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“Not a PBR fan?”
I turned to find a good-looking guy next to me, leaning against the bar. Like the other men, he also wore a button-down and suit pants, with his sleeves rolled up his forearms to reveal an expensive and ostentatious watch. Flashing with a bright band and even a few small diamonds encrusting the edges, it was the kind of watch meant to tell people he had money. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his dark-blue tie was slightly askew. He was cute, in that young M.B.A. kind of way, with close-cut brown hair and a square, goatee-lined jaw. He also held a glass of brown liquor, which he raised.
“Not so much,” I said as I slipped the bartender my card and nodded that she could cash me out.
“Trevor,” he said, reaching out a hand.
“Skylar,” I said as I accepted the firm handshake. That watch really was bright and shiny. I took a sip of my whiskey and closed my eyes momentarily with pleasure.
“What are you guys celebrating over there?” Trevor asked.
“The end of a trial,” I replied. “We’re all interns at Sterling Grove.”
“Ah,” Trevor said knowingly, although his lack of further response made it clear that he knew little more than the name of the firm. “I’m an analyst over at Chase.”
He said it in a way that was obviously meant to impress me. While he probably didn’t know much about my life, I was extremely familiar with his. One year on Wall Street had been more than enough to convince me I needed to do something for a living that wouldn’t cost my soul and sacrifice others’ in the process.
But despite his occupation, Trevor had a nice face. I was in no hurry to return to Steve’s attention, and after talking with Trevor for two more drinks, I started thinking about other places we might go.
It had been a long time—too long for someone my age who had no attachments and no hang-ups about casual sex. But I would have been lying if I said that any of those encounters were more than barely satisfying. Most of them had simply scratched a strong, primal itch to be with another person, but also ended up with me scratching myself better, later, alone.
It didn’t help that when I did get attached, it was with the worst people on the planet. Out of the two major relationships I’d had, the first, my high school sweetheart, was currently serving time for aggravated assault. Poor Robbie hadn’t stood a chance, growing up with the remains of the Brooklyn mob living within a five-block radius of his house. The second…well, let’s just say I avoided talking about him at all. Patrick’s serial philandering had left a scar that was still fairly raw.
So, my classmates knew me as a loner. But that didn’t mean I wanted it to be that way forever. Just because things hadn’t worked out before didn’t mean they couldn’t in the future.
Trevor was still jabbering about some kind of deal he had made that week. He stopped when he found me staring at him.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “You need another drink?”
My third glass of whiskey was nearly empty. I had reached my self-imposed limit for the night, where I was tipsy but wouldn’t be hungover the next morning.
I pushed the glass away.
“Let’s dance,” I said, and held out my hand so he could lead me to the back of the bar, where a bunch of people had started an impromptu dance floor next to the jukebox. As the lazy riffs of “Beast of Burden” came on, Trevor pulled me into his chest and swayed awkwardly and out of sync with the music while Steve, Eric, and Cherie all watched with interest. He smelled like bourbon and body spray, but I enjoyed at least the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and the muscles of his chest beneath my cheek.
“Hey,” he said as the Stones launched into the chorus the second time. He touched his nose to mine.
All right, why not? Jagger asked if he was strong enough, and I closed my eyes as Trevor leaned in.
His tongue slipped into my mouth and touched mine before darting out again. He did this again. And then again. It was…not pleasant. Like being kissed by some kind of reptile. When I pulled away, he moved his mouth, rubbery and wet, to my neck before leaning back with obvious, drunken desire gleaming in his muddy brown eyes.
“You’re really hot, you know that?” His words were slightly slurred. “I have a total thing for redheads, and you are at least a nine. Maybe even a ten by Boston standards.”
“Um, thanks,” I muttered. My long red hair, which was wavy, unruly, and roughly the color of an heirloom tomato, was almost always the subject of tired come-ons. I was proud of my natural color, but it was like these guys literally couldn’t see anything but the top of my head.
“You want to get out of here? My place is just off Newbury.” Like Chase, the street name was meant to impress—Newbury was a nice part of town, and expensive.
Five minutes ago, I might have said yes, but I had no intention of having sex with Captain Jabbing Tongue of the Good Ship Sexism that night. I gently untangled myself from Trevor’s grip and was careful not to answer the question. “I’m going to stop in the ladies’ room.”
Trevor nodded happily. “I’ll just go close out my tab, honey.”
I ducked through the crowd back to the booth, where Cherie hooted, and Steve pretended not to notice me.
“I’m heading out,” I told them as I grabbed my coat.
“Skylar’s gonna get some!” Cherie crowed, clearly worse for wear. “I saw you making out on the dance floor. Girl got a hot date!”
I snorted. “Hardly. Trying to get rid of one, if you know what I mean. I’ll see you guys on Monday. Tell Eric I said bye, wherever he went.”
