Chapter Text
July 12, 1987. Los Angeles, California
Patricia wakes up to touch and sticky-warm heat, pressure of an arm hanging heavy over her waist. A steady breath at her nape and a small groan in her ear. The gravelly sound reminds her of where she is. Who she’s lying next to. How she got here.
Last night isn’t a blur, but it's definitely a mistake.
A couple of days after a breakup and she’s already naked in the arms of someone else. She told herself she wouldn’t do this. That she’d let herself actually take a breath before bed hopping.
Some things never change.
Eyelids drift open, slowly taking in the small studio apartment she ended up in this time around. Tangerine glow streaming in through blinds makes her blink, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. There's a bowl of pink-white seashells next to a pack of Marlboro Reds on the nightstand. The lazy hum of a fan running that does nothing but blow humid air around. Lingering scent of sandalwood incense and cologne and cigarette smoke.
Patricia looks behind her and sees tangled waves of sandy blonde hair, closed eyes with lashes long enough to envy. Square jaw and the flex of muscle under sun-kissed skin.
Well, at least she still has good taste.
She needs to get out of here. Not smart of her to have spent the night when she has to work on the other side of the city. She attempts to sneak out from under the strong arm holding her down. She’s quickly yanked close against a hard chest and...a hard dick.
“Leaving so soon?” a raspy voice murmurs. Hot on her earlobe. Tingles in her lower back at the way the sound vibrates through her core. Unfair that he looks like that and has a voice that melts her down to honey.
“I’ve really got to go.”
“Stay for a bit...Patricia.” He tests her name on his tongue, buries his mouth in her hair and neck. Inhales deeply. God, is he smelling her? “It is Patricia, right?”
“Yes. And I have to go to work.”
“It’s a Sunday.”
“Believe it or not, some people work weekends.”
“Sounds shitty.” The arms only tighten on her. His chin curled into her shoulder.
“The things I gotta do to stay alive in this town.”
“Why don’t you stay here and do something else?" Teasing fingers stroke down her belly. Down to the edge of her trimmed blonde bush. Grazing. She glances over her shoulder at him and two pairs of blue eyes connect. Feels like a static shock. A chemical reaction, heart stuttering in her chest. “Fuck, you’re even prettier than I remember."
“Have to go.” Patricia squirms, imagery of last night swarming her with every touch and word from him. Flashes of him grinding into her, coaxing out her release.
“Jesus, it’s like I woke up next to Playmate of the Month” he purrs, hand drifting up, fingers smoothing strands of hair away to kiss her spine. "You should be Miss July."
Patricia's brows furrow, even as the slide of his tongue makes her break out in goosebumps, her hips pushing instinctively back into him. “What?"
“You know.” His hand captures her breast. “Blonde. Smokin’ hot. Stacked.” He gropes the fleshy curve of her ass. "Perfect bunny."
A bright red alert goes off in Patricia’s head, urging her into action. “I have to go now.” She elbows the ribs of the lech behind her and escapes. Tiptoes around the bed to find her things, arms folded over her breasts.
“Did I say something?”
She doesn’t look at him. If she does, she’ll get sucked into his horny thrall. “You basically called me a slut.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You said I look like a Playboy girl...” She drifts off, distracted, scanning the cluttered floor. Where the hell is her bra?
“Bunny,” he quips. “Compliment, obviously.”
"Didn’t feel like one.”
“I mean, I could have said you look like a porn star. You seem a bit classier than that though.”
Patricia ignores him. Pretends she can't feel him soaking her in, leering.
“Why are you covering yourself up? A little late for modesty, baby."
“Because you gawk like a pervert. Feels like I’m under a microscope.”
"With a body like that, you'd think you'd be used to it."
Patricia has no comeback. Keeps her gaze averted. She finds her black underwear laying on the hardwood, useless after getting soaked through the night before. Ugh, she should never forget to bring an extra pair. She retrieves her purse from the beige loveseat lining the wall, zips it open and stuffs her underwear in. Spots her fishnet stockings and rolls them up one leg at time.
There’s a lewd sound of air sucked between teeth. “No panties, huh? I like it."
“Proving my point, pervert.”
“Take it easy, sweetheart. Just admiring the view.”
There's the clink of a cigarette lighting and Patricia glances up. It’s embarrassing how hot she flares at the vision of him spread out on the pillows. A sleepy lion. Golden mane flowing out around his shoulders. Bedroom eyes travelling over her. Biceps rippling as he stretches. She swallows. Forces her gaze downwards.
That’s when she sees something twisted. Her bra on the floor. Scarlet and lace. Another red alert.
“Wait." She picks it up by the strap. “Why is this here?”
“You took off all your clothes about a minute after we got in, remember?” he muses between drags.
“But I wore a black bra last night.” She finally sees it at the edge of the bed, straps spread out like wings.
Then it hits her. She loaned her red bra to Amy a few days ago during a fashion emergency. Which would mean. No.
“Shit,” Patricia breathes, disgust rising fast.
“What?”
“You were the one that Amy slept with?”
“Who?”
“The girl who wore this bra. Her name is Amy.”
“Fuck if I know.” He shrugs. “Was way more drunk that night.”
Patricia scrunches her nose. “So this would have happened Friday night?”
"I guess."
Now Patricia knows exactly who Amy was referring to when she kept raving about hot sex with a blonde stranger yesterday.
“So you fucked my best friend the night before we did it.”
He sits up on his elbows, face going serious. “I didn’t know you guys were friends. Never even met you before last night.”
“It’s just...weird.”
“Fuck," he sighs, hand running through blonde locks. A quick pull of smoke from his cigarette. "Look, if I had met you both on the same night, I would have absolutely picked you. Hands down. If it makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn't.”
“Jesus, sorry I didn’t know you existed before I fucked whats-her-face," he gripes, tamping his cigarette out in his overflowing bedside ashtray.
What a manwhore. The exact type she promised herself she’d stay away from, right down to the long hair and pretty face. It's like the universe designed him to tempt her. Foolish of her to fall for it. Again.
“Her name is Amy,” Patricia repeats. She shoves the unholy bra in her bag. Grabs her gauzy black one from off the bed and puts it on, strategically, away from that prying gaze. ”It’s fine. Whatever, I have to go.”
Her eyes roam the room for her little black dress. No sign of it anywhere.
“Lookin’ for somethin’?”
The skimpy number hangs from his fingers. It seems even tinier in his grasp. She walks over and attempts to snatch it but he evades her. Another swipe but he does it again. She gives him a testing look, open palm extended.
“Give it back.”
“Come get it.” He sways the fabric back and forth, challenge in his eye.
He looks so pleased with himself. She could seriously strangle him.
“Look, what’s your name again?”she snaps. “Bob? You’re not being cute, okay. Give me my shit back.”
He gives her a genuinely annoyed glare.“The name’s Billy, sweetheart. And from the way you were screaming it last night, pretty sure you know that.”
Her whole body burns pink. She keeps reaching over him as he dodges, aware that he's getting a great view of her tits, cleavage spilling. Frustration makes her straddle him, fighting for it. When she finally has the dress in her hands, the triumph is short-lived. She looks at his smirking face and knows she fell into an easy trap, her thighs tight around his waist. Big hands travel over her ass, grip her hips and squeeze. Uncanny electricity flickers between them and she freezes up. She’s staring into ocean-blue, paralyzed.
Then those eyes do that dreamy hooded thing and she’s in big trouble. Gets a rush of slick heat between her legs. Against his bare skin. Billy’s white teeth drag over his bottom lip.
"You're so fuckin’ wet, gorgeous,” he murmurs. Appreciative fingers slipping between them to stroke her through her fishnets. Softly, with reverence. She pushes into his touch, can’t resist. “C’mon, stay for a while. Wanna watch you come again.”
It's difficult to hide her hunger. Especially when his thumb swirls around her sensitive bud like that.
“I’m kinda sore,” she says weakly, breathless. Thighs quivering from the growing bliss.
It's the truth.They fucked three times in a row last night. Two times rough and raw, one time feverishly slow. She came so hard back to back she thought her soul left her body.
He writhes his hips up, persuasive, tease of a voice casting spells. “I’ll be real gentle, baby.”
She’s quickly approaching the sinful edge of the cliff Billy’s guiding her over. Pied Piper of Perversion. She glances at his alarm clock. Shit, she’s late.
“I gotta go.” She somehow tears herself away, bounding off the bed. Senses returning. She pulls her slinky dress over her head. Finds her acid-washed jean jacket and slides it over her arms.
“Wait, Trish.”
“Don’t think we’re on a nickname basis, buddy,” she snorts, adjusting her collar, ruffling her bedhead in the speckled mirror on the wall. Christ, she looks like hot trash. “No one calls me that, either.”
“Okay, Patricia,” he enunciates, arm folding behind his head. “When can I see you again?”
“I'm thinking never?” She slips her leather purse over her shoulder. Another glance in the mirror and she sees her fishnets have a run in them. Perfect.
"Seriously?" He chuckles but there's a layer of offense under it. “You got fucked that good and you don’t want another round?"
Patricia's head tilts back for a laugh, equally peeved. “God, you’re arrogant.”
There's no counterpoint for that. “At least let me give you a ride to work.”
They wouldn't make it a block without him pouncing. “No thanks.” She pulls on a black heeled boot. Hopping on one leg. Almost falls flat on her face.
“Stubborn chick, huh? Bet that's bit you in the ass more than once.”
True, but she's not about to admit that.“You wish.”
His mouth spreads into a sly grin as he perches up on an elbow. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind biting it for you.”
“Goodbye.” She twists the doorknob. "Have a nice life."
“Wait-”
“What?” She spins to face him. Ready to burst. Not sure what sin she wants to commit, lust or wrath.
“I shouldn’t have said that you looked like a Playboy bunny. What I should have said is that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Way more accurate.”
That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. She stands there, door quarter of the way open. His eyes are glued to hers, watching, waiting for her response. The corner of his mouth twitches. Cocky.
“You’re good. I’ll give you that,” she says with a huff. The door slams shut behind her.
She makes her way down the stairwell to the lobby. Exits through the front doors, stepping out into light and heat. She spots a payphone across the parking lot and breathes a sigh of relief. Now she can call a cab.
Patricia's heels click against sparkling pavement as she tries to ignore how wet and swollen she still is where Billy played with her. Then she glances back at the old apartment building and remembers.
She gave him her number last night. How stupid of her.
The smart thing to do would be to screen her calls this week. Make sure she never talks to him again. She's got a gnawing feeling that if she's not careful he's going to sweep her up like a tornado. Fling her out into the abyss after he fucks her into oblivion.
Basically, it would be a complete mess.
It's shameful knowing how much she'd love every minute of it.