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"You're telling, not asking."
Yeah. It works like a charm. I lean in closer. Until I can smell her shampoo. Strawberries. Like Chloe's.
Dammit.
The feisty brunette isn't sticking in my brain.
It isn't happening.
I smile at the redhead. "Can I level with you?"
She laughs. "Sure."
"It's not for you."
"It's not."
"It's for me." I down half my Jack and Coke. "But I need you to play along. I'm not man enough to admit I want a pink cocktail for myself."
Her smile spreads over her lips. "It takes a lot of guts, admitting that."
"Thanks. I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders."
"I'm Allison." She extends her hand.
"Dean." I shake with a firm grip. Watch her pupils dilate as she gives me a long once-over.
She sizes me up.
Deciding if I'm worth fucking.
Deciding I am.
Her hand goes to her hair. She twirls a strand around her finger. Arches her back, thrusting her chest toward me. Practically screams yes, I would like to come on your cock. "It's a house special."
"Do tell."
"Earl Greyhound."
"Sounds like a lousy bus service."
Her laugh makes her tits shake. "It's Early Grey vodka and grapefruit juice."
"Creative." It sounds amazing, actually. Mixing bergamot with grapefruit is genius.
I hail the bartender. "Two more of these."
The bartender smiles. "On your tab, I assume?"
"Of course." I turn back to Allison. "Since you were kind enough to hear my confession."
"You hang at a bar long enough, you hear a lot of men's confessions."
"Why is that?"
"I guess they feel like they have to be tough. That whole macho boys don't cry thing. Until they start drinking and the walls come down."
"You sound annoyed."
