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I stopped giving girls my number after that. It was the last drop in an ocean of craziness. I don’t need this shit.
Sure, I like watching a pretty girl getting off as much as the next guy, and flirting and fucking gets my mind off the shitty reality that is my life on most days, but this… it’s too much.
“She was… different.” David finishes polishing a shot glass and places it carefully in a row of many other small shot glasses. He verges on OCD sometimes, and also sometimes I wonder if he’s into both girls and boys. There’s something in the way he looks at me.
Like now.
“Different, how?” I turn away, busy myself with checking the alcohol we have behind the bar, to see if anything needs restocking.
“Well, for starters she didn’t leave you her panties or bra, or even her number.”
“True, that is different,” I concede.
“She also didn’t ask if you have a girlfriend, although she seemed glad when I said you don’t.”
“And how do you know I don’t, huh?”
He ignores my protest. “She said she only wanted to see the place where you work.”
“That’s fucking weird, if you ask me.”
“She said she wanted to see if the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?”
“She never said. But she did say you were old friends.”
I still, my breath going out, because it can’t be. No fucking way.
Why would she come here, asking about me? I turn slowly back around to face him. “Did she say her name?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, eyes fucking twinkling.
“David.”
“Okay, okay, I remember now. Gigi. Unusual name.”
It sure is. “It’s short for Augusta.”
“Heh. She didn’t tell me that.”
A grin spreads over my face, for some reason glad for that, and I rub at my mouth to hide it. “So she said we’re old friends, huh?”
“Ah-huh.”
“What else?”
“Nothing much. Oh wait, she did ask if you sleep with all the girls who come looking for you.”
I choke. “And what the hell did you say?”
He laughs at whatever it is he sees on my face. “What was I supposed to say? Wait…” He takes a step back, lifting his hands when I glare at him. “Hey, relax. I said no, okay? I swear.”
What does this all mean? Why did she come here? What rumors did she want to verify—that I fuck around? Well, screw that. I do whatever the hell I please.
It’s not like I have any reason to keep my dick in my pants. Any reason to behave, or be responsible, with no real family to hold me accountable and no girlfriend to wake up to in the mornings, no friends.
And yet I’m responsible for more people than I can handle. Isn’t that a fucking joke? When I can barely look after my own damn self.
