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ISABELLA
“You’re serious?” He eyes me up and down before turning to the bartender and lifting two fingers into the air, “Two more.”
“Who jokes about that?”
The bartender drops two shot glasses on the counter in front of us. He hesitates to pour the shots as he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation throughout the evening.
Apparently the two of us are quite entertaining.
Eventually, he grabs the bottle and pours them full of tequila. At this point, he no longer reaches for the salt or lime, because he knows we’re going to shoot them straight. We each grab one, tap it on the bar, and shoot it back.
“Never? Not even once?” He continues to pry.
“No,” I adamantly shake my head at him, “Never.”
“But you’ve…” he hesitates to finish his question as his hands gesture in the air.
“Yes, of course,” I answer the question I know is looming, “I’m twenty-six…”
His finger presses against my lips before I have the opportunity to say anymore, causing my heart to flutter.
Flipping the shot glass in my hand, I place it upside down on the counter next to the others from this evening. By a quick count of the collection growing in front of us, this was my fourth in the past few hours that we’ve been sitting at this bar.
Liquid courage.
It’s the only way to explain what is happening right now. After walking in on my boyfriend fucking my best friend and losing my job in the same week, I did what any perfectly sane, twenty-something woman with no responsibilities would do. I cried. I ate a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Or two. Then I maxed out my credit card and booked a last minute, all-inclusive trip to a resort in Mexico by myself.
Three days of margaritas, reading on the beach, and forgetting about all the shit I left behind; and now I’m sitting at the bar doing shots, spilling my deepest secrets to a man I’ve never met before.
A gorgeous fucking man!
While I haven’t asked him many questions but his name, I am assuming he is significantly older than me by the way his hair is starting to salt-and-pepper by his temples. For a man probably old enough to be my father, he has the quite the opposite of a dad bod. Between his muscular arms, broad shoulders, rock hard pecs, chiseled abs, and that fucking V-cut leading into his board shorts, I’ve struggled to keep my eyes focused on his face for the hours we’ve been chatting. Luckily, those bright, baby-blue eyes and broad smile are also quite enticing to look at.
Yet here I am. Telling this beautiful stranger of a man my deepest sexual secrets like it’s nothing.
“How many times?”
“Six,” I shrug my shoulders.
“But obviously by yourself,” he eyes me questioningly.
Breaking eye contact, my focus immediately goes to the ground. I can feel my cheeks raising in temperature as they turn a bright shade of red. My gaze still focused on the floor, I shake my head.
“You mean you’ve never made yourself come? Or you’ve never touched yourself?” His words sound almost shocked as though he has never heard of such a foreign concept in his life.
“Neither. I mean, no,” I stammer to find the words, “No to both.”
The look on his face is indistinguishable.
In an attempt to hide my embarrassment, I opt to seek some solace in the margarita sitting before me.
ALEJANDRO
After a long day of meetings, I threw on my trunks to take a quick swim in the ocean to clear my mind before heading back to New York City tomorrow morning. When that didn’t work, I swung by the hotel bar to grab an Old Fashioned to take back to my villa. While waiting to order my drink, one of the most stunning women I have ever seen took the seat next to me.
She is a short little thing, can’t be much more than five foot tall. Through the sheer cover-up over her bikini, it is obvious that her short stature is packed full of ample curves. Her face is classically beautiful, complete with gorgeous, pouty, pink lips. It wasn’t her body or her face that enticed me to stop though. It was her curly, cherry-red hair and those emerald-green eyes that drew me in.
