Psychotic Girl – The Black Keys

(I really recommend looking this song up before reading this. It wont change the story for you, but it conveys the "sexed up" mood perfectly. I envision this to be the song Rhonda danced to. Okay, Read on, good reader! Pardon my interruptions!)


Curly walked into the club armed with a confident indifference and swagger he knew ladies couldn't resist. He evaluated the club of which he currently graced with his presence. I t was smoky, dimly lit, and had an ambiance that whispered in your ear, sex.

It wasn't mainstream, this club. It was dirty. It was thrilling. It wasn't for the faint of heart. He smiled. He would fit in here just fine.

Curly meandered in, his long, dark Levi-clad legs taking slow but long strides. Then Curly saw her. And stopped. His casually beating heart seemed to have gone into overtime, then just quit on him and stop too.

He had no idea what a prissy little rich girl like her would be doing at a bar like this. Well, that wasn't true…he knew what she was physically doing here. She was dancing on top of a table with a pole in its center.

He couldn't blink. He couldn't move.

It was the single most arousing thing he had ever seen.

Evidently he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Every man, and several women, in the club watched her as if mesmerized, hypnotized.

Though Curly had no claim to her, (Hell, when had he even seen her last? Graduation?) he did not like sharing this view of a drunken, wild Rhonda with anybody else.

"Rhonda! Get down!" He called to her, walking to the table and offering his hand up to her. Many of the men began booing him.

"Curly? Curly!" She smiled as she crouched to get down. "I was JUST thinking about you!" Her eyes, warm and bright, grew reminiscent. "You know, I had the BIGGEST crush on you as a kid. Can you believe that?"

Curly laughed and muttered "No, I can't." Rhonda's footing was bad, and she stumbled down into his arms.

"God, your sexy…" she whispered, finding herself inches from his face.

"You're crazy."

She laughed. "Yes! Absolutely psychotic!" She giggled, and led him by the belt buckle out of the club and into the street.

She turned. She sized him up, and finally said, hands on hips, "You're coming to my place."

The chemistry between them was magnificent. He didn't want to argue, but…

"Rhonda, I can't do that. You're clearly…"

"Drunk?" she supplied. "Hardly." She walked the edge of the curb perfectly. No wobbling, no stumbling. A perfect line. "A priest couldn't have walked that line straighter."

Curly's mouth hung open. "Then what the hell was up with that dancing?"

She laughed a exhilarated, mischievous laugh. "I wanted to do something…wild. I thought that dancing would be the best solution. Then…you walked in." She slinked up to him. She ran her hands up his chest, into his hair, and kissed him passionately. Curly couldn't help but notice that she tasted like strawberry…not alcohol.

"Let me take you home, Curly. I've always regretted not having...something...with you. My childhood self would hate me if I miss my chance tonight." She smiled and looked up at him, wide-eyed. Curly didn't know how every girl knew to do this when they wanted something, because it always worked. It was adorable on every girl. And on Rhonda? It was really sexy, too. Not many girls could make that look sexy.

"Well...if it means that much to you..." He said, acting as though he didn't want it. She saw right through it, smiled wide, and kissed him again.

Without breaking the kiss, Curly opened the newly arrived taxi's door, and pulled Rhonda inside.

He had to agree with her; she was completely psychotic.

He smiled wickedly in his mind. Who could have made a better match for him?