Margaritas by Moonlight (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 2

by Chris Genovese

  Valentino.

  Oh that’s so hot.

  And he looked like a Valentino. I don’t know how, but the name just fit him so well. It was like a velvet blanket thrown over my freezing body. It just comforted me and made me want to wrap my legs around him and soak him up. I wanted to tuck my hands inside his pants, grip his ass, and just hang on for a while.

  “I saw you, umm, how do you say…I saw you going from da club last night. Chor friends was carrying choo. Choo looked really bad. And very umm, how do you say…vulnerability?”

  “Vulnerable?”

  “Ches, exactly.”

  Okay you get the point. The guy’s accent was fucking incredible. I hung on every word coming out of his mouth. I wanted him to fumble his words. I wanted him to mis-conjugate every verb and turn every single Y into a choo.

  I wanted him to lie down next to me on this beach chair, spoon with me, and whisper ridiculous sounding nothings in my ear. Because each verbal foul made me want him even more.

  But…for the sake of this story and so you don’t have to try to figure out every quote, I’m going to switch to regular English. Just remember. He never stopped sounding that damned sexy.

  “Valentino, thank you.”

  His eyebrows furled and I realized he was confused by the fact that I knew his name. I pointed at his nametag and giggled.

  Yes, I giggled.

  Like a five-year-old. He made me feel that way, like a nervous little rope-jumping, hopscotch hopping, go-fish playing little girl.

  Valentino chuckled.

  “It’s not fair that you know my name and I do not know yours,” he said.

  I don’t know if it was left over desire from the night before, having been so close to hooking up with the hunky douchebag, or if it was seeing Jill bent over and gripping the sheets while the same guy ate her from behind, or if it was seeing the giant cock of Ben’s friend lying limp on his bed…geez no wonder I was a hormone raging monster. I’d been teased with sex all night.

  I need to fuck.

  That was becoming my mantra.

  I can’t be the only girl in the world who thinks like this, right? I mean I don’t think about it all the time, but several months of no penetration makes me start thinking like a pervert.

  And as I looked at Valentino squatted down in front of me with his white slacks bulging at the crotch, I imagined the size of that beast he had caged away.

  He seemed like such a nice guy and everyone knows nice guys usually aren’t very good in bed but maybe that was reserved for the Caucasian world.

  Maybe in Mexico a gentleman was a clit ravaging, pussy pounding, cock thrusting madman.

  Hey, a girl can hope.

  I realized Valentino was staring at me and I remembered he’d asked a question. What was it? Oh…my name. What was my name again?

  “Amanda,” I said. “Mandy.”

  “Amanda,” he repeated.

  “Mandy,” I corrected him. “Only my mother and telemarketers call me Amanda.”

  “But why? It’s a beautiful name.”

  I must have been blushing because he reached out and touched my cheek.

  “You turn a beautiful red color, like a rose,” he said.

  I was so embarrassed. I hated my blushing cheeks. They always made me look so stupid. I closed my eyes, still behind my glasses, and took in the feel of his hand on my face.

  If he hadn’t been gorgeous I might’ve wondered who this guy thought he was putting his hand on me. But he was. And I didn’t. I liked it there.

  Until he suddenly removed his fingers from my cheek.

  “I almost forgot I am at work. I should not touch a guest like that. I am sorry, ma’am.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him.

  “No, I can get in much trouble. It’s just you are stunning, like a masterpiece hanging in a museum full of boring paintings. You umm. You attract me.”

  I had to reach down and scoop my jaw up off the floor. Was this guy not perfect?

  Holy cow.

  He was sexy, employed, well-mannered, and slick with his tongue. I wondered just how slick that tongue could get. I wanted to find out.

  “I like you,” I blurted out.

  I wasn’t sure where I was going with it. Did I mean that I liked him in the way that a woman really likes a man she’s dating? Or did I mean that I liked him like a friend? If I was confused by my outburst then he must have really been baffled.

  Valentino smiled and I felt my ass tighten and my pussy moisten. Because he was looking right at me, letting his eyes trace along my legs from my feet to my waist before looking over at the v-shape at the bottom of my bathing suit. He licked his bottom lip and smiled again.

  “I have to go back to work, but do drink that, and I WILL see you later.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “I will find you,” he promised.

  Then he was gone.

  I sipped my drink, some kind of strange concoction that had orange juice, tomato juice, and something else sweet that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wasn’t delicious but it seemed to instantly refresh my body.

  I’d had no desire to go out for the evening, but suddenly I felt the urge to hydrate quickly, shower, drop some Visine in my red eyes, slip into something sexy, and get back out into the clubs.

  Valentino had invigorated me.

  I had a purpose again.

  I had a fucking conquest to get back to.

  ***

  My hair was up, my makeup was hot, my dress was black, and I was ready for another night on the town. Ben and Jill sat on my bed watching me check myself out in the mirror. I pushed my boobs together, satisfied that they were looking as tempting as possible. Through the reflection I saw them both staring at me.

  “Don’t scary movies start like this?” Jill asked.

  “Vampire movies, right?” Ben said. “Don’t new vampires usually get all sexy and horny and dolled up when they’d been lifeless sacks of rotting flesh a few hours earlier?”

  I fixed my glare on him. A warning.

  “But she has a reflection,” Jill argued. “Where’s the chick who wanted to lie in bed and watch Cinemax tonight?”

  “I don’t need Cinemax anymore,” I said. “I’ve found your Internet porn channel. Not that I need it since you were fucking a guy right next to me last night.”

  Ben cracked up. “Oh snap!”

  “Okay, you got me there,” Jill replied. “But seriously, what gives? This morning you said you were never going out again. Now?”

  “You look fucking hot, chica,” Ben interrupted. “You’re definitely ready to go out again.”

  “I met a guy,” I told them. “A super-hot, really cool guy. At the pool today.”

  “How did we miss that?” Ben asked.

  “Somewhere between your cannonball and Jill’s handstands. I believe in Mexico they call you guys niños.”

  “So where we going?” Jill asked.

  “Wherever you want. He said he will find me.”

  I was eager to get out of our room and find Valentino, or to let him find me I guess I should say. The thought of the young and sexy foreigner with such a sweet accent and satisfying smile searching for me put a permanent grin on my face.

  He better come looking for me.

  My hangover was gone. I’d been drinking water all damned day, so much that I had to get up and pee eight times—yes I counted—while watching the Kardashians on their latest vacation.

  I don’t know what it is about that show, but for some reason watching a family with so much money have such a great time while battling real world (or their world) problems is so freaking interesting that I can’t seem to turn away. I once sat for four hours watching that show. Four.

  That’s longer than Titanic and an episode of Orange is the New Black both in a row. And Titanic is fucking long.

  I had no intention of drinking that night. If we weren’t walking I would’ve had no problem with being the designated driver. I didn�
�t want to go through the drunken time machine again. Waking up in my bed with no recollection of the previous night’s events was horrible.

  I let Jill and Ben pick the nightclub. I figured fate would play its part and if Valentino was meant to find me he would.

  This time Jill decided to follow the crowd and that crowd just happened to lead us to a mostly hip hop and reggae joint. Fine by me.

  When alone in my car, my music mix is a hodgepodge of old tunes blended together with whatever’s hot at the moment in all genres. It’s typical to hear Nicki Minaj followed by Madonna followed by Luke Bryan followed by Sean Paul followed by Maroon 5.

  I might even mix some Wu-Tang with Metallica with Gavin Degraw.

  Also, when alone in my car, I get down. I shake my ass like it’s on fire. I’m surprised the driver’s side seat doesn’t have a permanent bald spot where my butt cheeks rub. I’m a dancing machine.

  However, when in public, I’m a little more reserved…until I start downing multicolored test tubes filled with hard liquor concoctions of course.

  But tonight I will not be doing anything of the sort.

  I kind of liked the hip hop joint. Women were still scantily clad, most wearing barely-there board shorts and bikini tops. The guys wore shorts and T-shirts or wife beaters.

  Why wife beaters? And why has that become such an accepted term? I’m even guilty of using it. Just the other day my friend Susie called to see if I wanted to go to a movie with her after work.

  My reply? “Ah, I don’t know. Today’s a lazy day. I’m sitting around in boxers and a wife beater.”

  Such a violent term for such a sexy piece of clothing.

  Well even with all the wife beaters around, the place was really laid back.

  No lasers blasted me in the eyes like at the previous night’s club and I saw very few glow sticks. The music was pounding.

  As we entered, a hoarse voiced reggae singer belted out a bunch of lyrics in broken English. The only word I made out was “pussy.” It was a major part of the chorus and most of the people in the crowd seemed to know every word of the song. Even Ben started singing along.

  It went something like this, “Blah blah gial blah pussy, anna inna banna man gial dem pussy!”

  Okay, so I totally made that up. But it did kind of sound like that. Since when did the sacred part of a woman’s anatomy become a crowd pleasing chant?

  “I’ve never heard you listen to reggae,” I said as I nudged Ben.

  “Haha! Remember Bose?” he replied.

  “The stereo company?”

  “No, the hot as shit black guy I was dating a couple of months ago!”

  “Umm no.”

  “Well, he loved reggae…almost as much as he loved getting his dick sucked. Unfortunately he loved getting his dick sucked a little too much,” Ben said as he pointed a thumb at his own chest. “And not just by this guy. The whore!”

  I could write a book on Ben’s wild dating stories. He has some doozies that’s for sure.

  “Come on let’s dance,” Ben said, grabbing my hand.

  I was in no tail feather shaking mood. I waved him off and picked a spot at a banister overlooking the dance floor. Ben, as if it were the mid-80s, held his hands up like he was driving a car and steered his way out to Jill on the dance floor.

  From my little nest I watched the sweaty bodies below grind along to the music. When you’re in the middle of the fray it all seems perfectly normal. Bodies bump, jump, and dip down low. Booties shake, arms flap, and knees bend. It’s all part of the game.

  But if you never have, you should check out the scene from a high up perch. It’s pretty ridiculous. If nothing else you’ll be amused.

  I had front row seats to a musical orgy. I watched one girl with braids all over her head, a bathing suit top that barely held her boobs inside, and shorts that were so short her pockets stuck out the bottom bend over on the dance floor while a guy danced doggy style behind her.

  If it weren’t for the clothes between them, he’d be penetrating her easily. I didn’t want to watch them, but I was enthralled. I couldn’t turn away.

  The guy’s face was shrouded in the shadows but the girl’s was clearly visible and the look on her face was ecstasy. She was enjoying that dance and I could tell by her pursed lips and dopey eyes that she was thinking about fucking him later. That was a definite hook up.

  Two couples down, a shy looking guy wasn’t doing much dancing. He was just sort of rocking from one foot to the other, knees barely bent, arms at his sides.

  The woman behind him was making up for his lack of moves as her ass gyrated to the music, bouncing up and down along with the beat while her arms reached around him and groped every inch of his body. One hand was on his stomach while the other was gripping his thigh. I wasn’t quite sure if that was a hookup. She seemed to be wanting it but he wasn’t entirely sure.

  My eyes darted around the room from one couple to the next. I was a people watcher and I was having fun watching these people.

  “There you are,” came a familiar voice, right in my ear, whispered less than an inch away. “You look bored.”

  Instant aggravation washed over me. It wasn’t the voice I’d been waiting to hear. This had no “choo” in it. “You look bored” was not nearly as sensual sounding as “Choo look bored.”

  I turned on my heels already knowing who it was. Chad the hunky douchebag (sorry, I know I’ve used this word several times to define him, but come on, it so fits) flight attendant stood there with his shirt unbuttoned a couple of buttons too low, showcasing his slightly hairy chest. It looked like he spent countless hours trimming the hairs to perfection, the way Mr. Miyagi might tidy up a bonsai tree.

  “It’s you,” I said.

  “It’s me…and it’s you…again,” he said with that cocky, shit-eating grin of his.

  Amazing how the night before I thought it was a cute smile, a sexy smirk but after seeing him fuck my roommate a couple hours later it had a whole new description. Yes, it was definitely shit-eating.

  When I didn’t reply, he continued his verbally witty ninjitsu.

  “You ran off so quickly last night that I was kinda worried. I didn’t know what happened to you.”

  “What happened is I was way too drunk and shouldn’t have been that close to you in the first place. Thank God I had to pee or I might’ve made a serious mistake.”

  Chad looked around as if checking to see if anyone had overheard. He obviously had a reputation to uphold in Cancun. Being a sleazy womanizer was perfectly fine but being a sleazy womanizer being blown off was definitely not.

  “You know,” he said. “I wasn’t all that interested in you in the first place. Your roommate on the other hand…mmm now that was a piece of ass.”

  I pulled my hand back and hissed as I let it go. Chad was about to get the shit slapped out of him when someone grabbed my wrist, stopping my hand in midair.

  “Choo don’t wanna do that, Mandy,” Valentino said as he stepped into view.

  Now that’s the “choo” I’ve been waiting for.

  “Yeah, you don’t wanna do that, Mandy,” Chad repeated.

  I was about to say something when Valentino stepped in between us and looked Chad in the eye.

  “I don’t know what you did to the lady, but I know she’s a very nice person, so it must have been something bad. Now, trust me when I tell you this cabron, I won’t let the lady hit you, but if you don’t back the fuck up, I will. And if I hit you, you won’t be getting back up. Comprende?”

  Oh my God, I’m soooo going to fuck this guy. Like tonight. Like right now if he lets me.

  Suddenly I could see myself bent over on the dance floor like the hot chick with the braids, with Valentino behind me dry humping me from the back.

  Chad threw up his hands and backed up a step. “Okay my friend. No need to get all violent. I’m a nice guy, just here having a good time. I’ll be over there minding my own business.”

  Chad pointed toward the bar
but Valentino shook his head.

  “Nah, you need to leave the club. Marco, escort this guy out please.”

  Marco? Who’s Marco?

  A heavy shoulder bumped into me and suddenly Marco came into view. He was huge, had a shaved head, and tattooed covered arms made visible through the sleeveless wife beater he wore. Two other big guys were with him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bump you,” Marco said as he looked down at me.