found a patron of the bar looking at us disapprovingly. It's a well-known faux pas to make out in the busier sections of any bar, so I dragged Damien out onto the dance floor.
We kissed and danced the night away and I let him and his hands explore my body, grinding on to him and encouraging his advances. A thrilling experience that I never would tire of. It was a little past twelve when he whispered the classic proposition in my ear. It made me almost smile.
"Wanna get out of here?"
So, I nodded, and he excused himself to the bathroom first as I made my way to the bartender again, breathless. I asked for a glass of water for my parched throat. While I recovered, I mused over the events of the past hour; there would be no false pretenses to what would happen next. I would get what I wanted, and he better like it.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation earlier, Miss," the bartender said as he was handing me my frosty glass. "But you're the third one this week."
The comment threw me.
"It's a Tuesday."
The guy shrugged. "I start counting my days of the week on Mondays."
I was a little startled from the discovery, but not put off altogether. There was nothing wrong with dating multiple people, as long as you were careful and you used protection. Moreover, this was only a casual hookup. It was a little strange that Damien had lied about his visits to this place, though I could understand that any guy would say anything to get into my panties. Granted that I was not wearing one now.
"Hey," Damien said as he returned for me and we exited the place. We reached the parking lot until the need to touch each other emerged again and he leaned me against my car. Our lips clashed, and we were making out again.
"You're so hot," Damien whispered in my ear as he started a slow grind and I felt his stiff member on my stomach. I let a hand wander down and grope his bulge, making him weak in the knees as I grinned—triumphant.
"Jesus Christ," the guy breathed out as he almost lost his mind over my ministrations. Hearing the big JC's name made me flinch. It made me remember Eve and the entire ordeal we had. From the corner of my eyes, I saw a different bulge just around his ankles.
"You wear ankle weights?" I asked, pulling away for just a second to catch my breath. He was fit, but I didn't know he was that much into fitness. Seemed like a perfect match for me. Huh. Good job, Eve.
"No, that's my ankle monitor," Damien huffed as he tried once again to reach under my dress. "I'm on parole."
Like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped on my head, my lust fizzled and died out and I pushed him away.
"What the fuck do you mean parole?!" I screamed.
"Parole. I just got out last week. It's not a big deal."
"It's not a—of course it's a big deal! What were you in for?"
Please don't say murder. Please don't say assault.
Damien hung his head and scratched the back of his skull. "I got three years for having relations with a minor. Listen, she consented to it though! She looked old for her age too, I swear. I thought she was at least 16!"
"You mean she was younger?!"
The guy was a sex offender!
Which was even worse than a serial killer or a fucking axe murderer! Murder, you can justify. No matter how much of a religious person you are, there are some people who are just begging to be killed. Rape and sexual offense are inexcusable. That is why we never get asked the moral question: if you could go back in time, would you rape Hitler?
"Get the fuck out of my face before I call the cops!"
I was sure drinking alcohol and going to a bar violated parole rules in our state. I marched right back inside the bar, seething, and ordered and downed a couple of shots of tequila. Sexually frustrated, angry, and alone, I sat on the busy bar. If it was an hour earlier, I could have gotten with a decent-looking guy. Brought him home, covered his face while I imagined Bradley Cooper. But no. It was almost two in the morning and the men left in the bar were fours. Maybe a couple of fives. A mark up or two was to be expected since I'd had a few to drink.
"Hey, Bernardo," I called out to the bartender who gave me another shot without a word. I gulped it down, feeling the burn on my throat and the slap of a thousand tiny fairies on my cheek. "Why can't I find a good man? Why Bernardo, why?"
Bernardo, bless his poor soul, shrugged.
I took it as a sign to continue my rant. "You were right. That guy is a creep! He is a sex offender. Didn't they have to have like this—" I motioned for a placard of some sorts, but my hands were more drunk than I thought and I only made wild, circular gestures. "—sign that said they were sex offenders?"
Again, Bernardo shrugged.
I groaned at the bartender's silence and put my elbows up onto the counter, burying my face in my arms. In my silence, I felt someone slide into the seat next to me and order a whiskey sour.
What a pretentious drink, I thought to myself.
"That's rich, coming from someone who drinks a gin martini," a sultry voice replied, encased in a rich chuckle dripping with sarcasm and contempt. I knew who it was.
I looked up and met dark, brooding eyes and a sly smile. It was the devil's apprentice, Eve. She had her dark, midnight hair flowing down her back without any curl or a wave. It framed her heart-shaped face. She looked different, though. The usual frightening horns and tail were missing, and, as the seductress continued to smile at me, so were her fangs. Her crimson-red skin also became an even, fair olive tone, free of any blemishes. She shone in the dark. With a little dress of her own, I had to admit Eve was gorgeous. So gorgeous it made me want to hit on her.
"Have I seen you here before?" I asked, straightening up. Inhibitions out the window, I was bold, brazen and reckless. Perfect combination to stir up trouble.
"Perhaps," was her demure answer before sipping on her drink and feigning ignorance. It set my blood on as fiery an excitement as ever.
"I never miss a pretty face. My name is Sarah Sanders."
The corner of her lips perked up into a smile that she tried to hide. "Weren't you the president's Secretary?"
"I quit. Very demanding job."
"I heard you fled like a Guatemalan refugee."
"I have no other comment regarding that issue," I grinned. "How about you? What's your name?"
"Florence Nightingale."
"No kidding? Weren't you burned at the stake?"
"No, the heat never seemed to bother me, so I survived."
We both burst out laughing and I whisked a lone tear from the corner of my eye as we started our banter again.
"What do you do for a living?" I asked, leaning in closer to her and letting her bewitching scent fill my nose.
"I am a professional coin finder. I spend all day looking for loose coins. And you?"
"Ah, I am a brain surgeon for gerbils."
"Very lucrative work, I assume?" Eve raised an eyebrow and swirled her drink lazily.
"You cannot imagine. I go through ten a day! Of course, none of the little rascals ever survive but they make for a good taxidermy collection."
The devil seductress laughed at my humor, and I'd never felt more alive. Her laugh was languid and drawled. It wrapped me in warmth and filled me with heat. I desired to hear more; to hear it from daybreak to dusk. It was quite a novel feeling, seeking validation from the literal ruler of Hell, but maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was something else. The next half hour I spent trying to make her laugh in an increasingly ridiculous fashion, from telling stories about my neighbors to doing slapstick comedy out of desperation. How riveting. I wanted the devil—the actual ruler of Hell—to like me. The night drew to an end when Bernardo made the last call from the bar, so it interrupted our conversation.
"Oh, come on, Bernardo," I groaned, but settled my tab and Eve's anyway.
"What do you say to taking a little walk back to your place?" my dark-haired companion suggested, running a finger up and down my arm. I stood up in a heartbeat and dragged her out.
"So, how did your date go?" Eve asked before snaking an arm around my elbow, holding on to me as we both took the scenic route to my house. The night air caressed my skin: cold, a little humid. I looked up and saw the slightest sign of the moon. The moon was a little shy that night. To a bystander, Eve and I were a picture of a normal couple out for a midnight stroll. Only that we weren't, and that she was the devil.
"Horrible. I mean, it was good for a little while, but then I found out that he's... a horrible human being."
"You're a horrible human being. You're not into that?" the woman beside me asked, an evil smile on her face.
"I'm a terrible human and all, but no, I'm not into criminals."
"Too bad," Eve replied. Her lips curled into a cruel smirk.
Eve stopped me and made me face her. Under the moonlight, she looked at me with her glittering pitch-black eyes. So fierce, so direct that it made my breath hitch up my throat. "Don't be sad, Lily," the devil said as she brushed a finger on my cheek. "There are plenty of other opportunities for you to find someone. I'll make sure of that."
I didn't know if it was my drunken stupor or if it was me just going bonkers, because I could have sworn that we kissed. Or she kissed me. Or I kissed her. Either way, I found myself in front of my house in a blink. I was now alone. A rare moment of sobriety made me remember that I had brought a car to the bar with me and I was about to go into full panic mode when I saw my Jetta parked right in my garage. I'd only been walking with Eve not five minutes ago, but the bar was at least half an hour away. Had I imagined driving to the bar, or had Eve thoughtfully brought my car back with me?
I was going crazy, I swear. I went inside myhouse then, too tired to question reality. After I petted Thing, I slumped downon the couch. I fell asleep before I even knew it.