I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

1

PLAY MUSIC

At a bumping, flashing club, I order a round of drinks for myself and my friend...who I once dated. Sam.

"So the motherfucker texts their card info, you should have seen how fast I saved it!!!!"

"Was it a guy?" I hear a bit of shielded jealousy in his tone.

"I don't even know." The bartender hands us glasses of vodka mixed with orange juice. I down mine in five seconds and slide the glass away with a cockiness. "Thank yoooouuuuuu for putting this on tab! I'm gonna tip you big."(With my new card info, of course). I wink at the skinny emo kid who grins widely before going to serve others. I slide from a barstool and go to the dance floor, hopping like a crazed bunny to bass-filled music. Once in a wavering crowd, I twerk to the rhythm. "Bitch, you gotta drive. I'm drunk!" My cut up, midnight shirt swings, my flawless lace wig bounces. I know my tiny ass is snatched in these black skinny jeans I have on. I catch a few hoes watching as I work my hips.

"Don't try anything!" Sam, the buzzkill, warns in a shout over ever-rising music.

I roll my eyes. "Or what?!"

"Or you'll go to jail!"

I stop dancing, feeling deflated from his serious mood. I turn to Sam, the only one not dancing. "Fuck off, why ya mad? You can use the card too! We can go shopping! And-"

"You don't even know how much money is on there!"

"YES, I DO! $10,000 HOE!" I clap my hands with each word.

Sam gives a baffled look, ready to question how I knew this information. "How.."

I cut him off with a flick of my wrist. "Google. Google is god. I paid for the account information." A buzz vibrates the inside of my skinny jeans, shaking my skin. I jam my hand into a tight pocket that holds my phone, struggling to get enough wiggle room to even take it out. I strain my fingers for a bit before retrieving my phone. Damn tight pants...

Now under neon lights, I read a text on my lock screen while swaying to hype music. "Come here, look look look!!" I exclaim, dying in laughter and waving Sam closer. He inches over to see what I want.

Text: Fuck you, I'm tracking your phone 🔪

"HAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!" I bellow over the music.

My Reply: Imma just get another 😛

Sam disapproves of my text, huffing, he tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But when I'm this lit, my grip is like glue. "Uh uh, stop!" I smell alcohol on my breath and feel the drinks doing their work. The room spins.

"How much have you spent?!" He hisses, coming a little too close to my face. "This is dangerous!"

I huff, then blow raspberries at him before power walking to the restroom. With each step I take through close-knitted partiers, I feel Sam tailing after me.

In an untidy restroom, with tissues and wrappers all over the floor, I enter a stall and drop my phone in the toilet. I flush it and watch it whirlpool around the bowl; illuminating it with its white glow. My eyes dart to my wrist, where I've written the card number in pen. I smirk, then turn to Sam, raising my shoulders rhythmically to the booming, muffled beat outside. "Solved!"