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“Ugh! Such a douche,” I mutter, wishing Layla’s baby daddy could actually be a decent human being for once. He flaked on her at the last minute, and she had to get a sitter. Something I imagine is very much outside of her budget at the moment.
Daphne’s eyes dart anxiously around at the rowdy crowd of The North Node Tavern. “I would have watched Sky…” she squeaks.
“But you’re here. With us,” I deadpan, throwing an arm around her and squeezing her tight.
“Right. I’m here.” She hides her scowl behind her fancy cocktail glass and slurps down some more of her daiquiri.
“I know that bars and nightclubs aren’t your thing. But that’s why it’s even more important to force your ass out of the house now and then. Girl, you arewaytoo hot to be hiding in your shell all the time.”
Layla grabs Daphne’s hand, lifting her arm in the air and forcing her to do a little spin. “Plus, you’re so damn cute in your retro halter dress. Look at you!”
“Your outfits are always so adorable,” I pipe in, admiring how the whole naughty 1970s housewife look comes together. “I don’t know where you find this stuff but you’re cuter than a Pinterest board!”
So, we’re all at Nolan’s bar for a much needed girl’s night out. We all needed out of our respective homes for a few hours of drinks, music, and dancing.
The only problem?
My brothers decided tonight was a good time for a dude’s night out, and the five of them are across the bar. With Dr. Pretty Boy.
Fuck that guy.
Especially after the way he blew my back out a few nights ago and then promptly showed me the door. He and I haven’t exchanged more than a handful of words since then. Which means things have been tense as hell between us, both at home and at work.
So it’s really getting on my nerves the way he keeps sneaking peeks at me tonight. Well, he can look but he can’t touch.
I know I’m hot as fuck in my cut-off jeans and crop top.Eat your heart out, you sexy bastard!
Of course, the only reason I know he’s sneaking peeks at me is because I’ve been sneaking peeks at him, too. Fuck—he looks good, in a simple black T-shirt that hugs his wide chest, dark denim encasing his powerful thighs and a pair of classic black low-top sneakers that give him a casual, laid-back vibe. His hair is messy tonight, not carefully combed like it was when he left for work this morning. The scruff on his cheeks adds a rugged edge to the whole presentation. I like it.
And I’m not the only girl in here who’s noticed Mason. Hell—women are all over him. I’ve been watching him peel them off of him like grocery store stickers all night.
But we’re not gonna talk about all that.
Between stolen, heated glances with my roommate, I finish my drink and turn to Inez where she’s busy behind the bar. I flash her a grin. “Another whiskey sour?” I tilt my empty glass at the bartender.
Without missing a beat, she flashes me a wink. “Coming right up, babe.”
Is that my third one now? My fourth? I don’t even know. Even though it’s a Friday night, I know I shouldn’t be letting myself loose like this. But it’s the only thing that keeps me from pining after my roomie like a sad school girl.
Oh, what the hell. I’m totally pining.
I can’t say there’ve been many men to receive one of my blow jobs. And then for him to turn around and shut me down so fast? Most certainly not, bitch!
Dr. Pretty Boy’s record-breaking rejection is messing with my head. More aptly put,Masonis messing with my head.
Okay, yes. I’m the one who initiated the bedroom shenanigans that went down the other night. But he flirted with me first. Hell, he was all over me in the kitchen a few mornings earlier when I was making my breakfast smoothie. And he’d been flashing me that sneaky dimpled smile at the clinic all week. And he’s the one who snuck in on me in the bathroom and then ate my pussy on the kitchen counter like a homemade dinner…
So, then I crept into his bedroom and we did the dirty, only from him to promptly pull away from me. What an asshole. I have every right to be pissy about this.
Inez slides my drink across the counter. There’s finally a lull in drink orders so she leans against the bartop, giving us girls all the juicy details about some reality show she recently auditioned for. Layla and Daphne slide onto barstools beside me and we get fully immersed in the bartender’s tales of snarky contestants, pervy judges and off-screen drama. It’s a nice distraction from the low-grade misery I’ve been feeling all evening.
I’m just starting to feel warm and tipsy when some dude I don’t know—some out-of-towner who’s probably just visiting for the weekend, I’m assuming—taps me on the shoulder.
Khaki pants. Tinted bicycle goggles. Lilac polo shirt.Thatkind of dude.
“Hey, hot thing.” His eyes bug out when I face him. “Woah! What’s Megan Fox doing in middle-of-nowhere Starlight Falls?” He laughs and his hot, drunk, beer-laced breath makes me want to gag.
“Megan Fox is not interested.” I turn my attention back toward my girls.
