* filled up with smoke | OPEN

[SHILOH BRIGHTON]

HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY DAYS,
ARE GOING ALL THE WAY

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, JUST TAKE THE FALL, YOU'RE ONE OF US[/color][/b][/font]
the spotlight is on[/color][/font]
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For all the people in the place, Shiloh felt remarkably at home in the masses. Ike’s was a popular destination in Vegas and Friday nights were the one time that everyone felt it absolutely necessary to visit. The billiards bar was teeming with tottering drunks and sneaky sharks all meshed in a wonderful tangle of mingling limbs. Couples groped each other with blind faith in the middle of things, unaware that four or five people were either doing the same or watching the proceedings with varying degrees of interest. Regulars clapped each other happily on the back, spurring the others on to chug, chug, chug. College students circled the opposite sex like starving prey, waiting for the moment to spring the pick-up lines and university key chains.

Nestled in her own little corner was, of course, Shiloh. She had come with a few friends from the shop and around the first half hour, she’d lost them and regained them at random intervals. Occasionally, a totally wasted one stumbled past with a salute to her and giggles galore. But mostly, she was alone. Not that she minded because she truly preferred her own company over the world’s. Oyster or not. She was perched on a wooden stool against the farthest corner of the bar, cowboy boots crossed at the ankle and resting along the edge of a nearby table. Shiloh hadn’t had much to drink and she could truly enjoy her watch point as a result. Sobriety allowed for a lot of interesting angles but it wasn’t as though she were trying to explore all of them.

The day had been shitty at the shop. She’d lost track of time and there’d been some awkward questions with authorities out on the highway. The police always let her off. Not for good behavior or anything remotely good. More due to the fact that she just didn’t look like trouble, which was a shame for those cops, really, because they had not a clue as to what she got up to. But as was custom, Shiloh did her repentant girl routine and soon she was headed back to the grinding of gears and welding materials. She had work to do, whether or not someone caught her at it was another matter to be dealt with. Dealt with. Shiloh felt the corner of her mouth turn down in a half-frown; her dealer was late today. They would have to meet about this. She didn’t like tardiness.

The inhabitants of a nearby table had grown raucous. Pitcher after pitcher had delivered much golden, bubbly goodness and now it seemed that the cup did runneth over. Shiloh flicked a wayward curl from her line of sight to catch a glimpse of what all the fuss was over. Oh. Apparently, someone had taken to dancing atop the billiards table with clothing that was doing a disappearing act. That was new. She shook her head at the proceedings and waved for another Jack and Coke. The waitress stopped asking her what she’d like to drink months ago. That should have been a sign.

Instead, Shiloh just tipped a little more than usual.

An ominous-looking eight ball skittered along the green of her battered and abandoned table. Shiloh felt the edges of her temper singe and curl with impending heat. It never took very much. But the drinks definitely slowed the process. Her head jerked in the direction of the offender. Assholes. Fucking cock-sucking bastards ruining her reverie, never mind that she wasn’t actually doing anything but still.

“Hey, why don’t you go fuck yourselves?” She asked in the general direction of the offender, unhooking her ankles and looping them around the wooden rungs of the stool instead. Shiloh felt a smile was in order but the Jack was having a field day with her motorskills. So she settled for a maniacal smirk.

STATUS: done!
RESERVED: open!
MUSIC: decode - paramore!

[DEAN BRAXTON]

don’t you know that you’re toxic ?
I TOOK A SIP FROM MY DEVIL’S CUP
SLOWLY, IT’S TAKING OVER ME

There were things Dean Braxton simply didn’t understand about women.

The thing about women was that they were apparently morally obligated to be complicated. And the thing about men like Dean-Vincent Braxton was that he was apparently also morally obligated to understand them, and put up with their complexities. Why couldn’t they simply get to the point? They were so utterly convinced that they didn’t want casual sex, that they took pride in appearing standoff-ish and parading around with their tails between their legs. Dean could take one look at a woman and know exactly how she wanted it, when she wanted it, and where she wanted it, yet when he told them, they felt the need to deny it entirely.

As if he couldn’t see them touching themselves at the sight of him.

The cause of tonight’s plight? Marilyn Danforth. Dean had taken interest in the forty-year old vixen two nights ago, when he met her in the elevator at work. She was big-chested and curved in the most unexpected of places for women her age, which only attracted him further. One coffee break with her and he practically knew her entire life story: she was divorced, very much looking, and full of sexual innuendos for the pair of them to laugh at. Of course, she wasn’t too keen on talking about sex, but Dean ignored her evident hard-to-get play and invited her to dinner.

Mistake number one. Never, ever invite a fresh divorcee to dinner.

Well, about an hour into decent conversation and half a bottle of red wine, Marilyn wanted something stronger. Of course, she hadn’t touched her food, but he figured, if she was so eager to get drunk, she must have been eager to get a good shag at the end of all of this ridiculous foreplay. So Dean agreed, and he ushered her off to Ike’s, assuming that every middle-aged woman would want to be in the company of men and women alike who wouldn’t make her stand out, but could admire her for all her glory.

Mistake number two. Dated with middle-aged women should never go further than a quick shag in the closet at work.

Now here was Dean, perched on a bar stool, hiding his face in both hands while he watched Marilyn Danforth four shots later, hollering and undressing atop an abandoned pool table. Had she been a little less wrinky – Vinnie was more glad now that he’d been able to experience this before he saw it up close and personal in his bedroom – she may have been attractive to a few of the more desperate kind in the bar. He, dressed in his black button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, unbuttoned thrice at the collar, tucked into simple grey slacks, could not have been more ready to leave.

He massaged his temples for a bit, blocking out Marilyn’s screeching and attempting to establish some sort of intelligent plan of action to send Marilyn home safely, without tainting his name at the office. He didn’t want Marilyn Danforth to be the reason he never got mid-day closet head during his time at the LV Times.

The bartender had taken to comforting him in his obvious frustration and slid another cognac, which he was quick to curl his fingers around, and raise to his lips. As he took a sip, the angry attack of a young woman in the corner caught him off guard, and he ultimately spit his drink back into the glass, before erupting in a fit of coughs. Moments later, once he was calm, a grin spread over Vinnie’s keen lips.

Mistake number three. Not seeing the hot revolver here sooner.

Dean stood, ignoring Marilyn entirely, until he had crossed the space separating him and the young girl. “I apologize – that was my date, and then she decided to lose it.” He didn’t slip into the stool beside her though, but rather offered her a slight smile with a hint of apology marking his lips. “Dean, Vinnie if you prefer that. Listen – can I treat you to a drink elsewhere? I’d hate to see my lovely companion ruin your…” he paused, leaning over her a bit to inspect her drink, “Jack and coke?”

[SHILOH BRIGHTON]

HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY DAYS,
ARE GOING ALL THE WAY

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, JUST TAKE THE FALL, YOU'RE ONE OF US[/color][/b][/font]
the spotlight is on[/color][/font]
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Strip bars were for naked women. Young women. Big women. Skinny women. Wrinkly women. That was a strip bar’s modus operandi: nude women. Shapes, sizes and colors were all relative. The last time she checked where she was, Shiloh was pretty fucking sure it wasn’t a strip bar. She hadn’t paid a cover charge and she was sitting at a pool table. Not a strip club. Yet, here in all her geriatric glory, was some cougar on God-knew-what, doing a ridiculous drunken dance. It was atrocious and Shiloh didn’t sign up for that kind of thing when she was drinking. That sort of display had a tendency to ruin the vibes and the vibes were being razed to the ground presently.

“Jesus Christ,” Shiloh whispered to herself at the sight, her sleepy eyes wide with speechlessness.

Her attentions were diverted just as easily as they were attracted. Swinging her gaze from the topless housewife dancing to some unheard beat, Shiloh noticed the presence of a young man she hadn’t seen enter the bar. Blonde. Tall. Smiling. And from the words that came out of his mouth, very smooth. She refrained from narrowing her eyes at him. He hadn’t said anything amiss yet, so there was nothing for Shiloh to make a scene about.

Shiloh gently swung her legs around so that she could face him, realizing at once that he hadn’t sat next to her but chose to stand nearby. Tilting her head to one side, she felt her lips curl into a smile at his introduction. Vinnie. That was cute. She’d met a few here in Vegas given that, well, it was Vegas and Italians were the population majority. But this Vinnie was not dark-haired, brusque and smelling of Armani. He actually smelled like Ralph Lauren. Or she was imagining it. She was definitely imagining that he looked familiar. Shiloh remembered faces better than she remembered cars and she might as well have every importer tattooed on her arms.

“Vinnie? Hi,” Shiloh gave him a shy once over from under her thick eyelashes, “I’m Shiloh. You can call me, Shy if you’re feeling ‘original’ or just Shiloh is fine.”

Girls should not be impressed by men that could discern drinks from a mere glance. Girls, furthermore, shouldn’t be enticed by the offers that said men give. Lastly, girls should never consider such offers if they wished to have any virtue of theirs remain in tact for the rest of the evening. The problem with Shiloh was that she considered herself far above a girl. She was a lady and ladies, in her own world of convoluted thought, did not refuse tempting offers.

Swirling the amber remnants of her drink amongst the clinking ice cubes, Shiloh shrugged one shoulder, “Shame about your date. But I do think a little compensation is in order. What do you have in mind?”

STATUS: done!
RESERVED: lo-lo!
MUSIC: weekend wars - mgmt!

[DEAN BRAXTON]

don’t you know that you’re toxic ?
I TOOK A SIP FROM MY DEVIL’S CUP
SLOWLY, IT’S TAKING OVER ME

Brunettes were undoubtedly Vinnie’s favorite.
And tonight, brunettes wearing their attitude on their sleeves and a pair of cowboy boots were priority.

But on a side note, girls with attitude were always his favorite, let alone girls who knew what they wanted, and how they wanted it done. These were the girls that didn’t mess when it came down to what happened behind closed doors; they were the ones who weren’t afraid to take charge and try something new. And any girl who liked a change of pace and a lick of something on the wild side was instantly on top of Dean’s favorite girls…of the week. But even that varied from day to day, depending on his mood.

As for the matter at hand and the new woman at hand, Dean was enthralled. It wasn’t too often that young women like her sauntered into bars like Ike’s and dared to be alone, which so blatantly told Dean that she wasn’t like all of the other young women he’d been crossing for most of his life. No, there was something about her, an air of sorts that told him she had an agenda, and the drive to get the job done.

This realization caused Dean to smirk, his bright blue eyes glancing away as he applauded himself on the outcome of this night.

Sometimes, life was just too damn ironic.

At this point, Marilyn Danforth was nothing more than a distant memory, but even he knew that business had to be taken care of, amends needed to be made, and that whole chapter needed to be closed – and super-glued shut – before he could move on to bigger, well, smaller really, better things.

When his eyes found hers once more, they held hers in a trance-like gaze for a few moments as she so politely introduced herself, and he found himself chuckling. Finding her free hand, he raised it to his lips, murmuring at an appropriately intimate-but-audible volume, “Nah, Shiloh’s perfect,” before brushing his lips along the back of her hand. “Pleasure.” Chuckling, he explained. “Excuse me for a moment while I make sure my Aunt doesn’t get carried away; I’ll be back. And by the way, you’ve got great hands.”

And with that, the young man was off, one hand slipping into his pocket as he sauntered back over to the dame, casually gathering a few concerned men nearby and helping her off the table, and back into her clothes. He’d never seen breasts so unwilling to stay put, was all he could think about as he and one of the bartenders escorted Ms. Danforth outside, and into a cab. As he watched the cab pull away from the curb, he found himself silently chanting a few dozen ‘hallelujahs’ to himself, before heading back inside to his awaiting damsel.

Once by her side, and oh so thankful she’d stayed around, Vinnie’s face was brightened by a well-deserved half-grin, as he placed his hand on the back of her seat and leaned forward just a bit, a casual movement for anyone with trouble hearing over the bustling crowd. But really, it was her scent he was so curiously absorbing.

“Shiloh,” he breathed, placing his free hand on the counter and thereby innocently trapping her, with an expression that seemed to convey just how thankful he was she was still there. “I could invite you over to my place, and promise that I’m capable of mixing drinks better than I am at babysitting my mother’s sister, but you may get the wrong idea, and say no all together.” Wrong idea, shrong idea. The boy had an agenda – it was a good thing he had a way with his words. “And if that’s the case, I’d be just as willing to invite you to your choice of bar, or maybe dessert, if you’re up for it.” His smile grew a bit, and he averted his eyes, as though shyly hiding his anxiousness. “So, what do you say?”

[SHILOH BRIGHTON]

HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY DAYS,
ARE GOING ALL THE WAY

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, JUST TAKE THE FALL, YOU'RE ONE OF US[/color][/b][/font]
the spotlight is on[/color][/font]
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Shiloh’s eyes flickered over to the spectacle of the dancing woman and she had difficulty piecing the two together. Either the woman was a rich widow or the guy was a scandalous lay. The first possibility left a little to be desired. After all, she had nothing to offer a gold digger. There was her beloved and untouchable trust fund but she never spoke about that. However, the latter…that intrigued her. Shiloh had no problem with casual sex. It was one of the finer aspects of single life. And if Vinnie had the offer on the table then who was she to refuse him? After all, with stakes like that, everybody wins.

The look that Vin gave her as he kissed the back of her hand made a shuttery breath catch in Shiloh’s ribs. Well, that was a first. Definitely. She ignored it and marveled at the charm that virtually radiated off of him. The most apt term for it was just that. Radiate. Shiloh felt a little warm all of sudden, like the lights had all been turned on and her clothes had suddenly given her too much coverage. Of course, nothing had changed. Still the same billiards place, same amount of people, same clouds of smoke passing and the same wattage leaving dark areas all around. All that had changed was that Shiloh was no longer alone.

“Mhm,” She murmured with a inclination of her head in agreement, her mouth curving into an indulgent smile, “You should probably help her. She seems to have had a little too much fun on her Big Night Out…”

You’ve got great hands.

There wasn’t a reply that immediately sprang to mind at that compliment. She heard a lot of things, sure. It was Vegas; getting into people’s pants was a job in itself, compliments a social currency exchanged at every club and coffee shop. She’d been told she had eyes like twinkling stars. (That had warranted immediate laughter.) Or that she had the most swagger of any girl alive. (True but unnecessary and therefore, unimpressive.) But hands? Well…the implications. Shiloh enjoyed them, truth be told. So much so, that a sordid flood of imagery filtered through her mind at the precise moment she’d let it hang in the air between them. Nice hands, a very original line and noteworthy to say the least. Worth a hand job, at least.

She watched him leave with the faintest of grins upon her mouth, her cowboy boots swinging back and forth with anxious delight. They bumped into the legs of the stool, a dull thud sound as she contemplated just what the night held in store. And as the thoughts ran amok in her brain, too many to sufficiently pay attention to each, Shiloh saw him re-emerge and was rejoined once again. He was so close and she couldn’t find the nerve to lean away, only remaining absolutely still as he spoke.

Her choice. That was a terrible predicament. Choices meant that she could do what she willed or do what was expected. Whose expectations was she to fulfill? Hers? The more fun of the two, honestly. Or the world that was presently watching the exchange between the handsome blond and the obnoxious brunette? Well. Shiloh had always liked to say, Fuck the world. With protection, that is. And so she lifted a hand between them, half steadying herself and half inviting, to press lightly against the buttons on his shirt.

“I’d much rather skip dessert, to be really fucking honest,” She said in a low voice, the glee in her tone laced throughout. Shiloh pursed her lips as she seemed to think for a second what a situation like this could possibly need to be satisfying for both parties, “But if you’d like, we can go to another bar and we can pretend to talk and be interested. Or, and this is my personal sentiment, we can have a fun little ride - no pun intended - back to your place and I’ll give you a detailed play-by-play of how capable my ‘great hands’ are.”

Removing her hand, she tipped back her glass to finish what remained. A giggle followed her drink, “Up to you, Vin. I’m flexible.”


STATUS: done!
RESERVED: lo-lo!
MUSIC: poker face - lady gaga ft. kanye !

[DEAN BRAXTON]

don’t you know that you’re toxic ?
I TOOK A SIP FROM MY DEVIL’S CUP
SLOWLY, IT’S TAKING OVER ME

Little Miss Shiloh had spoken her share of opinions for this evening as of yet, and Dean Braxton was left with but one thing to say in return.

Holy shit.

Where were all these women hiding? Of course, this was Las Vegas, which meant there were more than enough women to share their desires for one-night romps, but the good ones were either too expensive, or unattractive under natural light. Even Dean Braxton had standards, hell; he held the highest standards. If a girl was going to have the privilege of sleeping in his bed and finishing his black coffee the next morning, she better be a breath of fresh air.

But women like the one he was currently standing in front of were a diamond in the rough, truly. He had to consciously keep from allowing his eyes to widen at the thought of exactly what she was referring to when she said a ‘detailed play-by-play’ but one thing was ultimately clear: she meant business, and he was oh so willing to comply.

At first sight, Shiloh seemed like just another under aged dame that frequented Las Vegas for holidays, and a chance to booze up. That being said, had she actually been that type, she wouldn’t have been caught dead at Ike’s of all places, since only locals seemed to know of it, or find any glamour in it at all. But the moment Shiloh had opened her tight little mouth, the tables had turned. To Dean, she was local – she had to be – and older than her height let up. Both were promising, but oh, there was more.

Needless to say, she was, or had to be, the kind of woman who chose her men wisely, and for that, Dean felt honored, though only for a moment. He hid all of his thoughts wisely under a mysterious smile, and though only hinted at on his lips, displayed his evident intrigue in her, and everything she had to offer.

More so in what she had to offer, but he was smarter than that.

With a chuckle, Dean nodded, his eyes keenly kept on her own, maintaining some intoxicating trance that only they could have sparked between themselves. This was powerful, was all Dean could think of at that moment, this is unreal. Thank you, Marilyn Danforth.

His approbation was clearly conveyed as he spent just a moment more nodding, his eyes full of amusing disbelief, before he turned his head finally, and beckoned the bartender. The two men exchanged some sort of silent exchange, and Dean discretely pointed to Shiloh’s share of drinks, like a man who had absolutely no intention of boasting of his privilege. Instead of yelling something obnoxious as “On my tab!” or whatnot, the silence complimented his style, leaving whoever had been watching with an impression that he was a regular, or at least regular enough to have a tab. “Aight. Later, Brax,” was all that was said, on part of the bartender, and Dean’s attention was back on Shiloh.
“Alright, Shiloh,” He cooed, smirking in vivid amusement. “Show me what you’ve got.”

[SHILOH BRIGHTON]

HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY DAYS,
ARE GOING ALL THE WAY

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, JUST TAKE THE FALL, YOU'RE ONE OF US[/color][/b][/font]
the spotlight is on[/color][/font]
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Shiloh recalled the first time she’d ever had sex and it was in a car. The sex is the unimportant detail of this memory, it’s the ride that counts. Hunter and Tyler’s car, to be more specific. They were twins. Implications of that mere fact aside, the car was glorious. Restored to perfection by their father years before, it was the twins’ main source of transportation. (Bar the occasional ride from mom in the Minivan of Permanent Mortification.) The twins were mirror-images, blond curls and green-eyes. Personality foils, however. Where Tyler was captain of the baseball team, Hunter was captain of the math club. And Shiloh’s primary reason for sleeping with the nerdier twin? Hunter? He had the most possession over the wheels due to his astounding three minute seniority on his brother. If it hadn’t been for Lola (as Shiloh had affectionately named her), Hunter would have died a virgin.

From fifteen forward, she’d secretly lusted for every shiny chop job she saw, wondering how the rest of the world scored Impalas and Novas while she was forced into a prim Toyota or Lexus. She didn’t want a goddamned Hybrid because saving the world wasn’t her modus operandi. Shiloh wanted chrome and candy paint to paint the streets with. While her friends longed for the sporty Chargers and adorable Mini-Coupe, she was trying to convince her father to salvage some rust bucket from the wrecking yard. No such luck. Peter Brighton’s daughter would just “not be seen careening around with her permit in an ancient disco mobile.” There was no room for argument and he’d handed her the keys to a Corolla that was intended to be some grand surprise. The first opportunity she got, Shiloh sold it for a fourth of its price and took a ‘96 Honda Skyline off the hands of a classmate. Grounding immediately followed. But it wasn’t that that bothered her; her father had demanded the Corolla be returned and the Skyline was sent back to a slow death in Jenna Vaughn’s garage.

Coming back to the present with the sounds of motors and shredded tire tread filling her brain, Shiloh drew her eyes from Vin’s. He had the swagger down to a science. That much was evident from his subtle compliments and even more subtle body language. The boy was outfitted in more sex appeal than she’d seen in a while. Shiloh should have taken a moment to reassess the situation. Who was the predator? Who was the prey? Or was it matter of pretend? After all, she was adept at putting the ruse of innocence up if that’s what was necessary. Only he didn’t seem to be interested in games or who was going to feign ‘hard-to-get.’ Lowering her gaze, shielding her thoughts which were all too readable when broadcast in her telltale eyes, Shiloh made a little show of searching for her keys.

When her fingers closed around the cool metal, she looked toward the door and then to him. Show me what you’ve got. A laugh threatened to escape her because, yes, she was just drunk enough to be giggly. Instead she quirked a corner of her lips in invitation and slid off the stool with more ability than she’d wagered was available. Inclining her head towards the door, she lead the way with a motioning of her hand to follow.

“Come on. If you can keep up then we’re in business…” She halted the heavy steps of her boots across the floor, teetering on the threshold as she barred the entrance of a few patrons. Grasping the side, she looked over her shoulder at him, “And if not…well, don’t feel bad. Not many can.”

With that, she leapt off the steps and clicked the car alarm opener in her hand. The simple movement awakened her trusty steed of the week (that was parked illegally and very much conspicuous in doing so). The headlights beamed into the faces of a couple passing by, effectively blinding them and amusing Shiloh to bits. So much for good first impressions because as far as this one was concerned, she was sure that Vin got the message loud and clear: bizarre, unstable and maniacal behind the wheel. She could only hope for that, anyway. It was a very flattering assumption.

STATUS: done!
RESERVED: lo-lo!
MUSIC: honest mistake - the bravery!

[DEAN BRAXTON]

don’t you know that you’re toxic ?
I TOOK A SIP FROM MY DEVIL’S CUP
SLOWLY, IT’S TAKING OVER ME

After seeing Shiloh’s choice of ride, two things were for sure:
1. Clearly, this woman meant business.
2. There was no way in HELL he was going to get in a car with what he assumed was a partially drunk, or at least tipsy, maniac of a vixen. Sexy as it was, he valued his life just a tad bit more.

That being said, Dean Braxton could not have been more impressed. Until now, he’d known there was something vividly unique about this particular young woman, but this was something else. He wasn’t one to pursue specific women for their money or what they could do for him – besides the obvious acts of glory in bed – but rather, for the woman and what she was, as a whole. He went for women that attracted him, that exuded brilliance, pride, the right sort of look, and passion for something or other. Women who spent their lives doing whatever the fuck others told them to do, for the sake of cutting a decent paycheck at the end of the week just didn’t fly with Dean. He was into women who needed to do what they liked doing, and who would move worlds to get what they needed.

It was evident that Shiloh would move galaxies and beyond for whatever in hell she was passionate about. And it excited the shit out of him.

He was speechless, at best, but Dean wasn’t a man of many words to begin with. He could only look on, and notice the fact that the brilliant car parked before them was not only hers, but also probably tied to what her life revolved around. It was exciting; a woman with a drive. Quite literally, in fact.

“Fuck,” he managed, in a low, breathful, husk of a voice, as one hand slipped into the pocket of his slacks, and the other rubbed at his jaw. “Shiloh, if this is yours, you’ve got an unfair advantage.” There was a hint of smirk as he drew his eyes from the car to the dame who had every intention of raping him on the road, Taking one, easy intake of her as a whole, he nodded in approbation moreso to himself, and then carried on, pleased with how fate had blessed him tonight.

Humble as he was, Dean circled the car once, grin growing the more he thought about how easy this must have been for her. The grace, the sexy silhouette, the appeal. Girls like her shouldn’t have been allowed out without a man kissing their cowboy boots at all times.

Once on the sidewalk again – he’d appropriately chosen to stand just a foot from her now – Dean nodded, and then looked to her once more. “Highland and the Strip, assuming you know your way around,” he instructed, his eyes challenging her somewhat, with a glimmer that seemed to hint at just how intrigued he was with her whole…being.

“Now, in case I don’t survive to see you on the other side,” he began, stepping in a bit closer, but with a sort of expression that displayed his amusement, but teasing, innocent swagger, “I think I deserve something to remember you by.” His right hand had fished into the pocket of his slacks for the key to his own, now seemingly incapable ride, and twirled the key ring around his finger, awaiting whatever she’d decide to respond with.

[SHILOH BRIGHTON]

HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY DAYS,
ARE GOING ALL THE WAY

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, JUST TAKE THE FALL, YOU'RE ONE OF US[/color][/b][/font]
the spotlight is on[/color][/font]
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The car was sweet. Shiloh knew that. So Vin’s reaction was expected. It wasn’t something that you saw rolling around the every day in the city. Unless you ran around with the right people. Shiloh, unknown to most of the planet, ran with exactly the right people and thus, she had the wheels to prove it. Granted, if her people knew that she was about to climb into the driver’s seat after the amount of alcohol she’d ingested -…she’d never hear the fucking end of it. The idea excited her a bit. She wondered what Damien’s face would look like when he found out his latest precious find was not only under her possession but under her intoxicated possession at that.

She couldn’t wait to climb into the cool leather seats and slam the gas pedal for all it was worth.

Another half-hearted shrug rolled through Shiloh’s shoulders, as if to say I had the unfair advantage the whole time but really, I’m going to pretend I’m driving a Hatchback. Spinning the keys around her index finger, the lights to the car dimming slightly, reflecting her pensive stance, Shiloh cocked her head in challenge. The wrong thing to do, she was sure. “I understand if you’d like to just…concede now. I won’t rub it in or anything.”

Every word dripped with amusement and the same arrogant attitude that earned her a few black eyes in her day. But this was now and now she had a gorgeous blond to impress. Impress wasn’t even the word. She just wanted to get into his pants, create a night of havoc and hair-pulling and…maybe another early morning romp. Hell, if she didn’t get that far, she was fine with that. The initial sex was the important sex. After all else, she would fade into a distant memory and he’d be an exact reflection. Why the car foreplay excited her more than the usual gas-pedal taunting was beyond her…and then he walked around her car to inspect the equipment and she remembered why.

Vinnie was a fucking fox.

When he accepted her challenge, giving the location, Shiloh’s pleased little Cheshire-cat grin curled about her pouted mouth. Stopping the spin of the jingling keys, she clutched them eagerly and tried not to spring into her car. “Oh…I know it fairly well,” She said noncommittally, as if she was a tourist with a bus pass and ambitions to conquer the entire city in one night, “I think I’ll manage okay.”

To remember her by. What a skilled man. He knew just what to say and how to say it. Shiloh, ever the pleaser, knew just what to do and how to do it. But now was not the time. How did that popsicle truck and popsicles saying go? Take the biggest one and run like hell? She didn’t know. And her Jacks and Cokes weren’t offering any suggestions either. So she did as Shiloh tends to do and ran blindly. Easing herself up on her toes, the cowboy boots offering little in way of flexibility, she gave him a vivid view from up above and reached up for the top button on his shirt. With more dexterity than alcohol allowed, she flicked open one button and ran her finger tip along the barest bit of exposed collar bone. Before she got too adventurous, she let go and was back on her feet, eyebrow raised.


“I think it’s in our best interests that you survive because there’s nothing I can do in public for you to remember me by…at least, not right now.”

Without further adieu, impatience getting the better of her, Shiloh hopped off the curb and slid into the driver’s seat. Keys went into the ignition and as the car roared to life, scaring the shit out of nearby club goers, Shiloh rolled the window down.

“See you in twenty!”

WORD COUNT: 645!
RESERVED: lo-lo!
MUSIC: if i never see your face again - maroon 5!

[DEAN BRAXTON]

don’t you know that you’re toxic ?
I TOOK A SIP FROM MY DEVIL’S CUP
SLOWLY, IT’S TAKING OVER ME

“Concede now? Babe, do I look like the kind of guy who’s gonna go down without a fight?” Dean smirked, unable to mask the rigid excitement he felt bubbling within him. Rarely did he meet women like Shiloh, who were so dead set on proving everyone wrong and doing so by following their instinct. He figured she was the kind of girl who would go to great lengths to satisfy her own desires, and he admired that. The fact that she was ready and willing to stomp on any misconceptions with those cute cowboy boots and rub her personality in everyone’s faces was precisely what attracted him the most. She was vividly full of herself, and he loved every minute of it.

It took a lot of self control to keep from biting those full lips of hers right then and there.

Instead, he kept his hands secured in his pockets, shoulders back and eyes keen on the lovely piece in front of him. A piece of art, truly, he couldn’t get over her. This made him wonder exactly how things would go tonight when they parted ways. Or tomorrow morning. Or weeks from now. He wouldn’t have minded if she kept him in a cage for her sexual pleasure for the next hundred days. In fact, he was simply moments away from dropping to his knees and begging her.

He was ready to put her back out, that was sure.

When she’d commented on managing just fine around the city, Dean’s grin only grew. He sensed her words were dripping with sarcasm, and couldn’t help it when one hand drifted up to her face, index finger lifting her chin. He bit his lips, clearly resisting some urge, and then released her, slipping the hand back into his pocket. He’d have to wait.

It was then that he drove her over the top with the slightest touch. Too quickly and too short for his liking, she’d managed to draw him into the most enchanting of trances, flick open his shirt, tease his skin, and fall back easily as if she hadn’t felt half of what he just had. He was about to reach forward and capture her petit self in his grasp for further public exploring when she’d slipped off the curb, and scurried away into the protection of her car. It was a good thing too - otherwise, hell knows what fire they would have created in front of Ike’s.

Dean’s shock lasted longer than he’d intended, and by the time he was able to snap out of it, her car was speeding off. He was quick to locate his car a few further down and slip into the driver’s seat, shifting the car into the appropriate gear and following in rapid suite, without as much as looking for oncoming traffic.

What could he say? She toyed with his senses.

Twenty minutes later, the Porsche had successfully weaved dangerously through traffic, slipping into the darker street upon which his humble abode sat. The condo, situated on the highest floor, was a two story bachelor pad decorated modernly, and cleaned by Dean’s Sunday morning fuck. She’d been hired before receiving that duty, he was almost positive.

He wasn’t surprised to see her conspicuous ride circling the block, and after catching her attention, led her into the condominium’s garage, around to his spot, and parked, leaving the guest spot open for her. As he cut the engine and searched for any sight of her, he couldn’t help but notice a certain work of art - in elegant red graffiti - on the cement wall bordering his designated parking spot.

‘DVB - one night attraction. Don’t expect a call back.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle, figuring it was one of the women from this week who was having a hard time coping with his no-call-back policy. And obviously warning - and scaring off - any other girl he decided to bring home.

From the way the cement had been painted, it was obvious this wasn’t the first time.

Leaning against his car, Dean waited for his enchanting dame to park and leap into his arms right then and there. At least, that was what he was hoping for.

“Come on Shi,” he remarked with a chuckle as her car pulled in, “You’ve got a victory prize waiting right here.”