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Dane
How is it possible that I’m obsessing over a girl whom I’ve only met twice?
It doesn’t make any god damn sense.
With a sigh, I pace back and forth across the floor of my master suite. The city is dark and twinkling below and I wonder where Allie is. I wonder what she’s doing.
Is she thinking about me? I know she’s hiding something from me, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to crack her open. She always seems like she’s on the edge of revealing herself to me.
And god, what I wouldn’t give for Allie to open up to me once and for all.
I’m restless tonight. I thought that fucking Allie would clear my mind – that finally sleeping with her would get her out of my system, so to speak. Her virgin pussy was so tight, warm, and willing. She was smoking hot and I love how eager she was to obey.
The idea of her being with another man is enough to make me sick with jealousy.
I should be in bed, but I can’t sleep. I’m still in my tuxedo from the event and suddenly I feel thirsty. I flick the lights off in my bedroom and walk into the foyer of my penthouse where my shoes are in an untidy heap by the door. Rolling my eyes, I grab my loafers and plop down in the living room.
It’s too late to buy a bottle of something, but I bet the bars are still open.
The elevator seems to take forever to reach the street level and by the time the doors ding open, I’m dying for some fresh air. Outside, the sidewalks are crowded with drunk people. They’re all laughing and staggering, some with giant slices of greasy pizza in their hands.
God, it almost looks appetizing. An intrusive thought pops into my head: Allie and me, strolling down the street together after a few late-night drinks. I buy her a slice of pizza and hold it for her as she takes the first bite.
Somehow I have a feeling that she’s the kind of girl who could appreciate something like that.
Christ, what’s wrong with me? I can’t keep this up. I can’t keep dreaming of her. I’m acting like a deluded little kid.
I push my way into a dark restaurant and belly up to the bar. It’s one of those faux-Irish places that has the nerve to call itself a pub, all while serving platters of fish and chips for thirty fucking bucks.
But that doesn’t really matter. Hey, any port in a storm, right?
“What’ll it be?” The bartender is a cute older woman with a gap in her teeth and a huge pair of tits. She flashes a smile at me that seems to say, “Hey, who cares if I’m old enough to be your mother?”
“Rye, neat,” I reply. I take out my Mont Blanc wallet and pass over one of my platinum cards. “Start a tab,” I add. “I’ll be here for a while.”
The woman’s smile flickers but she nods. “Of course,” she says.
As soon as there’s a glass of booze in my hand, I feel better. I close my eyes and swallow half at once, savoring the warm burn as the rye slides down my throat. Alcohol always seems to comfort my stomach.
“Excuse me?”
I turn to the side and see a young blonde woman standing just a touch too close to my stool. She’s wearing a cheap floral perfume that stings my nostrils and a low-cut dress to expose her artificial cleavage.
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes?”
The blonde glances to the end of the bar and I see a redhead wave to her.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says in a soft, coquettish voice. “But my friend and I...well we were just wondering. Are you alone?”
I sigh. “I was,” I say. “But I guess I’m not now, am I?”
The blonde flushes. My sarcasm obviously went right over her head.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the blonde asks. “I’m Hailey, by the way. My friend is Laura.”
“I already have a drink,” I inform her.
Hailey giggles. “You did,” she says. “But it’s empty now.”
