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I laugh at Riley’s antics. Screwing with Drew will never get old.
“Anyway,” Riley continues, as if Drew isn’t belting out sitcom theme songs right now, “that still doesn’t explain why you’re so miserable. What happened?”
“She refuses to give me a chance,” I explain. “She likes to remind me how temporary we are, every opportunity she gets. According to her, we’re just friends-with-benefits, which is complete bullshit. That may have been the initial plan, but that went to hell the second I slid inside of her and had a goddamn epiphany. Every time I try having a meaningful conversation with her about being something more, she senses it and distracts me with her boobs.”
Drew decides to stop acting like a three-year-old and joins the conversation again. “Ooh, now this I can get on board with. Tell me more about Rainey’s boobs. Those beauties are real, aren’t they?”
“Fuck off, Drew.”
He laughs. “So, I’ll take that as a yes. What color are her nipples? I’ve always imagined them to be light pink. Am I right?”
“I’m not discussing the color of her nipples with you, asshole. Or any other parts of her body.”
“Damn, you do have it bad,” he muses. “I mean, it’s clear that you’ve had the hots for her. A blind man can see that. But I didn’t realize it went beyond that. I thought you annoyed the shit out of her. How in the hell did you manage to convince her to sleep with you?”
I shrug. “She’s the one that suggested it, actually.”
“No shit?” Drew and Riley ask simultaneously.
“No shit.”
Cara, AKA Watermelon Tits, arrives with our appetizers and lays them out on the table. “Here you go. Nachos, wings, mozzarella sticks, and fries. Can I get you boys anything else?”
I don’t miss the suggestive tone or the way she angles her tits in my direction as she says that. And no, I’m not imagining it. Cara and I got biblical a few months back, and she made it clear she wouldn’t mind a repeat. Funny thing is, for the first time in my life, I have no desire to take her up on it.
I shake my empty glass. “I’ll take another one. And you should probably keep ‘em coming.”
“Of course, Brody.” She takes my glass and nods to the two half-empties on the table. “You guys need a refill, too?”
“Sure,” Riley and Drew answer.
She winks. “Give me just a minute. I’ll put these in the front of the queue.”
Drew waits until she’s out of earshot before he speaks. “I guess the one benefit to your affliction for barmaids is that we never have to wait for drinks.”
“Former affliction,” I correct. Damn, I need to find a new place to hang out—one where I haven’t slept with half the staff.
“So, what are you going to do?” Riley pops a mozzarella stick in his mouth.
“I have no fucking clue. But it starts with more whiskey.”
Drew laughs as Cara returns with said whiskey. “Well, drink up, buddy. It’s on me.”
He’s probably going to regret offering that.
Yep, you’ve guessed it—I don’t stop until the bartender cuts me off. And really, I should’ve quit two rounds ago. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow.
“I fucking love her, man,” I slur. “I’m in fucking love with her! What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Call her and tell her,” Drew suggests.
Riley left after our third round, claiming all this talk about the magic pussy made him anxious to get home to his fiancée. Now it’s just Drew and I, drunk as fuck. We’re both big dudes, so it takes a lot of alcohol to get to this point. I don’t think either one of us have been this shitfaced since our days in the frat house.
“She’s working overnights this week,” I say.
“So? Leave a voicemail. She can’t change the subject if she’s not on the other end of the line.”
Maybe it’s the whiskey talking, but that’s actually pretty brilliant. I can’t dig my phone out of my pocket fast enough.
