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I sway to the music, the band playing a recent pop song, and all the while I am forgetting that Jason ever existed and I’m feeling as free as a bird. Vicky’s right, Jason was great on paper. He was your typical six-foot, blond hair, blue-eyed hottie. He had a great job, great family, and loved his sports. In the bedroom, he was great. Well, great compared to what I had experienced in the past. He knew how to make me come, but even then, it was routine. Kind of like playing a piano; once you know the notes, you can play with your eyes closed.
When I think back to the last year of having sex, it was dull. Same old positions, me on top, and once in a blue moon he would take me from behind. Foreplay was ancient history. The reality was we were both busy, knew how to get each other off, and did it within five minutes.
I was equally to blame.
The question now weighing heavily on my mind was, Is it possible to have a relationship with someone and still keep those butterflies and the foreplay alive? I need someone who can crawl under my skin and plant that seed of lust, where all I can think about is our bodies banging together in perfect harmony.
You’re horny and need to get laid.
Oh, and tequila, please stop talking now.
The night was not supposed to be spent thinking about Jason, so I divert my eyes to a group of people in their mid to late twenties that are huddled in the corner. The guy with the jet-black hair is smokin’ hot, and even in my intoxicated state, I am not immune to my kitty getting down and dirty.
He is wearing only a khaki wife beater; every inch of his arms are covered in tattoos and boy, oh boy, does he have a set of arms on him! The way he is standing against the wall shows off his tall muscular build. C’mon, would I really screw a guy I didn’t know? Probably not, God only knows where he has been and for all I know, he could be part of some underground drug ring willing to kidnap me and hold me ransom.
Seriously, I need to get laid and not read so many books.
I am happily sipping away at my drink when Vicky returns, and I’m quick to point out Mr. Smokin’ Hot. Of course, she agrees that he is one fine specimen, but her enthusiasm is short-lived when she abandons me for some dude wearing a bowtie. Way to go Vicky, you sure know how to pick them! She promises to return in a few minutes. Yeah whatever. She totally broke the girl code.
Keeping myself entertained, I continue to watch Mr. Smokin’ Hot and happen to catch a glimpse of the female beside him. She is wearing the tackiest gold dress that drops low, exposing her very fake, ample bosom. On closer inspection, the lady beside her looks strikingly similar, and as I focus in I realize they are twins and one of them is Dee Simmons from work. Totally explains the skankiness I was smelling in here. Honestly, her sister looks no better. Why, oh why, are the hot men attracted to such tramps? He just lost five points on my scale of one-to-ten—ten being the kind of man I could see myself bending my five-month-rule for.
Just when I am about to turn away, bored by the sleaziness, a very dark and mysterious guy beside Mr. Smokin’ Hot catches my attention. Perhaps all is not lost, so I prepare my flirtatious smile only for my stomach to do a backflip as I realize it’s none other than the Jerk himself.
Oh shit.
I swivel back around, almost causing myself whiplash, and pretend to be waiting for the bartender, praying to the lord he didn’t notice me. Vicky is standing at the opposite side of the bar and amid the heavy noise. I attempt to gain her attention so she can ditch bowtie dude and we can blow this pop stand before the angry wolf hunts me down.
No such luck of course, so what’s a girl to do? I pull my hair forward to remain inconspicuous and strategically cover my eyes. The bartender is looking at me like I’m some crazed weirdo, so I slip him a twenty and order another drink. He appears again moments later with some harder liquor and I down it in one go, much to his amusement.
The room is spinning, flas
hing colors and lights blurring as they speed past me. Everyone at the bar looks distorted which only adds to the hilarity, and so I find myself laughing at absolutely nothing. I definitely am not in the mood for another confrontation, but given that minutes have passed, I assume he has the sense to stay away from me. An unfamiliar cold hand is placed on my shoulder; I jump at the touch and turn to be met by Haden.
Oh . . . fuck. Here we go; no good can come of this.
Looking supremely pissed off, his lip is swollen from the smack in the face and there is a slight cut on his cheek from the costume ring I was wearing at the time. Behind his glasses, his eyes have narrowed, and beneath his lips I see a puff of air followed by a grunt. He looks different from his usual self, and I figure it’s because he’s wearing tight black pants and a denim, collared shirt rather than his corporate attire.
Gee, he smells nice, and look at the way his forearms flex when he is angry.
My shoulders begin to move up and down and I start to laugh again, unable to control myself.
“You think this is funny?”
I don’t, but it is. God knows my sense of humor was swept away with my will to live the past couple of days. Is it so wrong that I am getting off on his pure hatred for me right now? The way his brows furrow and the death stare that follows makes it all the funnier.
“You got punched in the face by a girl.” I chuckle.
“It’s kinda funny.”
The bartender overhears me, and with a grin he pours me another drink. What a swell fella! I give him my best wink.
“Don’t you think you should stop drinking now?” Haden growls, holding back the glass from my lips.
“What are you, my dad? I’m thirty fucking two. I can do whatever the hell I want. Presley Malone is wearing her big-girl panties,” I slur, followed by more laughter.
I could swear, even in my intoxicated state, that he is smirking and his eyes have wandered down my body. Maybe I need to stop drinking. My imagination is off with the fairies. Wasn’t it only minutes ago you thought he was mysteriously handsome? Someone please splash cold water on me now!
“Jesus, would you stop? You’ll end up taking some idiot home at the rate you’re going.”
