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I look around the small space to see if my plan is feasible.
Most folks from work don’t come here, and if they do, they eat their chili and leave for home or other bars. No one hangs around this late.
It seems all systems are GO as I don’t recognize anyone.
Yippee!
Drinking mythoughts of Royceunder the table seems like a damn good idea to me. To hell with how I’ll feel at work tomorrow. Perhaps a hangover will make me snappish enough to tell that prick to go to the devil.
As if I would. Not that I’m scared he’ll hurt my feelings. I’m scared by how much I want him to hurtmy body. The pull is so damn bad; I clench just thinking about his hands on me.
He called me Sin. He called my mouth sexy. He wants to have sex with me. He didn’t stop me when I wanted to leave.
Why?
Does what he said mean anything? Do I mean something to him?
Damn these thoughts. Get out of my mind already.
I set my empty drink on the bar top. Another takes its place. This time the bartender, Guy, serves me. I give him a nod of thanks, but he’s already helping another customer. Since Nat has an “in” with the owner, we rarely pay for drinks. But we do tip. And well. That’s why the bartenders treat us like royalty. They serve us first, even when people are six deep.
I want to keep up that momentum. And I do. By the time Nat winds up her conversation, I’ve had two more Cape Cods.
I feel invincible.
Nat’s face slides in and out of focus as she says, “Damn, girl. How many have you had?”
“S’nuff,” I say and drain half my drink.
She purses her lips. “BB went to warm up your chili, looks like you’re going to need it.”
“Not hungry. More drink.” My tongue is thick in my mouth and the room is tilting. I guess I should’ve eaten lunch. I didn’t because I ran out of time, rushing to get things ready for my meeting with Royce. Why he didn’t insist I stay and meet with him bugs the shit out of me.
But I won’t dwell on it. Not when there is a fresh drink in my hand.
“So, what happened?” Nat asks rather slyly. “Did you meet with Royce or what?”
“Yep, I told him I was going to get my drink on and to go fuck off.”
I’m such a liar.
Nat laughs while Big Barron places a bowl of chili and a spoon wrapped in a napkin close to my (now) empty drink. It’s my third or fifth, but who the hell is counting? Other than wine and the occasional beer, I haven’t had a strong drink since…
Damn it! No more thoughts of that night.
“Who’s on your shit list now?” Barron asks, his eyes twinkling.
Yep, the man is a fox. Silver or not. Natalie had better snatch him up before someone else does.
“That damn Grayson-man. My boss’s boss’s boss,” I slur.
“What has Mr. Grayson done?”
Luke Dukate, a guy from STS’s help desk who started six months ago, stands at my side with a glass of beer and curiosity written all over his face.
WTH?
I’ve talked to Luke all of three times. Would it be okay to tell him to mind his business?
