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“Fucking fantastic choice,” Holt declared. “Larkin, get this man some rocky road. And salted caramel. Oh, and bring us the party syrup too.”
Larkin sighed, but asked, “Can I get myself some too?”
“Sure, whatever.” Holt waved a hand, then stopped and focused on him—as much as his bleary eyes allowed. “Wait, when’s Axel getting here?”
“Oh. Uh…” Larkin’s eyes shifted nervously between us. “Still trying to reach him. But it’s all good. He’ll pick up. I’ve got it handled. Everything’s under control. Totally fine. Chill, even. Nothing to worry about, boss.”
Holt was too drunk to really be paying attention, so he just nodded for a long time. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’ll go get your ice cream.” Larkin made a hasty exit.
Beyond relieved at the thought of scary Axel not showing up for a while, I smiled at Holt. Unbelievably, I was actually having a good time. “What’s party syrup?”
“Just gives you a good buzz.”
I wasn’t sure he needed any more assistance in achieving a “good buzz,” but I wasn’t going to say that. Instead, I asked, “Will it affect me?”
When had I started to believe this whole emotion-piggybacking thing? I didn’t, not really. But I was a little tipsy myself now, and besides, what harm could it do to play along?
“Not as much as me, but yeah, you’ll feel it.” Holt grinned at me, then leaned over the desk to tap his glass to mine, which spilled rum all over our hands. “It’ll taste great on the ice cream. Trust me.”
—
The gloves were officially off. The floodgates had opened and now refused to close again. All my dirty laundry was being aired in front of this strange man wearing grey body paint and pink contacts.
“I was thinking about how long it’d been since I’ve had ice cream this morning,” I mumbled around my mouthful of rocky road.
At some point, we’d migrated to the hot pink velvet loveseat in the corner of the room, but instead of sitting on it, we were lounging on the floor with our backs against it, the half-empty ice cream tubs resting between us.
“And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve had a dick in my mouth,” I added, because why not? I’d already told Holt every detail of my relationship with Marcus. Every awkward sexual encounter I’d ever had. Every intrusive thought at work. The time I’d farted in Chase’s office after he’d gone home and closed the door in the hopes that the smell would linger until the next morning.
“Then I started thinking about a dick covered in ice cream.”
Holt nodded, digging into the tub of rocky road. “I get that. I’d be into that.”
“I was worried that the dicksucking muscles in my mouth and jaw might have atrophied.”
He waved his spoon, getting a blob of ice cream on his nice suit pants. “It’s like riding a bike. I bet you’re still great at it. You’ve got a nice mouth. That’s half the heavy lifting done before you’ve even started on the actual dicksucking.”
“If I have such a nice mouth, why haven’t I found anyone else since Marcus?” I mumbled, even though I already knew the answer to that—because I hadn’t gone looking. Because I hadn’t bothered putting myself out there whatsoever.
I was drunk though, and now that we were on the topic, I was feeling sorry for myself.
“I’m a sad, boring loser, that’s why.” I scooped up some rocky road and salted caramel ice cream to stuff into my mouth.
“Hey, oh my gaaawwd, no you’re not!” Holt slurred emphatically, sitting up straighter. “Babe, you’re not a loser. You’re not boring.”
“You thought I was the stripper you’d hired to specifically play a sad office worker.”
“Yeah, but what do I know? I’m not even human. I’m just a sad, horny guy who works in a basement.” He let out a big, dramatic sigh and tipped his head back onto the couch cushion. “Why haven’t I found anyone? Do you think it’s because of my testicles, Taylor?”
I shook my head. “No one cares about symmetrical balls, Holt. Maybe you’re just not putting yourself out there enough.” I was verbalising it not just for him, but for myself.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Why am I getting my jollies by hiring strippers every week?”
“Maybe because it feels safe?” I shrugged. “If you wanted to find someone, you easily could. You’re a catch. Cool job, interesting… hobbies. I’m just a loser who sits at home alone every night watching British soaps.”
Holt lifted his head and reached over to clasp my arm, almost tipping onto his side. “No way. You’re a total catch, Taylor. And you’ve got a fantastic ass. I noticed it when I was coming back into the room earlier.”
