He smiled back, nodding at her appreciatively.
No way
Why would I do that?
Her dress sparkled in the low light like a million tiny stars as she slid onto the seat next to him, placing her matching clutch on top of the bar.
[ Dylan ]:
Forgotten me already?
I'm hurt
Guess you need a reminder
Her dark hair fell in waves over daringly bared shoulders; the woman's dress cut indecently, enticingly low.
Low enough to show off the small tattoo accenting a perfectly firm curve, of a cute and dainty little —
Fresa.
Strawberry. Ashton had looked it up after that night he and Dylan…
You can't tell me it's because you don't have the balls
I sucked on 'em
Made you moan and squirm
I know how big they are
How heavy
Fucked. We fucked. He made you come so hard you saw stars being born, and now you can't even think the word? He's right. Youarea fresa.
Because, sure, it literally translated to strawberry. But apparently in Mexico, it also meant a preppy rich kid, and Ashton was under no illusions which version Dylan had meant, at least originally.
"N-nice tattoo," he stuttered out, face flaming as he realized he'd been staring at her breasts.
But she just smiled, angling herself in a way that served to show them off even more.
"Thanks," she murmured, touching it lightly with her fingertip and drawing Ashton's attention back to her…accents. "I just love strawberries, don't you?"
The memory of cheap strawberry soda filled Ashton's senses right as the bartender set down Ashton's scotch. Sitting there in the upstairs hallway, lips still tingling with the press of Dylan's mouth as Ashton finished his soda and waited…
Like 'em to be in my palm right now
Wanna play with 'em
You gonna play with them for me?
"Got one of those for me?" she asked, nodding at Ashton's brandy.
Ashton sighed.
"You can have mine," he told her, nudging it in her direction, before heading for the Men's.
Thanking his lucky stars it was empty, Ashton snagged a mint from the little basket of free toiletries as he headed for a stall. He stood there for a moment, wondering what the hell he was doing there, before typing a short —
