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“Oh, yeah. I know that guy. Hear he’s got a big dick, though.”
“You’re incorrigible.” She nudges my shoulder with a smile on her lips.
We chat for a while about everyday things. It’s so easy. No pressure, no hidden agenda—it’s real. Is this what trust feels like with a partner? We haven’t had a lot of one-on-one time, but whenever we’re together, I can take down my defenses and open up. It’s a weight off my shoulders.
On her way back from the bathroom, she stumbles. It’s time I get this girl home.
“Okay, I think we’ve had enough fun for the night,” I say, taking her arm.
When I’m not looking, she grabs the old shot off the table and downs it.Damn it.
“Bridget,” I scold under my breath.
“Food waste is a serious problem. There are sober Russians in Russia who would love that vodka!”Pretty sure it was tequila.
I stand up and grab her by the waist, pulling her against me.
“Okay, World Hunger, let’s go.” She’s loaded enough for the both of us.
I pick up our coats, and she takes my arm. As we make it toward the exit, she leans into me, molding perfectly to my side. I look forward to the day she’s this close with me sober.
* * *
“I didn’t know you could drink so much.”
“You’d be surprised at how much I can swallow.” She giggles.Yeah. She’s drunk.
Regardless of her sobriety, her comment conjures the image of her on her knees, those big gray eyes looking up at me while I slide down her throat. My cock swells, and I vow to make her pay for that smart mouth if I ever get the chance again.
For now, I just grin and shake my head at her.
Most of the drive home is spent listening to the radio, interrupted by her occasional hiccup. There’s no pressure to say anything. I keep stealing glances of her from the corner of my eye. Her lush, pouty lips are silhouetted by the streetlights. She’s so goddamn beautiful.
When we arrive, I walk her to the front door.
“Shhhh!” she stage-whispers, “My mom and dad are sleeping so we have to be quiet.”
Then she pushes the oversized door open and stumbles inside.
“How much did you have?”
“No,” she says, nodding her head.That answers that.
“Why don’t you go upstairs, get ready for bed, and I’ll bring you something to drink?”
She snaps her fingers and holds up her arm to point at me. “I’ll take a Tom Collins. Up.”
Drunk Bridget likes the jokes.
“You’ll take a water.” I smack her butt and point for her to go upstairs.God, that ass.
She spins around. “Hey! Don’t tease me if you can’t please me.” Then she snorts at her own rhyme. “I’m a poet and didn’t know it.”
You have no idea who you’re playing with, Princess.I can’t wait to teach her my bark will always be followed by a bite.
“Go.”
My voice comes out much darker than intended but it gets her moving.
