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He quickly spins the bar stool to the side and water spews from his mouth, then his eyes turn on me, round with shock.
He clears his throat and wipes his mouth as he mutters, “Sorry about that.”
I quirk my brow, impatiently waiting for his answer as I pour a shot of whiskey. I don’t expect him to answer that question. A bit personal? Maybe. But I like to push boundaries.
I scoot the shot glass toward him and ask, “Drink?” He throws the shot back without looking in my direction. The pang of disappointment barely spreads through my stomach when he speaks up.
“There hadn’t been a need to masturbate until recently… But now, I think about her. The way she watched me as she sucked my cock. The way her fingers scraped against my chest as she rode me.” He shakes his head as if to wipe the memory from his mind, then he scrubs his hand over his face.
“Sorry if that was TMI, but I’m nothin’ if I ain’t honest.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.” I shrug then pour myself a shot. I wouldn’t typically drink on the job, but we’re hosting a private party tonight and each of our guests are otherwise occupied with the entertainment.
A beat of silence hangs in the air between us as he considers his next question.
“Have you ever had a one-night stand?”
“I don’t kiss and tell…” I wink, and he grabs the bottle of liquor, pouring a shot.
“Then drink up.” I toss the shot back and pinch my eyes closed as that familiar burn trails smoothly down my throat.
A dark shadow catches my attention, and I look up at the man approaching the bar. He claps his hands down on the best man’s shoulders, and I quickly clear away our shot glasses to make myself busy and give them a moment of privacy. Bartenders have a way of appearing as if they're giving you privacy when they're still listening to everything you say. Disappointment fills me as I realize the night is coming to an end.
“We gotta get Liam out of here before he does something he’s gonna regret tomorrow.”
“Fuck…” The best man swivels on the bar stool and then takes quick strides across the room where the groom is living up his last night as a single man quite precariously with his face in Cass’ cleavage. It isn’t the first time this has happened at a bachelor party, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. Cass paid damn good money for that cleavage, and she wants everyone to show the ladies some love–her words, not mine. He's gentle in how he guides Cass up off his friend’s lap. She’s barely clothed, but his eyes don’t linger, he doesn’t cop a feel; he handles her delicately. He helps her to her feet before he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and tips her. She smiles and prances off toward backstage, and the other girls follow her. An electric dance mix still pumps through the speakers, but this party is officially over.
The best man latches his hand around the groom’s and pulls the drunk bastard up, quickly catching him as he sways on his feet. That is going to be one painful walk down the aisle tomorrow for sure. He motions to two of his friends for help, and they flank the groom’s side as they make their way toward the exit. But he doesn’t follow.
Seconds later he braces his hands on the bar and looks at me expectantly, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight, Emersyn.” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a few bills and places them on the bar. I wrap my hand around his and push the money toward him. I’d feel dirty accepting a tip, filthy even. My skin crawls just thinking about taking his money.
“I appreciate the gesture, but no tip is necessary.”
“Look, I wouldn’t–”
I cut his words off and lean over the bar. “Your money's no good here, best man. But there is something in there I’d like instead.”
He looks at me confused as he slowly places the bills back in his wallet, so I help myself. I slip the black keycard from its pocket inside his wallet and tuck it inside my bra. Lust flickers in his smoldering hazel eyes. “I get off in an hour. We’ll finish our little game then.”
He slides his wallet into his back pocket and says, “Room 1209.” With a wink, he confidently strides out of the club. I watch him go; how can I not? And once he's out of sight, I take in a long, deep breath. I want to pat myself on the back or let out a hoot–who was that sexy as hell vixen who just propositioned him?
