Me: Are you spying on me? How did you know I just got out of the shower?
I guess he’ll have to take me as I am, makeup free, hair wrapped in a towel around my head, and skin splotchy with redness from my hot-as-hell shower.
Jude: Foxy, you’re killing me here.
Jude: The last time you did this to me, all I could think about was you in there without me. Fuck. Change of subject, or I’ll need a shower of my own. Again.
Me: Is that why it took you so long to get online? Now I have something to think about next time.
Jude: Damn it.
He’s been pushing me outside of my bubble, in a good way. Which, I mean, I’m a bartender and have no problem pulling my weight at the tattoo and body piercing studio next door. I also deal with my fair share of flirting, from men and women alike. There’s a difference, though, in working to make sure customers’ egos are fed in a way that isn’t skeezy. It also helpswith tips. It’s not like I’m in a gilded cage by any means. The crowd can get rowdy where alcohol is concerned, and then there are the people at the tattoo shop. They go through every range of emotion, whether it’s happy or sad and even worse, where I sometimes have to get a manager involved. Especially when I have to cut them off after drinking one too many.
The way Jude makes me feel when he’s flirting is night-and-day different. My eyes brighten, my smile is genuine, butterflies swirl around in my stomach, and then there’s a slew of other sensations, too. Namely my nipples that pebble, when my breasts wish they were in Jude’s hands instead of mine. My core has become a greedy, achy mess, begging for pleasure, annoying at that because my fingers and toys are no longer cutting it. And neither is the detachable shower head.
Jude: Did you crash on me?
I do the complete opposite of what he’ll expect from me. I slide my thumb away from the keyboard and hit the video button in the top right corner. It doesn’t take but five seconds before I’m greeted with Jude’s face.
“Foxy,” he says my nickname in a way that makes my knees go weak.
“Jude,” I reply with a smile. Meanwhile, this man is giving me his panty-dropping grin, and believe me, if he were here in the flesh, I’d probably lose not only my clothes but also my inhibitions.
“Long night at work?” Jude asks. I closed the bar down.My dad owns the bar, and my brother owns the tattoo shop. I’d thought about apprenticing as a tattoo artist, but it didn’t hold my interest. Then I thought well, maybe I’ll do piercing at Zane’s shop. My brother being a know-it-all told me the idea was dumb. Sadly, he was right. I sat in on one appointment.
The queasiness rolled through me the minute the clamp and needle came out for a simple nose piercing. I nearly fainted, only stopping myself by using the counter as a brace. Fucking Zane Navarro. Why does he always have to be right?
Therefore, I sling drinks a minimum of five days a week, take inventory, and deal with the books when need be. Which is every single week. I love my dad, but he’s not business savvy. He’d much rather sit at the end of the bar, talk with the locals, and help me when shit gets busy.
“Do I look that bad?” I respond once I’m in the living room.
“Ronnie, you could never look bad. You do look tired, though.” He’s not wrong. The circles beneath my eyes are dark, taking on a purple hue, and no amount of concealer is hiding them at work. Now, at home, without war paint, you really notice.
“I am, mainly because I haven’t had a day off. The bar was busier than usual tonight, and, well, you see the time.” The sky outside my apartment is dark. The only light comes from the streetlights and the occasional headlight from a car parking in the complex. “One more day, and then I’m off until next Tuesday.” I’ve taken an extra day off in case I have the festival flu. A group I’d joined on social media gave a lotof tips and told me what to expect before, during, and after. I flick the switch on the lamp in my living room, illuminating where I’ll be sitting for the next little bit.
“Goddamn,” Jude replies. My eyes snap to the screen of my phone. When I first answered, the lights were dim, so he probably couldn’t see my clothing, or lack thereof. My nipples pebble as I watch his gaze devour me. I’m unable to hide my attraction for the man, and he’s no slouch in the looks department. Jude also appears to not have a shirt on, slouching back on the couch, a look of desire clearly written on his face, and I’m stuck on staring at the man when he lifts an arm, either knowingly or unknowingly flexing his bicep as he places it behind his back. “Foxy, you’re fucking gorgeous.” My insides tingle at the praise he seems to always slide into our conversation. Apparently, a new kink has been unlocked, one I had no idea I’d ever want or need. He licks his lip, dragging his tongue in a deliciously dirty kind of way.
“I’m definitely liking what I’m seeing as well.” I prop my phone on the round wicker-style stool I keep next to the couch. There isn’t enough room for a coffee table, which is fine anyways because I doubt I’d ever use it. While the sofa is comfortable, it’s rarely occupied when I’m home.
“Thursday can’t come soon enough.” His voice has a raspy quality, probably from a cigarette he recently had.
“Agreed.” I grab the controller before I settle on the floor, using the front of the couch to lean against. One press of a button allows my television and game console to come to life.
“You got an aversion to your couch, Ronnie?” Jude is full of questions tonight or really this morning. The clocksituated on the small console table glares the time, nearly three o’clock in the morning. The Social, the bar’s name, closes at one in the morning, but tell me why I didn’t get out of there until well after two. I’m going to have a discussion with my dad, because there’s no reason for the rest of the staff to take their sweet time helping shut down while I take care of the cash registers, drop the deposit, take care of the bar, and still have to help them finish the simplest tasks. It’s not like we don’t have a cleaning crew coming in after us. All we have to do is pick up trash, wipe down tables, take the trash out, and straighten up whatever else.
“Not particularly. It’s more comfortable down here.” I shrug my shoulders as my eyes flicker from Jude to the TV, making a quick few clicks until I’m in the lobby and waiting to see where we’ll be playing. His eyes haven’t left me the entire time we’ve been on this FaceTime call. I’m not sure where this is going, and a part of me wants to see what exactly Jude would do. I drop the controller, and my hands go to the carpet, laying my palms flat while I arch my back. My lower back aches from being on my feet so long, so while I’m doing this to get a rise out of Jude, it’s also allowing me to stretch some of the kinks in my body.
Am I playing a dangerous game? Yes.
Do I want to live on the edge? Yes.
“Foxy, woman.” Jude’s voice does nothing to deter me, and not only does he make my core throb, I’m also suddenly dying of thirst.
“Are we playing?” Try as I might, there’s no way I can ignore the way he makes me feel.
“Waiting on a server.” I’d have known that had my eyesnot been seared to his the entire time. Jude sucks in a breath, in doing so, his cheeks hollow inward. His jawline is sharp, the stubble doing nothing to hide the verbal foreplay we have going on.
“Be right back. I need a drink. I’m suddenly feeling very parched.” I put on a show of moving from my sitting position. My ass is more than likely filling the screen. Sue me. Jude has no problem being half naked any chance he gets. Why shouldn’t I pay him back? It’s hard as fuck not to look over my shoulder as I make the short trek to my kitchen, open the fridge, and bend down since my apartment doesn’t spring for any type of upgrades when the current one is working. I grab a bottle of Vitamin Water, opening it as I spin around, and hip check the door for it to close.
