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“Alright. Let me think.” I scratched at the scruff on my chin as if I was actually giving it some thought. Gia looked like she was seriously waiting to hear what I’d come up with. Poor innocent thing. I snapped my fingers. “Got the perfect name.”
“What?” She legit seemed excited.
“Rush. Name your character Rush.”
She tossed the book across the bar at me. “You’re a jerk.”
I laughed as I caught it. “That’s not news to you, sweetheart. How the hell did you start this book without even knowing your character’s name, anyway?”
“In the beginning he goes by a nickname. But he needs an actual name, too. Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t even pick out the names for characters in this book. How am I supposed to write it all in the next two months?”
“You know what I think?”
“I’m afraid to ask…”
“I think you’re stressing yourself out. My mom is a painter. She never really made a living out of it, even though she’s really good. She waitressed at night to pay the bills, but painting has always been her passion. When I was a kid, she used to paint all day long with a smile on her face. Then she started to sell them for extra money at flea markets and stuff. It got to the point where she would have to produce a certain number by a set date to display them for sale, and she’d get all stressed out and wouldn’t be able to paint. You know what she would do?”
“What?”
“She’d take a few days off from painting and we’d go do fun stuff. Like go to the matinee movies—pay for the first movie and then stay all day sneaking into other movies. Or we’d go mini golfing—she kept two little putters and a few balls in the trunk of her car so we didn’t have to pay the rental fee.”
“Aww. Your mom sounds great.”
“She is. But that’s not the point. The point is, you need to get your nose out of your fucking book for a few days to clear your head.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
Gia rolled her eyes. “Can I at least get a drink before I head home? A real one?”
I lifted my chin. “What do you want, pain in my ass?”
She clapped her hands together and bopped up and down in her chair.
Oh yeah. They’re fucking real.
“I’ll take a Cosmo.”
“Alright.” I reached for a martini glass. “One pussy drink coming up.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Do you have to say that?”
“What?”
“That word.”
I leaned across the bar, getting my face close to hers, then lowered my voice. “You don’t like the word pussy?”
She covered her mouth. “No. I don’t like that word. Almost as much as I don’t like the other word.”
I grinned. “Cunt? You don’t like cunt either?”
The corners of her mouth were upturned underneath her hand, even though she tried to pretend it offended her. “Yes, that. Don’t say that word either.”
“Okay.” I whipped up a batch of Cosmos and poured one into the fru-fru glass the sugary crap got served in. Sliding it half way over to her side of the bar, I waited until she reached for it and then wrapped my hand firmly around the stem. “Not so fast. There’s a fee for this drink.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She slid the twenty to my side of the bar.
I shook my head. “Nope. Your money is no good here. I have a rule. I don’t charge employees for a drink after their shift, or a meal while they’re working.”
She looked rightly confused. “But you said there was a fee.”
I grinned. “There is. You have to say pussy.”
“What? No!”
“Say it or no drink.”
“You’re insane.”
“Listen, you’re writing a romance book, aren’t you?”
“Yes. So?”
“Well what are you going to write when they start getting it on… Baby, spread those legs, I’m gonna eat your vagina? Cause I got news for you, Shakespeare, there’s only one way to inform your woman that you want a taste—and that’s spread those legs, I’m gonna eat your pussy.”
Gia’s mouth dropped open. I took that to mean she wanted to hear some more.
“Actually. In some cases, depending on the mood, if it’s the foreplay before a little rough fucking maybe, you could probably use I’m gonna eat your cunt, too.”
“You’re a pig.”
I shrugged. “I’m not the one whose job is to write about people fucking, sweetheart.”
“Just give me my drink.”
I grinned and lifted the Cosmo to my lips. The shit tasted awful, but I lied, nonetheless. “Mmmm. It’s delicious.”
“Give it to me.”
I’d love to give it to you.
I cupped my hand to my ear. “What’s that? Did you say pussy?” I sipped again.
She wanted to be angry, tried her damndest to look pissed off, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “Stop drinking my drink!”
“Say it.”
“Jerk.”
“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” I took another sip—the damn little glass was half empty even with my baby sips. What did I overcharge for these four-sip things again? Fifteen bucks?
