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Two years and four months. In prison. He couldn’t finish his last semester and now was back in college to get his degree even though he was twenty-five and should be working for his dad’s brokerage house and making his own money, rather than living off his meager trust. All because little hot Sara thing didn’t want her friends to know she was a slut.
Brad glanced at his watch again. Eight-fifteen. “Shit, where is she?” If she’d gotten cold feet, he’d be livid. She’d already changed the place on him at the last minute, and because he sensed she was a flake, he’d checked his email right before he came and she hadn’t contacted him again to cancel or say she was running late.
Bitch.
The bartender approached and gestured toward his empty beer mug. Brad nodded and said, “And a shot of JD.” He needed it after being stood up.
“Bad news?”
“The hot chick I’m supposed to meet is late,” Brad complained.
The bartender poured the shot. “The one you met online?”
Brad had forgotten he’d talked to the guy earlier, when he’d been excited about Tanya—so excited he’d arrived early. “You should have read the messages she sent me. And the photos—if she’s half as horny in person, it’s going to be a wild night.”
Tanya hadn’t sent him photos, except the one head shot. And she wasn’t explicit in her messages, but Brad could read between the lines. Why else would she meet him if she didn’t want to get laid? That’s how these online games were played. Dance around it, but when the girl agreed to meet face-to-face, that meant getting down-and-dirty.
“Hope she makes it, dude.”
She’d better.
Brad looked around the room. Lots of couples and groups. Groups of guys, groups of girls. He’d just have to wait. The time would come.
He reached into his pocket and fingered the plastic vial with his special homemade Liquid X. Just to loosen her up. Girls liked to play this coy game. Two dates, three dates, leading him on, jerking him around. Get hot and heavy, then say no when he slipped his hand down her pants. They always said yes by the third date, but why should he have to wait that long? He was so tired of it, and after prison he was through with playing stupid games.
Brad drained the shot of JD, savoring the burn as the whiskey slid down his throat. He watched the crowd. A couple was bickering near the door. As he watched, the guy yelled at his date—Brad couldn’t make out what they were saying—then left. The girl—a blonde, possibly twenty-one or she had a fake ID—stared after her boyfriend in shock. As Brad watched, she drained the drink in her hand, turned on her glittery heels, and strode purposefully over to the bar, standing next to Brad. She smiled at the bartender and put the glass down. “Another, pretty please?”
Brad might not even need the Liquid X to loosed up this babe. “Hey,” he said.
She glanced at him in blatant appraisal, but acted nonchalant. “Hi.” She scanned the crowd and sighed.
“Your boyfriend leave?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“His loss.”
“Exactly.” She nodded her head to emphasize the point.
Her name was Ashley; she went to GWU, majoring in public administration. Boring. They chatted a bit, and Brad sensed immediately she wanted to fuck him. He saw it in her dark eyes, the way her tongue licked her lips, the way her nipples felt when he brushed against her thin black sweater.
Someone bumped Ashley from behind and she pressed her full body against Brad. She smiled, a bit nervous. Brad was experienced enough to know that she’d have to be real drunk to come home with him without a little urging. College girls thought they appeared less slutty if they had to be talked into spreading their legs. I never do this. I never sleep with a guy on the first date. I never…
It was all bullshit.
Brad would simply speed up the inevitable. He’d paid a hooker the day after he got out of prison, but he wasn’t doing that again. He’d been counting on Tanya to show, and he would have his turn with her soon. She’d regret standing him up.
He’d had a lot of experience slipping drugs into his dates’ drinks. It had become harder as some bartenders watched with eagle eyes, but in a bar this crowded he could manage, no problem.
She said something, and he pretended he couldn’t hear over the noise. She leaned closer. “Are you at GWU, too?”
He shook his head. “American U.”
“Grad school?”
He should be in grad school by now. All because of those lying bitches, he’d had two years of his life stolen. He lied and said, “Law school.”
She was impressed. “Wow. I’m only third year. Still don’t know what I want to do, but there are a lot of options in D.C. with a public admin degree, don’t you think?”
