IT’S ALMOST EIGHT o’clock when I finish up with my final client for the day. I can’t wait til Spence returns to work in a couple more weeks, because these late nights are cramping my style. I haven’t been out—haven’t had sex—since the Fourth of July.
Well, tonight I’m going to put an end to this drought. It’s been two weeks, and I think a good hookup is just what I need to cure my sour mood.
§
“Ginaaa, long time no see, babe. Where ya been?” My little bartender bestie, Will, asks as I stroll in to Partners, my old stomping grounds. This is where I come when I’m craving some cock. Located a few towns over in Whiskey Falls, it keeps the gossipmongers somewhat off my ass, or at the very least …their sons out of my bed.
“Ugh.” With a groan, I saddle up to the bar. “Work, work, work. I’m running the office alone until Spence is back from maternity leave, and it’s kicking my ass.”
“My poor little pixie,” he croons, setting a shot of Fireball in front of me. “My treat.”
“Thanks, babe.” As the warm liquid glides down my throat, all I can see is that CEO’s stupid smiling face and those damn crow’s feet that do inexplicable things to my girlie parts. Fuck. One more reason to hate him. Jeffrey Ryan has ruined my favorite shot. It will forever be tainted by memories of our time spent together in NOLA.
“Feel better?” sweet William asks, his blond brows dipped inward with concern.
“Can you get me a shot of tequila to wash it down?” I ask my flamboyant friend, who eyes me skeptically.
“Honey, are you sure? You always have Fireball. You hate tequila.”
“Sometimes peoples’ tastes change.”
“Touché.”
After three more shots, Will leans across the bar, “So, did you select your victim of the night?”
My eyes make another pass around the room but no one is particularly sticking out to me. “Meh,” I shrug. “You choose.”
Will’s hand lifts to his chest. “Me? Why you’ve never let me choose your cocktail before. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Just pick one.” The hunt is something I always enjoyed in the past, but tonight I just wanna scratch this itch and go home.
He rubs his hands together and squeals. “This is so exciting. I’ve never gotten to choose from the straight pool before.”
This boy is a mess. “Just pick one already. I need some ass so I can go to bed.”
“That one,” Will says, pointing to a guy over at the pool tables.
“I guess he’ll do.”
“He’ll do? Honey, did you see that tight ass? Watch him. Watch the next time he bends over. Boy can work a stick, too. I bet he’s real good with his dick.”
“God, I hope so,” I say winking at my friend as I get up from my chair and make my way over to the tables. He’s got big shoes to fill.
“Hey there,” I say, walking up to the tall, dark, muscled hunk that Will picked out for me. My friend knows my tastes well. “I’ve been watching you play for a while from the bar and was wondering if maybe you could give me some tips?”
Whiskey eyes rove over my body, assessing the goods. “Sure thing, cutie.” His hand darts out for mine. “I’m Russ. What’s your name?”
“Gina.”
“Well, Gina, the most important thing I do is use a lot of cue silk.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, feigning interest. “And what’s that do?”
“It lubricates the shaft.” Russ slides his hand up and down the pool stick suggestively. “My game is always better when my shaft is super slippery.”
Oh, gawd. I think I just threw up in my mouth. “How long have you been waiting to use that line, Russ?”
His cheeks flush. “It was good, right?”
“I’m going to be frank with you. It didn’t do it for me.”
“Uh, okay,” the meathead says, looking around in confusion. I mean, how did a line that good fail him, right?
“Listen, I’m just going to give it to you straight because I’m getting too old for this shit and have to be at work early in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’m just interested in hooking up. One time. No strings. I don’t even want your number, and no, before you ask, you can’t have mine.”
His eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. “Are you even real?”
§
We’re outside, behind the bar, my back pressed up against the bricks, and Russ’s hand starts to creep up my shirt. When he cups my breast, my entire body tenses. It feels foreign. It feels wrong. Then his mouth lowers to meet mine, and instinctively my head turns.
“What’s wrong?” Russ asks, pressing his erection into my stomach as he continues to paw at my breasts.
“Nothing,” I lie, trying to force myself to get into it. I run my hands over his muscled chest, his broad shoulders. Russ’s body is truly amazing, and for some reason it’s doing less than nothing for me. Scratch that—I know the reason, and it’s fucking pissing me off. I can do this. I can get over Jeff Ryan.
When his hand wanders lower and cups my pussy, I panic, pushing him off of me.
“Whoa.” He backs away, throwing his hands up in the air. “What the—?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, breaking out in a cold sweat. My pulse is racing, and I can hardly stand upright with how badly my body is shaking.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you practically threw yourself at me.” He looks worried, like I might accuse him of doing something wrong.
“I—I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to. I don’t know what happened.”
His hand combs through his brown locks, his frustration morphing into concern. “Should I call someone?”
“No. I’m fine,” I stammer. “I just need a minute. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” His face is uncertain as he starts to walk back toward the door.
“Yeah. I’m just gonna go home. I’m really sorry for all of this.”
He nods. “I’ll be all right, Gina. Get home safe, okay?” Then, he dips his head, pulling the heavy door open.
Once he disappears back into the bar, I make a beeline for my car.
§
After a nice, warm bubble bath, I curl up in bed, ready to dive into the book Spencer hasn’t shut up about. Who even am I right now? Passing on sex for a romance novel? Oh, how far the sexy have fallen.
Reaching over to the bedside table, I switch on the lamp and pull the paperback from the drawer. Coming Up Roses by LK Farlow.
Before I know it, hours have gone by. I keep telling myself just one more chapter, but it’s like starting a new series on Netflix. I’m binging…a book!
I’m about three-fourths of the way through and arguing with myself about whether or not I actually need to get any sleep before work tomorrow, when my text message alert pings.
Unknown: Hey Tink. It’s me…Jeffrey. I hope it’s okay that I tricked Dillon into giving me your number. I may have told him I misplaced it, but I feel really horrible about how we left things the other day.
How we left things? Before I can hand him his ass via text, another message comes through, causing my heart to skip a beat.
Unknown: When I woke up and you were still there, I just…Well, I panicked. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way and I need to apologize. I’m really sorry, Gina. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so fucked up.
At least he has a valid reason to be fucked up. I just ran out on poor Russ after whoring myself all over him.
Me: Jeffrey…I wish I could hate you for so much more than your little meltdown the other morning, but I can’t. You broke me. You and your wondercock. I can’t even fuck anymore. I’m READING!
Jeffrey: Wondercock, eh? I kinda like that. What are you reading?
Me: A romance novel Spence has been after me to read for a while now. I tried to hook up with this guy and I totally freaked out, ran home, and curled up in bed, but couldn’t sleep. I decided I’d give it a try and now I can’t put it down.
Jeffrey: He misses you too.
Me: Who?
Jeffrey: Wondercock.
Me: Are we going to do anything about it?
Jeffrey: Can I call you?
Me: Sure
