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She turns around, glancing around the room, giving me a three hundred and sixty degree tour around her body before she ends up in exactly the same position she started in. There's something about her . . .
"If I don't close the deal in twenty minutes she's all yours," I say, handing him my empty bottle. The small folded paper with the server’s name and phone number is between my index and middle fingers. "I'll even hold onto this until we know."
He glances at her. "My bet says she blows you off."
I shove the piece of paper in my pocket and tug him toward me with my arm around his shoulder. "There's always that possibility, Cuz, but the probability of me sinking inside of her later is just as high. I'll holler before I leave. You good?"
"Go on. I don't need a babysitter. This place is full of drunk, horny women. If you can't find me I may be tappin' it in the bathroom."
I laugh. "Aight. I'll have my cell if you need me." I squeeze his shoulder and release him. When she downs the rest of her drink that's my cue. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.
Chapter Two
Tynleigh
What I wouldn't give to have one night to party like a Rockstar. Just for old times’ sake. You know, to reminisce and be a carefree college student again just for a few hours. Party enhancers are harmless, regardless of what most would think, if you’re smart and always treat them with the respect they deserve. The badassery that one small, consumable object holds should be experienced at least once in life.
My eyes close, remembering the first night I tried it at a frat party. Who knew that some dares can be life changing. Damn, that was some amazing sex. Oh, how easy it would be to just place that small tab of E on the center of my tongue and forget about everything I care or don't care about.
God, adulting sucks so bad sometimes; especially when you're being the tour guide and hostess for two people that fuck like they've been held in an underground dungeon without human interaction for years. I thought porn stars were supposed to be over sex in recreational ways, since their entire lives revolve around it and all. Nope, not those two, and I get to be the not so lucky audience in the middle of a fucking New York drought. Plenty of hydrating options, yet none that I want to consume.
The loud music pulls me from my thoughts. Shit, they better thank me for this one day, because the sudden, aggravated void between my legs, known as my lady bits, are really pissed off and out to seek revenge on my lack of activities for the past several months. She's at her wit's end with me since no one likes the good old A-word: abstinence.
I watch in extreme jealousy as Saxton and Kambry walk toward the stairs to the upper floor, as if the loud moans and screaming I heard when I walked into my apartment earlier were not enough to suffice for the night. I mean, hell, do girls really even scream like that and it still be considered real? I've heard girls fake it and it be a lot less dramatic.
I knew it was coming when I bought the E. No one passes up sex when rolling. But with a little bought fun comes a night off for the city tour guide. At least this way I can have fun of my own without feeling like a damn tag along.
I chose this place because it's known for its X-rated fun and privacy. I figured less people would recognize Saxton with far more interesting things on their minds than a porn star they may or may not recognize; well, that and the addition of the lack of visibility in the vicinity from the darkness throughout.
My head falls back as I stare up at the dark, dimly lit ceiling, a slight halo surrounding the recessed lights as the hint of a buzz begins. By the disappearing two, known as my brother and future sister-in-law, I'm no longer drinking responsibly, but for a good time. A smile breaks through in the midst of my internal temper tantrum. "He's been through a lot of shit and he's a good guy," I tell myself in a mumbled whisper. "Lay the jealous sister act or mama hen or sex-starved, fun-missing adult or whatever the fuck I'm being down."
I drown my throat in the small but potent shot nestled tightly between my fingers. If I didn't actually care about my career I'd say 'fuck this shit' and take the risk of a random drug test at work for the fun they're about to have. I can taste it; a little harmless fun with an amazing high, followed by a mind-blowing one-night-stand with a cute, innocent bystander. But, not today, Tynleigh, or in this lifetime. Move on already.
A deep laughter resonates through my ears as something collides into my back, a shoe skimming the back of my heel, knocking me forward a little. "Hey, watch it!" I shout as I turn around. "These are four-hundred-dollar heels." The broad-backed man turns to face me, and I stand tall, ready to give the clumsy idiot a shove away from me when our eyes lock, my voice silencing as I meet his green eyes. They remind me of a field of clovers . . .
What the fuck? God, that's corny.
I clear my head. "Were you talking to me?" he asks in the deepest voice, rich like chocolate to match his hair, his eyes veering down my front with no shame, landing on the bottom hem of my bright pink, skin-tight dress that suddenly feels too short.
"Shoes," I manage to get out. "You stepped on my very expensive shoes."
His eyes remain on my thighs too long to be a glance, before he slowly sweeps back up my front, lingering on my cleavage, sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes finally meet mine again, just before a smirk pulls up on one side of his mouth. "My apologies, beautiful. I'm sure Daddy can replace them." The asshole has the audacity to wink.
And in five, four, three, two, and one . . .
I step forward, the heat of his assumption spreading through my body at Mach speed. There is one thing I despise, and that is to be classified as the little spoilt rich girls that roam the city hopping from bar to bar and store to store withDaddy's credit card.It's happened before, time and time again, and each time it only makes me angrier. Maybe this is why I have no real interest in the men of New York, even though I love the city that I call home. Just because I'm young, beautiful, and dress in designer clothing when I choose, doesn't mean I live off of mybillionaire status father.I'm independent because I want to be, so I work my ass off to be that way.
My chest roughly presses into his ribcage and I look up at him. I ignore the amazing smell he's radiating. His smirk changes to a smile—a seductive one. Even with heels he's a good bit taller than me. Man candy he is, and by the feel of his hard center I can tell he has a body to match, but there are a lot of those out there. That doesn't mean the filling inside is just as good as the outer shell.
He takes it upon himself to settle his large hands on my small hips—way too close to my ass—intrigued. I brush away the thought of how good it feels. "Let me tell you something, asshole. Just because I don't dress in knock-offs or last season, doesn't mean 'Daddy' paid for it. You don't know me; so don't pretend like you do. Everything on my body is because I worked my ass off to get it. Not that I owe you an explanation. But I'm going to guess you're not a local by your choice of uneducated thinking and lack of accent, so I'll let it go, but next time you approach a woman, a little non-sexist introduction will probably get you a whole hell of a lot further."
I turn to walk away, needing another visit at the bar, when a hand grips onto mine and pulls me backward until I'm standing face-to-face with the same sexy asshole. His face is now serious. "I think we had a big misunderstanding, beautiful. Let's start over."
"Stop calling me beautiful."
His lips crush against mine with absolutely no warning, his hands settling back on my hips, moving to the small of my back as he deepens the kiss. God, they're so soft. And full. His lips. Without willing them too, I find myself kissing him back. Roughly. Heatedly. Passionately. My fist clenches onto the front of his shirt. I shouldn't be doing this. I don't even know him. Yet, that's also the beauty of this situation. And the reason I came to this bar. I just need to orgasm at the hand of someone else. And he's hot enough to do the job.
Tourists: the best one-night stands. Fun tonight and goodbye tomorrow. I can go back to my little career-obsessed bubble with no conflict of interests, smiling from my post-orgasmic frame of mind and ready to work. This is exactly what I need. A refresher. The truth is, it's been too long, and self-induced orgasms are never as good as manmade.
