Page 3 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers

CHAPTER THREE

MAEREN

Staring at myself in the mirror makes me feel a hell of a lot better than I did this morning.

After saying goodbye to Sage, I went back home feeling a little lighter and a bit excited for this evening.

I spent some time picking out the right outfit and I settled on a pair of skintight, high waisted jeans that hug all the right places.

Black glittery heeled booties add a couple inches to my height, and a black bodysuit with a deep V makes my boobs look great.

I pair it all with my favorite gray leather moto jacket.

I am too old to not wear a coat to the bar.

I can still hear echoes of Sage chanting “Hoes don't get cold!" from our college days, but I'm freshly twenty-eight and I absolutely do get cold. Northern Minnesota weather is brutal once the sun goes down, whatever the season.

My hair hangs down to the middle of my back in naturally loose waves. My makeup is minimal, but of course I have a red lip, a stark contrast to my pale skin. I’ll admit I look good; damn good .

It’s not often Sage can drag me out, but when I’m done looking myself over, I’m extremely ready to leave my comfort zone behind tonight.

I could use the distraction and maybe a few drinks will make all my mommy problems fade away.

I text Sage to let her know I’m ready and grab my purse before heading outside to wait.

We park at a club called The White Rabbit. Once we get out of the car, Sage gets a good look at my full outfit, letting out a whistle and hollering, “Damn girl, maybe you’ll be the one getting laid tonight.”

“Oh please, you always look amazing,” I say, blushing.

And she really does. Tonight she’s in high waisted, dark wash skinny jeans that show off her Latina curves, a busty maroon top, and a black leather jacket that matches her knee-high boots.

Her dark shoulder length hair is pin straight, and she’s got a full face of makeup.

She’s gorgeous with tan skin and brown eyes.

“Plus, I don’t have any intention of finding a man.

You know I don’t really go out of my way to meet people.

” I really don’t. I’ve dated around here and there, but it’s never gone very far, just a few months at best. I’m not comfortable letting people get too close to me for obvious reasons.

It’s not exactly easy to say, “Hey, by the way, I have a totally fucked up family dynamic and it’s extremely embarrassing.

But don’t worry, I’m completely normal and not at all like my mentally unstable, narcissistic and abusive mom! ”

I’d rather avoid that entire situation by staying mostly single.

Anytime it seems like people are getting too close, I cut them off.

It’s a horrible defense mechanism, I know, but I think I’d rather jump off a bridge than face the utter humiliation of any partner meeting my mom.

Maybe I could just pretend she’s been dead for a while?

But that would only hold up for so long—single life, it is.

Sage pulls me out of my morbid thoughts and back to my surroundings.

“Yeah, Maeren, I know, I know, but… you never know when that could change. You just might meet the love of your life one day and it will all be thanks to me dragging you to the club and straight into your true love’s awaiting arms. It’ll be a love story to tell your grandchildren one day. ”

I snort, rolling my eyes at her dramatics and the very unrealistic expectation she has set for me. I don’t think I’d ever want to tell my grandchildren about meeting a man at a club.

Hard pass, Sage.

We walk up to the unmarked club doors and say this weekend’s password before being let in by the bouncer.

This is Sage’s favorite spot. The White Rabbit is kind of like a speakeasy-club hybrid.

After entering the front door, we walk down a short hallway to a second set of doors that are buzzed open.

Unnecessary? Yes. Another layer of fun? Absolutely.

I can feel the bass pumping through me once we enter the actual club.

To the left side of the room are rows of leather booths with velvet curtains draped on each side, some closed for privacy.

The energy in here is palpable and I take in the bodies filling the booths, surrounding the pool tables, dancing, and lining the bar.

We find a couple of empty seats at the bar and Sage calls over a bartender for our drinks.

She orders my usual Moscow mule and her vodka cranberry.

We down our drinks and order another round, not wanting to take things slow tonight. We are in full on celebration mode.

One of the best things about the White Rabbit is that they play the best indie and alternative rock, skipping all of the overplayed mainstream pop found at most bars in the area.

When the next song starts, Sage squeals with excitement.

“Let’s go dance!” She doesn’t give me the chance to answer before tugging me through the sea of sweaty bodies, our drinks in tow.

Once we start dancing, the drinks go down easy and two turns into three.

A guy comes up behind Sage and starts grinding up against her.

She gives him a devious smile and presses herself tight against him.

She quickly forgets I’m there at all, lost in her own world and forever the main character.

I take that as my cue to go to the restroom.

I walk towards the small hall that leads to the bathrooms, enjoying the space I’m afforded away from the hot and stuffy mass of bodies. I spot the restroom sign and as I round the corner, I run right into a solid mass of a person.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention,” I rush out, a little slur lacing my words as the alcohol takes effect. I take a step back, looking up into sharp gray eyes.

In front of me stands a man who’s height towers over me, and though I’m not really a short woman, he’s got at least six inches on me, placing him around six feet even.

He’s broad and his biceps stretch the sleeves of the gray t-shirt he’s wearing.

My eyes snag on the tattoos peeking out from under one of his sleeves and then slide down his body, taking in his distressed jeans and boots, before looking back up and making note of his sharp jawline, clean shaven face, and messy brown hair.

He’s clearly fit, though not too bulky, and absolutely striking.

“Are you going to stare at me all night or move out of the way?” His deep voice sends a chill through my entire body, the rumble of it curling my toes.

“Right, sorry. I am seriously so sorry,” I repeat. Great. I am clearly flustered and absolutely embarrassing myself.

I move to the side and stumble a step. The stranger reaches out a hand, grabbing hold of my upper arm and steadying me so I don’t faceplant.

A jolt shoots through me at the contact.

Normally I’d attribute the feeling to fear or discomfort.

Considering my upbringing, I don’t tend to react well to random physical contact, but I can’t help wondering if the electric feeling is caused by something more.

I don’t dwell on it for more than a second, realizing he only grabbed me because he thinks I can’t walk, which is a fair assumption at this point with the amount of alcohol swimming through my veins.

“Someone can’t handle their alcohol. Maybe be more careful? You never know who’s waiting around for a woman to take advantage of.”

The stranger says it in a menacing tone, echoing the same thoughts I often have when I’m alone at night. I don’t know if it’s a threat, but it definitely felt like one.

Yuck, this is part of why I hate going out. There are always so many creepy ass men.

His comment hits me like a bucket of ice water, instantly sobering me. “Right. So, get the hell off of me,” I snap, yanking my arm from his grip before stalking into the bathroom, not bothering to spare him a second glance.

So. Fucking. Weird.

I fluff my hair and blot my face in the bathroom mirror, still uncomfortable from the whole encounter with the rude, slightly intimidating, slightly creepy, but definitely attractive man.

Exiting the bathroom I make sure no one is in my way this time and then head back to the dance floor, looking for Sage with every step, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Maybe she’s already left for the night? It wouldn’t surprise me, girl’s got some serious game.

I check my phone and see a message from her twenty minutes ago.

11:15 pm: Hey Mae, I linked up with one of my previous hookups ;) I don’t mean to ditch you on your birthday so call me if you want me to come back or pick you up! We’re only five minutes away.

Ugh . Great. Just what I needed, being ditched on my birthday, leaving me stranded, drunk, and utterly alone.

Totally against girl code, Sage. My vision sways as I reread her message and think up a reply that isn’t too bitchy.

I text back, just mildly annoyed, and let her know it’s fine and I’ll Uber home.

So much for a fun celebratory girls night out together.

I can’t say I blame her for achieving the goal she had set for tonight.

Good for her—at least one of us is getting laid—but I selfishly don’t want to be here by myself.

I’m not a social butterfly and making friends with other drunk girls in the bathroom doesn’t seem appealing.

My warm bed and quiet room is sounding really, really good right now.

But considering it is my birthday, I decide I deserve another drink.

Just one more. Plus, I don’t feel sad when I’m intoxicated.

A bad coping mechanism, I’m sure, but hey, it’s one night.

Making my way back to the bar, I elbow my way through a crowd surrounding a pool table, trying my best to not step on any toes.

Once I snag my final drink, I down it, feeling really, really good. So good, in fact, that the dance floor seems to be calling my name. Fuck it, I can have fun on my own, I’m already here anyways.

My tipsy brain is way more enjoyable than my far too rational sober one—why ruin a perfectly fine night by leaving early?

The weird encounter earlier leaves my mind as my vision gets fuzzy around the edges and the room spins. So, maybe four drinks wasn’t a good idea after all, but it feels freeing to lose a little focus and, therefore, a little stress. I deserve this.

The music is entrancing as I close my eyes and sway my body, dancing amidst the crowd.

I’m lost in the music when hands set themselves on my waist and a body presses firmly against me.

The heat of the moment feels euphoric. I haven’t been touched like this in so long and I find myself leaning into it, dancing against this total stranger. I’m suddenly so glad I stayed.

One song fades to the next and we keep moving together, a sweat working itself up across my body, and it's not just from the exertion. The hands continue to grip my hips, thumbs brushing beneath the waistband of my jeans. I flush at the thought of being this close to someone I don’t know while we dance so intimately with one another.

I soak up the rare attention, knowing it’s something I normally never allow.

The need to see who has me this out of my element, this open and willing to let another so close, overcomes me.

As I rotate my body, the hands and heat against my back suddenly disappear.

Whoever was there is gone in an instant, leaving me flushed, alone, and a little irritated.

As soon as my dance partner deserted me, I took an Uber home to my apartment, letting Sage know I made it home safely so she wouldn’t worry about me ending up on Dateline or Forty-Eight Hours . If I did though, it would totally be her fault.

I stumble up my steps, trying not to faceplant in my heels. Reaching my apartment door, I jumble with my keys, willing my vision to stabilize so I can get the key in the doorknob. After several failed attempts and a few swear words, I finally get it, rushing inside.

The moment I reach my bedroom, I kick off my heels, not caring that they go flying across my room and hit the wall.

I groan as I peel off my tight pants, my feet getting stuck in them before I finally manage to kick them off completely.

Each layer gone feels amazing and I’m relieved to be out of my sweaty clothes.

I throw my hair up into a messy bun before turning on the shower and stepping into a cool stream of water, washing away the sweat that clings to me and the grimy feeling the club always leaves me with.

Feeling a lot more sober, I heat up some leftover food, knowing it’ll help with my hangover. Once I’ve eaten I crawl into bed, the exhaustion of tonight hitting me all at once.

I startle awake in a cold sweat, feeling off.

I glance at my phone, squinting my eyes as the bright screen shows the time being 4:02 am.

Weird, I usually sleep like the dead and nothing can wake me.

Maybe it was just an already forgotten bad dream that stirred me.

I turn on my bedside lamp and steady my breathing, trying not to freak myself out with pointless worry.

I glance around my room to see if anything is amiss, just in case.

Everything is normal as I settle back into my warm duvet.

No intruders or ghosts to be found, just Gracie fast asleep and purring at my feet.

My mind drifts to the stranger I ran into at the bar and his weird comment, and then to the stranger I danced with, replacing my worry with a little… excitement .

Great, I do not need to be horny over a stranger I met in the club when it’s four in the morning.

I try to shut off the feeling of hands on my waist and the heat of his body on mine, but I can’t.

I think about how good he felt against me, how small I felt compared to him, and how desired he made me feel with his touch alone.

I can feel the heat building between my thighs and I slip my hand down into my pajama shorts, feeling the wetness already pooling between my legs.

Wonderful. I am thoroughly turned on by a faceless, nameless stranger from a bar. This is a new low for me.

I pull my hand out, disgusted by my depravity and not willing to see where my mind and body would venture if I gave into my lustful thoughts.

I turn my light off in shame, trying and failing to get back to sleep.

After an hour of tossing and turning, I give up and settle for an early start to my morning and the promise of a midday nap.