by Amelia Wilde
Back when we were still teenagers with stars in our eyes, we’d decided that I’d be Tahlia’s maid of honor, Tahlia would be Lennon’s, and Lennon would be mine. It seemed the easiest way to avoid an argument down the line. That, and we’d watched that episode of Friends where Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe did the same thing. Okay, maybe we were just being copycats.
Being Tahlia’s maid of honor is not going to be an inexpensive venture and at the moment I barely have enough to buy myself dinner at Taco Bell. I need to get a job and quick.
About an hour after that realization I’m checking my email on my phone in case any of the places I applied to earlier have responded and the Tinder app catches my eye.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the dumpster that is my life, but getting laid by a stranger without the pretense of either of us wanting more seems like a fantastic idea right now.
And so I start swiping. And swiping.
Eventually one of the more attractive guys I swiped right on messages me a picture of his dick.
How’s that for hello?
Judging by the picture though, he’s working with some good equipment.
Never let it be said that a dick pic can’t bring two people together.
Seconds later another message comes through.
Pussylickr69: Wanna fuck?
Well. He certainly doesn’t waste time on pleasantries, does he? Ignoring the fact that this douche couldn’t be bothered to even say hello or ask my name before asking if I wanted to bump uglies with him, I respond because in truth, tonight I only need what genetics has so clearly blessed him with.
Whiteebanter: That’s the idea.
Pussylickr69: Awesome. Where r u?
Whiteebanter: At the Thirsty Monk in Nob Hill.
Pussylickr69: Why don’t u cum 2 my place?
Since this is my first ever hook-up of this sort I don’t know if it’s normal to head over to the other person’s place, but there isn’t a chance in hell I’m going inside some stranger’s house without meeting him in public and seeing if I get the creep vibe from him first. I have a very healthy creep-o-meter.
Whiteebanter: This is my 1st time doing this. Why don’t you meet me here & we can have a drink then head to your place?
I toss back the last of my drink while I wait for a response. Somehow the thirty seconds feels longer than it did waiting for the next season of Breaking Bad to air. Finally, his response comes.
Pussylickr69: Be there in 20.
I drop my phone back into my purse hanging from the corner of the chair with the flair of a woman who’s just taken ownership over her life.
Okay, I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.
I need another jolt of liquid courage before this guy shows up. I look up to order another drink expecting to see the pretty blonde who’s been serving me all night, but instead my eyes meet a set of hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes. Those eyes are set in the face of a guy whose bone structure would make any model jealous. Further inspection tells me that his body is no less impressive. Muscles bulge beneath his taut t-shirt, the hard planes of his chest and abs clearly visible beneath. My gaze darts back up to his face to see a half-crooked smile and a gleam in his eyes that tells me he knows how hot he is.
After some work to reconnect my brain synapses with my tongue I’m finally able to speak.
“Hey. You don’t look like the last bartender,” I say and push my empty glass toward him.
“You’re right. She’s much cuter than I am.”
His grin widens. And oh! There’s a dimple, too. I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with a dimple. Then again, who isn’t? I think of dimples as being the key to the chastity belt.
“Ready for a refill?” He nods down to the empty glass.
When I remember that a stranger is on his way to meet me so we can have sex together, panic flares inside me. I desperately need that drink.
“Yes!” I say with too much enthusiasm.
He doesn’t comment on my over-excited nature, thankfully. “What’ll you have?”
I ponder for a moment, thinking that I need something stronger than what I’ve been drinking—I’m going to need to be buzzed for this—but unsure what to order. “Something that will put hair on my chest,” is my brilliant response to his question.
His gaze darts down to my cleavage. “Now why would you want to go and ruin a perfectly good chest like that?” He arches a brow, but instead of waiting for me to reply, he turns and begins to make my drink.
My face heats and a small portion of the confidence I’ve lacked lately returns. I smile to myself as he grabs a glass and adds ice to it, enjoying the way the muscles in his arms contract and relax as he sets about his work.
I’m so lost in ogling his body that I barely notice when he sets a drink in front of me.
“For the lady,” he says in that deep, slightly raspy voice.
“Thank you.” I lean forward and draw the drink up the straw, not missing the way he’s watching my lips with intense focus. The sweetness of the cola hits my tongue first and then the taste of whiskey followed by something else I can’t place. “This is really good. What’s it called?”
“A Stiffy.” One corner of his lip tips up in a grin.
“What’s in it?” I ask as I lean in for another sip. I’ve never been a huge whiskey drinker, but this stuff goes down smooth.
“It’s my own creation.” He winks and leans over the bar so close to me that his lips are practically touching my ear. “If I told you there’s no telling the things I’d have to do to you to keep you quiet.”
A shiver runs up my spine and he must notice because he chuckles as he backs away, amusement lighting his eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Whitney Knight. Most of my good friends call me Whit, though.”
He places both palms on the bar top and lets his weight transfer to them, causing all the muscles to bunch up. Not that I notice because that would be slutty since I have another guy on his way here to screw my brains out.
The scent of his cologne wafts my way as he leans in just a little. “I hope I have the pleasure of being able to call you Whit someday then.”
I swallow hard, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. “What’s your name?” I ask in a breathy voice that probably gives away how turned on I am at that moment.
“Cole,” he says simply.
Cole. Just one look at this guy and I know he’s trouble. What I can’t be sure of yet is whether he’s more trouble than he’s worth.
3
An hour and a half later and hot stuff has come around the bar to take the seat beside me and join me on my mission to get shit-faced. I have to admit, I’m enjoying his company, but it doesn’t exactly make him Employee of the Year given the fact that he’s supposed to be working.
“Won’t your boss be mad that you’re drinking on the job?” I ask.
That damn dimple makes another appearance again before he answers. “Nah, he’s cool. It’s dead in here tonight. If anyone comes in, I’ll be sure they get what they need.” His gaze rakes up and down my small frame, and I get the distinct impression that he’s picturing me naked.
Jeez, I hope my nakedness looks amazing in his brain. Given the half-crooked smile on his face, I think it must. I wonder if his imagination is good enough to picture that dimple in my ass that doesn’t ever seem to want to disappear, regardless of how much I weigh.
As if he’s tempted fate with his words, the bell over the door dings and an older gentleman walks in and seats himself at one of the bar tables across the room.
“Be right back.” Cole pats my hand before he rises from his seat.
It was an innocent gesture, but it makes me think dirty things. The heat from his hand seeps up my arm like a bee sting and settles somewhere in my chest.
I watch him walk away and can’t help but notice the way his ass perfectly fills out his jeans. It bunches and flexes as his long strides take him across the bar. May
be Lennon is right and it has been too long since I’ve been with a man.
It’s then that I realize that Tinder dude still hasn’t shown up. The bar isn’t busy, probably since it’s the middle of the week, and I’ve been chatting—okay, flirting—with Cole and hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I grab my phone from my purse and open the app to see that I have a new message.
Pussylickr69: Not coming. Sorry found someone else who wasn’t so much werk.
Fury causes my face to heat as I type out a quick reply that might be, and by that I mean most definitely is, alcohol-fueled.
Whiteebanter: Yeah, I can see how thirty minutes of conversation is too much foreplay for you. Fuck you and your lack of knowledge of the English language. You spell work with an ‘o,’ dipshit.
There. That’ll show him. With a frown, I drop my phone back into my purse.
“Everything okay?” Cole asks as he takes the seat beside me again.
I sigh. “Yeah, I just found out that Pussylicker isn’t coming anymore.”
Cole nearly spits out the sip of drink he’s just taken and has a coughing fit before he fully recovers. “Excuse me?”
“I was waiting for a guy from Tinder to show up, but he just ditched me because apparently it was too much work to have a drink with me before taking me back to his place to bang me.” I spin my glass in place on the bar top.
“You’re trolling for guys on Tinder?” Cole howls with laughter so hard he has to hold his stomach. I love the way the laugh looks on his face—the way it crinkles his eyes at the corners and how it showcases his perfect teeth. But all that aside, it’s irritating.
“It’s not that funny.” This guy might be hot, but right now he’s working my nerves.
“Actually, it is. Why the hell would a woman like you resort to finding someone to fuck on a dating site?”
The way the word ‘fuck’ rolls off his tongue has all my womanly parts contracting and wishing that it was an invitation to do just that. But never mind that, because I’m annoyed at him, I just barely remember through my drunken haze.
“What do you mean a woman like me?” I try to do air quotes around the last part, but my balance isn’t what it was three hours ago, and I almost topple off my stool, so I quickly grab on to the bar in front of me.
“Beautiful. Intelligent. Likable. Smartass.” He ticks each word off on one hand while he speaks and he says it like he means it. I hold his stare for a minute before realization dawns.
“Hey! I’m a B.I.L.F. You know, like a M.I.L.F. Only different.” I’m so impressed that I thought of that given my current state.
Cole chuckles with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Only better,” he says.
Our gazes lock for a beat and it’s at that moment I know that if I offer myself up to this guy, he’ll be more than willing to send me on the walk of shame tomorrow morning. Heat rushes into my cheeks and I look away. As much bravado as I had earlier about my Tinder escapade, I’m not sure I can do this. Be this girl so full of confidence that she bangs a stranger with no qualms about it.
My elation has crash-landed on the ground as I realize I’m not able to pull the trigger and make an advance toward him. I also know I’ll probably regret it forever because this man is so far beyond good-looking that it’s a speck in the rear-view mirror. Not to mention the fact that he’s sexy as hell and seems to be a decent human being. Which is more impossible to find in the Bay area than someone who doesn’t think they’re allergic to gluten.
I take a deep breath and finish the last couple of gulps of my drink and push the glass in Cole’s direction.
“Another, please.”
Cole tosses back the rest of his drink and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat while the liquid slides down.
Damn. That is sexy.
Why is that sexy?
“I’m going to join you for another as well.” He gets up off his bar stool and before walking away he comes to stand directly behind me. “Assuming you want me to stick around?”
His breath washes across my neck and my ear and I close my eyes for a brief moment to enjoy the sensation. “I’d like that,” I say with all honesty.
“Good. I know the first guy let you down, but don’t worry… I’ve been told I lick pussy like a boss.”
And with that, he walks away while I struggle to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest.
I’m out of my league with this guy. I know it and there’s a good chance that he knows it, too.
But ask yourself this, ladies… if you were called up to the big leagues from the minors, would you say no?
4
I think I’m dead.
Wait. Would I be in this much pain if I were dead?
Probably not.
Maybe I’m just dying.
I scrunch my eyes closed in an effort to dull the roaring pain that unleashes itself inside my skull every time I move.
I’m serious. I just twitched my big toe and it felt like a knife driving into my brain.
It takes a minute, but I register that I must be in bed. I can feel the pillow under my head, the blankets bunched around my waist. I try to remember the last thing I was doing before waking with what feels like a ten-pound weight on my head. I feel like I’m Wile E Coyote and the Roadrunner just dropped the safe on me.
After what could be a few minutes, or maybe an hour—I’m really not sure—I brave opening my eyes. Slowly my eyelids peel apart and thank God for small favors… I’m not met with blazing sunlight to my retinas.
But I have no idea where the hell I am.
I’m in a bedroom. That much I can tell. A clean and sparse bedroom. Hardwood floors that look to be original, but redone, fill the room and white sheets cover me in a big bed. Dark curtains have been pulled over the set of large windows on the far side of the room so that they let in a small amount of light and a worn dresser sits at the far end of the bed.
I attempt to sit up to investigate further, but my head revolts and so I set it back down on the pillow. As I roll to the side I will my mind to remember what the hell I was doing last night.
I spot a bottle of water and two Advil on the night table and it’s like seeing a mirage in the middle of the desert, I’m that thankful. That feeling is short-lived when I notice a note beside them.
Because that’s when the night before comes rushing back to me. Feeling sorry for myself. The Tinder douchebag standing me up. Flirting with the bartender…
Reluctantly I raise my head, slowly so as not to cause my brain matter to leak out of my ears. What kind of house guest would I be then? There’s enough light in the room that I’m able to read the masculine scrawl.
I have to assume that after last night you need these. Sorry I had to leave, but I had an early appointment this morning. Stay as long as you like, but be sure to leave your number for me. Don’t worry about locking up. The door will lock automatically behind you.
Cole
PS - Can I call you Whit now? Since you’re waking up half-naked in my bed I assume you consider us ‘friendly.’
Oh. My. God.
Oh, my God!
I rack my brain for any memory of what happened last night, but I can’t even remember leaving the bar with him.
I’m still wearing my bra and underwear so I can’t imagine we had sex then, right? I shift my pelvis around a bit. It doesn’t feel like I had sex.
I bring my hands up to my face and groan.
I have no idea whether or not I had sex last night. As far as things go, this situation isn’t doing a whole lot to raise my level of self-esteem.
Not to mention the fact that if I did have sex with him I really would have liked to remember it. There’s a good chance I won’t ever have a man like that between my legs again. Not because I don’t think I’m worth it, but because sexual fantasies like Cole who aren’t completely full of themselves aren’t exactly an abundant commodity.
Unable to take the jackhammering in my head any longer, I sit up and reach
for the Advil and water. Once I’ve swallowed the pills I set the glass back down on the bedside table and notice a pen there. That must be how he expects me to leave my number.
Not a chance in hell.
My phone rests on the nightstand, too, so I pick it up and bring up Lennon’s contact info. If anyone is an expert at the one-night stand, it’s her. It takes a few rings, but she eventually answers.
“This better be good. My date from last night was just about to chow down.”
“Oh, sorry. Are you out for breakfast?”
Lennon laughs. “Sweet, innocent Whitney. I meant on my pussy.”
I don’t even know what to say to that so I ignore it entirely. “I just woke up in a stranger’s bed, he’s gone and left me a note, and I have no idea what happened between us last night.”
I hear her cover the phone, some muffled talking on her part, and then she rejoins our conversation. “Tell me everything!”
“As long as you promise not to talk so loud, my hangover is in full effect.”
“You were drunk last night?” she asks.
“Based on the hangover I’m currently experiencing and the fact that I remember jack shit about last night, I must have ended up really drunk.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Exactly.”
My friends and a couple of my exes have filled me in on what I’m like when I’m really drunk. Let’s just say that I’m amorous. To an extreme. I love my friends. I love everybody.
“I guarantee you that you were handsy,” Lennon says and then laughs at my expense.
I can only imagine what I would have been like around someone as fuckable as Cole. The last thing I’m going to do is sign myself up for the embarrassment of seeing him again. No, thank you.
“I know, I know. Listen. What’s the protocol here?” I ask. I roll myself out of bed (and I mean that literally) and find the bathroom just outside the door to his bedroom.