Read Online Poison Shy by Stacey Madden - Free Book Online Page A

cross the street. Its momentum almost pulled me onto the road.
    As I neared the string of campus bars, someone behind me shouted, “Brandon Galloway eats dick!”
    I spun around and saw Chad, his arm wrapped around Farah’s gourd-like waist. The top four buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing a mass of wiry chest hair. Farah smelled as though she’d just taken a bath in Chanel No. 5.
    Chad cocked his head at me. “Hot date?” He turned to Farah. “What’d I tell you? The guy’s a Casanova.”
    â€œI’m meeting Melanie, actually.”
    Chad lowered his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He looked like an ape. “Melanie . . .”
    â€œThe redhead.”
    â€œOh! Right on. We’re hitting up Shock for martinis.” He leaned toward me and mock-whispered, “I’m gonna get her
smashed
!”
    Farah whacked him playfully on the shoulder.
    â€œAll right, we better get going,” Chad said. “I want to make sure we get the loveseat by the fireplace.”
    They started down the street, Chad’s right hand clinging firmly to Farah’s backside. As I waited to cross the road, Chad shouted, “Hey Brandon! Don’t forget to equip your little soldier before you send him into battle! You can never be too careful!” He threw back his head and laughed.
    I zigzagged through a gathering of future lung cancer patients outside The Bloody Paw and found a seat at the bar. Melanie wasn’t there. Viktor Lozowsky stood behind the beer taps, setting shots on fire. When he finished, he handed the flaming glasses to a white girl with dreadlocks and her purple-haired boyfriend. They blew out their drinks and gulped them down in unison. The boyfriend let out a whoop and wiped his eyes, while the girl thumped her chest with a toddler-sized fist.
    â€œWhat can I get you?”
    Lozowsky seemed to be looking just to the right of my face. The ceiling lights reflected off his waxy bald head. I wasn’t sure he was speaking to me.
    â€œYou deaf or something, slim?”
    â€œSorry, I . . . I’ll wait to order if that’s okay. I’m meeting someone.”
    He slung a greasy towel over his shoulder. “I remember you. The boring beer guy.”
    I tried to laugh but it came out in a sneeze.
    â€œYou mind if I ask who you’re meeting? I get a lot of regulars in here.”
    I looked at the nest of crumpled twenties bursting from his pouch. “Her name’s Melanie.”
    â€œMelanie Blaxley? Red hair?” He snickered. “She was just here. I think she went to the bathroom. Hopefully she’s not barfing all over the hand dryer. It was expensive to replace last time.”
    A loud cat-call came from behind me. I turned and there was Melanie, strutting out of the bathroom in yellow short shorts and a black baby-tee. It had an image of a giraffe with the words
DEEP THROAT
written along its neck in letter-shaped spots. On her feet she wore a pair of pink pumps, small enough for a doll. She stuck up her middle finger at the guy who’d whistled — a Che Guevara wannabe in a beret — and continued in my direction, hips swaying. Her unsupported breasts vibrated with each step.
    â€œYou’re late, prick. And you better close your mouth or you’re going to drool all over your zipper.”
    â€œSorry, I — Aren’t you cold?”
    â€œWeather doesn’t scare me.” I caught a whiff of her perfume (raspberries) and her armpits (sweet chili).
    â€œReady to order?” Lozowsky asked.
    I had to think for a moment. “Yeah, I’ll have . . . Let’s see. I’ll have a rum and Coke.”
    â€œPsshh.” Melanie shook her head.
    â€œWhat?”
    She ignored me and turned to Viktor. “Give me the usual. In a frosted mug this time.”
    â€œThe usual?” I asked her. “What’s that?”
    â€œIt’s this awesome drink called an Adios Motherfucker. Whole bunch