Page 10 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)

NINE

With every cheer for me to, “Drink up, bitch,” I felt my conscience slowly slipping away. I lost track of how many shots Jade slid to my side of the table, accompanied by demanding eyes.

“What the fuck are these?” The words slurred together as they left my mouth.

“Tequila!” they yelled as they waved down the bartender for the third time.

Kitty, being our group leader, decided to drag us to a club opening down the street from her apartment. It was a hole in the wall, refurbished to entice the upper-class city dwellers. Other full tables laughed around us, each one rowdier than the last.

I watched as a woman took a blowjob shot, letting the liqueur run down her chin.

“This place sucks more ass than my last boyfriend,” Jade whined over the blasting music.

“I agree,” Sarah pitched in, her boobs barely contained in the crop top she arrived in. If she leaned forward another inch, we’d be getting a private show. And I was all out of ones.

“Then where do you hoes want to go?” Kitty asked before downing another shot. Her pink hair was in a loose braid, falling over her bare shoulders. Her corset still managed to show less skin than Sarah.

I began mentally putting together a study on the correlation of intoxication to the amount women call each other insulting names in a friendly manner. Cherries were the best test subjects I could ask for.

“Did you get that package yet?” Sarah asked Kitty, her words slurring slightly.

“Came in this morning,” Kitty answered with a nod. “And I’m going to need it after Tara’s performance.”

This set off another round of giggles before Jade begged Kitty to take us to her place and show us her package.

“Oh, baby,” Kitty purred, “you know how I love to hear you beg.”

Jade flicked her tongue in a surprisingly sexual way. I gasped like the drunken idiot that I had become. “Oh my God. Are you guys gay?” Not that I had a problem with that.

The laughter that followed told me that they were either overcompensating or I was way off the mark.

Kitty wiped the few tears from her eyes as she giggled. “Only after a few shots of tequila.”

“Yeah, Kitty is way below my standards.” Jade snorted. “Like, eight inches under.”

After everyone finished their last round and we managed to find the exit, we stumbled down the block.

The city was bright, too bright if you asked me, and not close to shutting down for the night anytime soon.

Other clubbers flooded the sidewalks, talking shit about the cheap liquor at the bar they just left.

And although I had turned a corner at work, walking with the girls in skimpy clothing still didn’t feel safe.

Eyes wandered over our bodies as we trailed after each other, the lengthy looks making goosebumps form on my skin. And even though Kitty’s bachelorette pad looked close, it still took a while for us to walk in a straight line long enough to get there.

It was a larger building than I expected, decorated with flower boxes and wrought iron balconies. She can afford to live here?

Kitty fumbled with her keys so many times that she could have been Tony Romo in a miniskirt and stilettos. When she finally got the key in the front door to the building, we were faced with a whole new challenge: stairs.

In all fairness, it was only thirty steps to her floor, but to our impaired minds it might as well have been Mount Kilimanjaro.

Things were more complicated when a door started opening halfway up.

“Oh fuck,” Kitty whispered, stumbling slightly.

“What’s wrong?” I managed to squeak.

Kitty held onto the railing for dear life. “That’s my landlord, and I’m late on this month’s rent.” Alarm bells went off in all our heads.

“What do we do?” Sarah asked, panic lacing her tone.

Jade tugged down her skirt in a true act of leadership. “Get low.”

My brow raised. “How low?”

“Crawl, bitches!” she yelled so only we could hear her—we hoped. In seconds we were all on our hands and knees.

“This hurts,” Sarah whined as we neared the top of the staircase.

“Shocking, I thought you’d be used to being on your knees by now.” Kitty laughed as she pushed herself off the floor and wobbled onto her feet. “Careful, guys, the floor is kind of unstable.”

“That’s just the tequila, stupid,” Jade mumbled before climbing the rest of the way.

“If you call me stupid, I’m not gonna let you play with my toys,” Kitty warned, waving her finger at her.

And just like that, I was transported back to kindergarten.

“Guys,” I hissed, trying to steady myself, “I think the stairs are a fucking time machine.”

Jade scoffed and helped me get off the floor. Kitty struggled to find the keyhole while we all complained for her to hurry up and get it in.

Suddenly, a door on the other side of the hall started to creak open. We froze like deer in highlights. I was certain it was the end of my short life, right when it started getting exciting too.

I don’t remember why I was so convinced death was upon me, but I can recall the two men peeking out of the door across the hall.

“Oh,” Kitty sighed in relief. “It’s just my sexy neighbor.”

“Neighbor?” I asked. “Singular neighbor?” It then became clear I was fucked up.

Jade whistled at the man who was trying to decipher what exactly he had walked in on. “Hey, baby. You want to come in for a drink?”

Kitty elbowed her in the boob, and she let out an oof .

“He’s married,” she hissed.

Jade was completely unfazed and leaned against the wall with the intent to be sexy. For any sober mind, she probably just looked like a drooling mess.

“You into Hispanics?” she asked. “Cause I’m the Juan.”

We lost it. I was doubled over in laughter by the time Kitty finally opened the door. We poured in, one right after the other. I was still giggling when I noticed her fuzzy pink rug and mismatched furniture calling to me. I hurried to the sofa, claiming a spot near the window.

The next few hours were a colorful blur, and I wasn’t positive there wasn’t something in my drink. When Kitty retrieved her package from the bedroom, we gathered around to see the toys.

“Tara,” Sarah tried to pry my attention off the bottle of wine in front of me. “You ever deepthroat a guy?”

I shook my head, and I could practically see the light bulb appear above her.

“Jade hand me a dick,” she instructed, and Jade obeyed. “See, what you do is—” Sarah’s instruction was cut off by the eight-inch dildo in her mouth. She still tried to explain the process, but it came out as slobbery, muffled words.

My eyes grew wider with every inch she devoured. “That cannot be healthy.”

Jade snorted. “She used to struggle with bulimia in high school. Pretty much has a non-existent gag reflex now.” A pang of sympathy echoed through my chest.

“We’re not all that gifted, though,” Kitty remarked.

Sarah pulled the dildo out of her throat with a smack of her lips. “Yeah, Kitty would choke on a baby carrot.” She grinned.

“I would not!” Kitty protested.

“Would too,” Sarah said, flipping the dildo end over end like a magician with a trick coin.

“Would not. Remember Tony Stewart?” Kitty’s voice cracked just a bit, like she regretted bringing him up the second his name left her mouth.

Sarah cackled. “That means nothing. He was the size of a milk dud.”

Kitty’s face turned the shade of a firetruck. “Fine, pass me the dick.”

Sarah handed it over like she was bestowing a sword to a knight, her expression half pride, half challenge. Kitty held it with both hands like it might explode, but to her credit, she didn’t back down.

I stood there, caught between horrified fascination and helpless laughter, watching these girls argue over their oral résumés like they were comparing job skills.

This was my life now.

And honestly? I didn’t hate it.

Jade whistled as Kitty stuffed the dildo into her mouth. “See?” She gargled and began to choke with the dick still lodged in her throat.

Death by dick, what a fulfilling way to go.

Sarah and Jade quickly removed the dildo in just enough time for Kitty to dump the contents of her stomach on the floor. I winced, my own gut retching at the sight.

I stared at the bottom of my wine glass as Jade helped Kitty off the floor and into the bathroom. My phone still hadn’t chimed or rung; it was time to call again. But I couldn’t do it here. Dad would have to wait.

“I’ve got to go, Sarah,” I slurred, the wine hitting me all at once as I stood too fast. My legs wobbled, and the room tilted slightly, like I was standing on the deck of a rocking boat.

Later, I’d wish Sarah had stopped me. Maybe told me I was too drunk to go anywhere. Maybe insisted I crash on the couch or forced me to chug some water. But instead, she just smiled, a little too relaxed herself, and said, “I’ll call you a cab.”

Minutes blurred into each other, and before I fully processed it, I was folding myself into the backseat of a cab, the vinyl sticking to my thighs. The driver didn’t say a word, which I appreciated.

I leaned my head against the cool window, the faint vibration of the road working its way up my spine, lulling me into a drowsy trance.

I should go home. I should call Dad. I should?—

Sleep clawed at me, pulling me toward a blackout that felt as inevitable as the hangover waiting for me on the other side.

But just as my eyelids started to flutter shut, a bolt of panic shot through me. My purse.

My hands patted my lap and the seat beside me, nothing . “Shit,” I muttered, brain stumbling through the night’s events, trying to remember where I’d left it. Pink Cherrie. It had to still be there.

Redirecting the cab driver while half-drunk felt like trying to solve a math equation underwater.

My tongue fumbled over the address, the words sticking together, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he understood me at all.

But eventually, after some confused back-and-forth, he turned the car around.

With the first part of my mission accomplished, I leaned back and felt my eyes droop shut while the streetlamps blurred by.