by S. R. Grey
“They would, and they do write about guys like him,” she assures me. “All the time, in fact. Why do you think I read so much?”
“It all makes perfect sense now. I clearly need to load up my Kindle.”
“You do,” she agrees. “I’ll send you some recs. You’ve totally been missing out.”
Lainey, though she’s talking with me, sounds somewhat distracted.
So I follow her gaze…
Hmm, she’s staring beyond my dream guy to some other hot male that my guy just stopped to talk to. This new hot guy is a huge mass of muscle, with longish blond hair that’s wild and unruly. My sister is riveted, and I think I know why. “Hey, that blond guy looks a little like Thor. Didn’t you go see that movie, like, ten times?”
“Shut up, Aubrey.” She nudges my shoulder playfully. “I only went to see it twice.”
“And the DVD?”
“Okay, yes. That, I may have worn out. Along with a couple of battery-operated devices.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“Oh”—she winks at me—“but I think you do.”
“You and your sex toys,” I say, laughing. “You’re shameless.”
“You will be too,” she says, “once you finally break down and buy one.”
Pointing back into the crowd, I say, “Just get back to staring at Thor. You can use him for fantasy material later.”
“You bet your ass I will.”
We share a smile that it’s cool we can be so open with each other. But when we look back into the crowd, Thor is gone, lost in the growing sea of people. My guy is still there, though. My real-life book boyfriend. And he seems to be getting closer, seeing as he’s walking toward us.
Wait, what?
“Shit,” I murmur.
Lady bits go on high alert, and I can almost hear the whistles sounding, “Incoming, incoming projectile.”
I’m safe—and they’re safe—as I soon realize he’s not even looking at us. Me. Whatever! Book Boyfriend is too busy pushing through the mass of people while staring intently at a smartphone in his hand.
At one point, he stops and lifts the device to scowl at whatever’s on the screen. When he lowers it, he bites out what appears to be a curse. He then lifts the device again and shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s reading.
Well, I can’t believe how hot you are. So color us both surprised, buddy.
As he nears me, I start to feel like I’m in the best dream ever. You know the kind, where you never want to wake up because everything in dreamland is going the way you wish things would go in real life. You know—perfectly.
Our eyes meet, but only for a second. I don’t think he even registers my existence, but it’s enough for me.
I lift my hand to wave him over, but Lainey stops me. “What the hell are you doing?”
I shrug, hand poised in the air. “I’m making a move, taking a chance.” I start waving my hand like a nut, all while yelling, “Yolo, yolo, yolo!”
“Stop that,” Lainey hisses. “Oh my God, you’ve completely lost it.”
She grabs my hand and lowers it to my side. “No yolo crap in this sea of people. If you’re attracted to the guy, fine. But there are better ways to get his attention. Why don’t you get him alone for a minute? Talk to him. Find out if he has a girlfriend. If he does, she could be here. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?”
Lainey is clearly not onboard the YOLO train. I need to get her a ticket. But for now, I refocus on the crowd.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll be good.” And then, “Aw, shit, Lainey. My guy disappeared, just like Thor. Damn it.”
Lainey places her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, if it’s meant to be you’ll find him again.”
“I don’t know about that.” I shake my head. Finding him seems like a daunting task when I can barely walk a straight line.
“Come on.” She takes my hand. “I need more water.”
“Ooh!” I lift my cup. “And another drink for me?”
Lainey narrows her eyes as she gives me an assessing once-over. “I don’t know about that. I think you need a break from the booze. Pacing, remember? Let’s grab you a bottle of water for now.”
She’s no fun. “Okay,” I say, complete with a pout.
As we head downstairs to where there’s a big tub of ice filled with bottled water, I think about Book Boyfriend.
“I can’t quit thinking about him, Lainey,” I admit as I carefully navigate one stair at a time. “Did you see his eyes? They had to have been the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”
“You could make out the color from that far away?” Lainey sounds doubtful as she helps me down the last step. “And while intoxicated?”
I smack her arm, and then end up holding onto it for support. “Shut up. Seriously, did you not notice the rich deep color?”
“Um, no, can’t say that I did.”
“Well, I did.”
I’m insistent, though truly I’m not sure now if I’m imagining things.
Still, horny and sexually-deprived girl that I am, I go on. “God, that body. And that face. Those eyes too. I bet I could out-romance your romance writers with a spot-on description.”
“Oh, this should be good,” Lainey snorts. “And just how would you describe his eyes?”
I scramble to come up with a fitting literary description. Only problem is I’m not a writer. The best I can do is this…
“His eyes are like the color at the center of a sunflower. The fuzzy part, you know? Where it’s all dark brown and inviting—”
“Fuzzy? Inviting?”
“Shut up, I’m not done. And, yes, fuzzy and inviting. Like you could cozy up in—”
My sister stops me. “Jesus, Aubrey, please no more. Whatever you do, do not take up writing. That may be the weirdest comparison I’ve ever heard of to describe a hot guy’s eyes.” She shakes her head. “Really, Aubrey, sunflowers?”
Nudging her, and suddenly in touch with my inner comedian, I say, “You have to admit it was a flowery description. Get it, Lainey? Flowers, sunflowers.”
Lainey rolls her eyes. “You’re killing me, Aubrey.”
Just then her phone buzzes, thus putting an end to any more talk of Flowery Eyes. Or was that Sunflower Eyes?
She grabs my arm. “Hey, hold up. Margeaux is texting me something about another party.”
Margeaux is one of Lainey’s roommates and also her best friend, so I throw out, “You should invite her to the party.”
Lainey, still reading the text, murmurs, “Hmm, I don’t think so. There’s another party that’s closer to campus. That’s what the text is about. Aubrey, it sounds really fun.” She looks up from the phone, eyes pleading. “What do you think? Tell me you’d be okay with us taking off and heading over to that one?”
The only thing missing is a “please, please, please,” like Lainey used to do when we were kids. The writing’s on the wall, like in neon graffiti. A party close to where Lainey lives means she can park her car at her house and walk over. And then she can drink, like I’ve been doing. I don’t begrudge her wanting to have fun too. I’m sure it’s boring for her to watch everyone get drunk while she’s stone-cold sober.
There’s just one little fly in the ointment.
I’d prefer to stay at this party, seeing as there’s a guy here, one who looks like a book boyfriend, and one I may actually have a chance of meeting and talking to before the night is over.
“Go ahead and go,” I say to Lainey, with all this in mind. “I need to head back to my hotel soon, anyway.”
Lainey frowns. “Wait, how do you plan to get back if I leave you here? I’m your ride, silly girl.”
More like drunken girl. But hey, I’m a drunken girl with a plan.
“I’ll just call for an Uber,” I state, like this is such a given it shouldn’t even need to be articulated. I can’t let her in on my real motive, or she may try to talk me out
of it.
“I don’t know.” My sister scans the crowd. “I don’t think I should leave you here by yourself. You could get into some real trouble, seeing how drunk you are.”
My baby sister, the voice of reason. And me, living on the edge. The world has truly gone crazy.
“Alone?” I gesture to all the partygoers. “I’ll hardly be alone. And hell, Lainey, almost everyone here is drunk.”
I’m not exaggerating; there are lots of people stumbling about. Lainey crosses her arms as she takes them all in.
“That’s the problem,” she says, at last. “Plus, there are more guys here than girls. And since they’re all drinking, who knows what they’ll be getting up to later.”
The wheels in my head are turning as I try to come up with a plan to convince Lainey to leave without me. “Okay, tell you what…” I begin.
“Yes?” she replies, arms still determinedly crossed.
I whip out my phone and open the Uber app in front of her. “I’ll order my ride right now in front of you. This way you can go ahead and leave, all with the assurance that your big sister is in good hands.”
“It’s not Uber’s hands I’m worried about,” she mumbles under her breath.
I let out a groan. “Oh, come on, Lainey. Go have fun at this other party. Think about it. My hotel’s out of your way, anyway. You shouldn’t have to drive me all the way across town. If I went with you to this other party I’d probably end up calling for a ride, anyway.” I look down at the phone and start tapping at the screen. “You’d like to at least have a couple of drinks before the night is over, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I guess.”
“So, go. You deserve a good time too. Your boring old sister has had the whole evening to cut loose. And trust me, I’ve had a blast. But it’s time for me to get back to being responsible. And that means returning to the hotel and getting my ass to bed.”
“You did say you have an early morning tomorrow,” Lainey mutters, more to herself than to me.
I can tell she’s almost where I want her to be—comfortable with leaving without me.
I hurry her along to that end. “Yes, yes, I have a really early morning,” I fib.
Lainey appears torn, chewing at her bottom lip. She always does that when she’s unsure of something.
I hold up my phone to show her there’s a ride on the way. Hopefully, that’ll assuage her concern.
“Look,” I say, nodding to the screen. “My ride will be here in eighteen minutes.”
Crap, she needs to leave, like now so I can cancel the Uber and start searching for Sunflower Eyes. Hmm, maybe I should think of a more manly-sounding name for him? But until then, back to the point—who knows when I’ll have another chance to be so reckless?
Lainey takes a deep breath, and then releases it on a loud sigh. “You sure you’ll be all right?” she asks.
I peer down at the phone. “For seventeen… No, wait, sixteen more minutes, yes, I think I will survive. “
“Okay, then. Since you have a ride on the way I’ll go.”
Yes!
Her phone buzzes again, and I place my hand on her back to give her an encouraging little shove. “Go, go. That’s probably Margeaux, wondering where you are.”
Lainey turns around and hugs me. I hug her back, holding onto her tightly. “Bye, Aubs,” she says in my ear. “I love you. I’m glad we had this chance to hang out tonight.”
“Me too, sweetie. And I love you too. Bunches and bunches.”
“Call me once you’re settled in. You can tell me all about your new client.” She leans in close and whispers, “I know you can’t give me any specifics, but you can at least let me know if he’s a sex god.”
“You’re so weird.” I playfully push her away. “No names, though, remember?”
“You’re no fun.”
“Go, go,” I say again. “Get out of here.”
Lainey turns to leave, but before she walks away, she says, “Text when you arrive in Vegas so I know you got in safely.”
“I will, I will.”
I watch as Lainey finally departs. Once I’ve lost her in the crowd, I immediately cancel my Uber ride and toss my cell back in my purse.
Then, I begin my search.
But distractions keep me from my goal.
I stop several times when I’m corralled to down shots with various groups of friendly partiers. So much for pacing myself, I get drunker than ever. And—who knew?—drunken me likes to talk to random strangers. Soon, I forget all about the hot guy I was hoping to corner.
“I’m having too much fun,” I mutter to myself as I stumble around. “Everyone is so nice.”
I accidentally wreck into a group of girls at one point. They help me find a downstairs bathroom when I share that my bladder is about to burst. In the bathroom, two of the girls listen to me lament about the state of my current—read: nonexistent—love life.
“I haven’t had what could qualify as a real boyfriend in so long,” I share as I fluff out my shiny dark hair in front of a mirror. “And my last date was a complete bust. I swear I’m cursed. I only meet losers or players. That’s why I’ve pretty much given up on the dating game.”
“Don’t lose heart,” one girl tells me as I gloss my lips. “You’ll find someone.”
Ha. She’s as drunk as I am so I don’t put much stock in her trying-to-be-encouraging words.
As time passes, and back in the party fray, I lose track of my new friends and wander back upstairs. Strolling around the big living room where most of the guests are hanging, I sip at a beer.
Maybe beer isn’t such a good idea, though. It makes me have to pee. Again, like now.
With no one around to help me find my way this time, I’m left to wander on my own. I go down what feels like many halls in my quest to scope out a bathroom.
But I have no luck.
Until, finally, I venture down a hallway I pick at random.
“I don’t know, though,” I say to myself. “This one seems pretty empty.”
As I continue down what feels like an endless corridor, I find myself squeaking out, “Yikes, it sure is dark back here.”
I should probably turn around; this is clearly an off-limits area. But then I come upon a huge room where the hallway ends. I step inside since the door is open.
Holding onto the wall for support, I feel around for a switch. When I find what feels like one, I flip it up.
A lamp flickers to life, illuminating what appears to be a spacious bedroom. There’s a huge bed in the center, some funky black furniture with chrome accents, and lots of windows. There’s also a very masculine-y feel to the room, leading me to conclude it must be the party-thrower’s room. You know, the baseball player.
There are some photos on the walls, and they appear to be sports-oriented, but my feet are killing me far too much to go check them out. I don’t care for baseball, anyway.
I toe off the offending pumps by the door, and then make my way over to the massive bed. Taking a seat on the edge, I rub my poor soles. Seems even large amounts of alcohol can’t silence screaming arches.
Lucky for me, when I look up I spot an ensuite bathroom. “Finally!”
My bladder urges me to go take care of business, even though I’m so sleepy I could pass out right here.
And I might.
But nature calls.
Forcing myself to stand, I stumble to the bathroom. When I’m finished, I’m so out of it that I push my lacy red panties all the way down my legs instead of pulling them up.
“Oops. They go up your legs, goofball. Not down.” Giggling, I add, “Unless you were planning on having some fun.”
Yeah, right, if only.
Sadly, I never found the stunning specimen of man I was eyeing up earlier. My real-life book boyfriend, my Sunflower Eyes, he may as well have been a figment of my imagination.
When I start to tug my panties back up my legs, I lean way too far forward and almost face-plant off the throne. I de
cide to just leave the damn things on the floor. “Really, why must we wear underwear all the time, anyway?”
Okay, so all the alcohol I’ve consumed has clearly left me befuddled. “Too much to drink,” I mutter as I return to the room and fall back on the big bed.
I’m ready for sleep, but my eyes feel drier than the Sahara desert. My extended-wear contacts need a break. Good thing I brought a case and my glasses. Rolling to my stomach, I feel around in my purse for a contact case and my eyewear. Once I find what I need, I pop out my lenses and put on my glasses.
Scooting up to the top of the bed, I wiggle under what has to be the biggest, softest, puffiest comforter ever.
“Mm, this is nice. I’m jus’ gonna lie here for minute.”
Three seconds later, I’m tossing my glasses onto the stand by the bed. “Maybe make that fifteen minutes.”
I close my eyes and I am out, dead to the world.
Why Do They Always End Up in My Bed?
Around ten o’clock on the night of our awesome party, and after receiving an annoying e-mail that requires me to fly out to Las Vegas tomorrow—for who-the-hell-knows-what reason—I run out of vodka and switch to single-malt scotch. By two in the morning, I am obliterated, stumbling around and searching for my bedroom.
“I think it’s down this way,” I say to myself. And then chuckling at the confusing array of hallways in my place, I add, “No wonder girls get lost in here all the time.”
But since it is my house, I find my bedroom just fine. At least I assume that I do, seeing as when I wake up the next morning it feels like I’m in my bed, all warm and snug under a thick white comforter.
But something’s not right.
I open my eyes and am promptly blinded.
Fuck, why does the morning light streaming in through the window have to be so goddamn bright? Come to think of it, why do I have a big window like that in my bedroom to begin with?
I roll to my back, my head pounding like a woodpecker on crack as I forget all about windows and morning light. I know what the real problem is, anyway. Draping an arm over my achy eyes, I mutter, “Mixing hard liquor, never a good idea.”
“Ugh, I am right there with you, pal,” a feminine voice groans out from next to me.