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But, my god,Dylan… He sounds like a teenage quarterback. And three years ago he might’ve been—Jesus, he’s young. I bet his surfer body is magnificent. If this guy even comescloseto my bedroom, blowjobs aren’t just optional, they’re mandatory.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask.
Dylan smiles, blinding me with his perfectly aligned, whitened teeth that glow from the contrast of his tan. This guy is a lady killer, no doubt about it. He’s too good at this not to be. Every look, every flick of his eyebrow, the way his eyes watch my mouth when I speak… He thinks I’m in the bag. Any more time spent at this bar, taking shots that I have to wrap my lips around, and Iwillbe in the bag. He’s supposedly not a serial killer, but he’skillingthis moment. I feel like bro-bumping his knuckles with mine because he’s doing so well.
Dottie grabs Sondra’s arm in my peripherals, barely able to hide her amusement—they think I’m in the bag, too. These assholes have been trying to get me banged since Brian and I fell apart a year ago. Three years of dating a momma’s boy with a propensity for sexual trysts with the women in his office certainly did a number on my willingness to dole out trust.Especiallysince afterhislies and infidelity,hebroke up withme. The undeserving slug dumping the honest and cluelessly committed doormat still tastes bitter in my mouth.
They’re not completely wrong to urge me to move on. They love me—I know that. But a one-night stand with Dylan, the surfing bartender, willnotreform my faith in men. It’s possible it would only spear it in its side before plunging a butcher knife in its back.
Dylan slides a pen across the bar in front of me. I grab a cocktail napkin from a nearby caddy holding straws, stirrers, and napkins.
“My name is Winter,” I say, jotting down a few things on the napkin. “Jokes, anecdotes, and cute little puns about my name being a season are unwelcomed. I’m twenty-six, a publisher’s reader for a small publishing company in Port Blue, where I live. I’m a Libra, which means you and I are a turbulent mix and will either result in something gravely passionate or as disastrous as a bull locked in a church made of glass. I love reading, and I hate when people claim they dislike rom-coms. Like, stop putting on a front. They’re entertaining and we all know it.”
Crossing myt’sand dotting myi’son the napkin, I continue. “I’m going to spend this night with my friends because it’s my best friend’s bachelorette party, and I’d be a shitty maid of honor if I didn’t give her my undivided attention. Even if she irrationally wants me to take you home and ride you like a wave.”
With a flirty smile, I fold the napkin in half, feeling the burn of Dylan’s stare on my skin. I stand on my weak knees, desperately trying to hide my nervousness, and slide it in front of him. Sondra, Dottie, and Keith follow my lead, finishing their drinks, then getting on their feet.
“We’re going dancing now. Bye, Dylan.”
Dylan swipes the napkin from the bar top, mirroring my smile. “Have fun. It was lovely meeting you, Winter, girl of my dreams.”
With that, I turn around and make my way toward the exit, friends in tow.
“What do you think about Club Lux?” I ask over my shoulder. “The DJ is always on fire Friday nights.”
“Yaaass! Let’s Lux it up!” Keith holds the door open, while Sondra, Dottie, and I single-file through it.
“So, noHot Bartender Guytonight?” Sondra asks.
I shake my head, threading my arm through hers. “No. No HBG tonight. It’s your night. It’s your nextthree weeks. It’s not every day my best friend gets married. I am one hundred percent present and ready to serve you.”
“Aww, you’re such a good maid of honor,” Dottie says, threading her arm through my free arm, so the three of us are linked. “Will you bemymaid of honor one day, too?”
“Hey!” Keith grunts. “You saidIwas going to be your man of honor.”
“You are…” Dottie looks my way, winking discreetly. “You totally are.”
“I saw that, bitch,” Keith spits out, rolling his eyes.
The pitch of our synchronized laughter bounces against the brick walls of the buildings we’re walking between to get to Club Lux.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute…” Sondra says. “What did you write in the napkin?”
A smirk hitches my lips. “If you can find me, you can date me. Blowjobs guaranteed.”
Laughter erupts in waves between me and my friends as we approach the line to get into Club Lux where we’ll dance for the next three hours. Stopping only to order more drinks or pee. Then we’ll reemerge into Los Angeles’s nightlife to choose one of the countless places open at three in the morning to eat, then Uber back to my apartment in Port Blue—a night like many we’ve had before. Not the bachelorette party I imagined for Sondra Bose, daughter of Mr. Money Bags Bose, but it’s what she requested. Intimate, just the Fearless Four, and dancing… Check, check, and check.
“How the hell is he going to find you?” Sondra mutters through laughter.
“How manyWintersdo you know in Port Blue? If he’s interested, he’ll have to work at it.”
Maybe it’s because we’re quickly approaching three sheets to the wind, but Sondra’s evaluation of my current misanthropy is feeling pretty accurate. Although I don’t agree with her assessment that I need to“dust the cobwebs off my coochie and ride a dick,”I admit I could get back out there for a date or two.
But not now. These next three weeks belong to my friends. We’re sending our youngest off to get hitched to some guy we barely know—Sondra included—who she picked up at a club three months ago in Ridgehaven. The only substantial thing any of us have seen come out of Ridgehaven was a determined case of the herp our friend Vik got from a rando on a weekend party bender. So you can imagine our apprehension of letting our little Sondra legally bind herself to this guy forever. But she’s happy, so we’re happy for her. Plus, Preston adores her.
Three weeks, then I’ll consider lowering my firing squad on the male species. And ifHot Bartender Guywants to work hard enough to find me? Well, maybe I’ll keep my promise and go on a date with him. Hell, if he finds mebeforeSondra’s wedding, maybe I’ll even ask him to be my plus-one. But I won’t hold my breath. Guys like Dylan are drowning in vaginas, so I certainly don’t expect him to put in enough work to Dick Tracy mine.
Absolutely zero male contact for the next three weeks.
