by Anthology
“Hey man.” He lifted his chin. Daniel, I think was his name.
“Daniel, right?” My smile was as polite as I liked it to be in a fucking men’s bathroom.
“Yeah.” He held out his hand, and I just stared at it. After a second, he realized I wasn’t going to shake the hand he’d most likely used to hold his dick while he’d taken a piss. He laughed, a little nervously, and turned toward the sink. “I went to college with Banks. We were roomies for the first three years.” The faucet turned on, and I wondered if I hadn't been here, would he have really washed his hands.
“Cool.” I didn’t give a shit about Daniel or Banks. My brother and I, well…
“It was good of you to come today.” He shook his hands over the sink before grabbing a paper towel. “Banks was worried you wouldn’t.” His smile faltered, and mine lifted at the corners. After all, he started this line of questioning.
“Why would he be worried?” I narrowed my eyebrows.
Daniel... Danny boy... Dan... swallowed down the foot he’d placed in his own damn mouth.
My laugh was sardonic, and I ran my hand through my hair again as I said, “Oh, you mean he thought it would be awkward, seeing as how he fucked my girlfriend of three years, and then married her best friend instead... weird.” The smile on my face pulled tight as Daniel’s face turned grim. “Thanks for the reminder. Give Banks my best.”
I moved to leave and might have lost my balance for a split second. The shot, erm glass, well fuck, the bottle of bourbon I’d drank in order to attend this cluster fuck was starting to get to me. I swung open the bathroom door just as The Outfielder sang about Josie being on a vacation, Your Love, blared from the dance floor speakers. I exhaled as I scanned the room and saw Jennifer laughing and talking to people I didn’t recognize. Jen’s strapless white dress, white was sort of laughable, was hanging too low in the front, and one of her friends lifted it for her, causing more laughter to cackle from her mouth. I huffed out a humorless laugh as I watched Banks, my brother, turn his attentions away from his bride. His eyes landed on the hot brunette sitting at the open bar.
So fucking predictable.
The bar sounded like a good idea though.
I had ignored my brother and his new wife for the majority of the night; no reason to change my plan of action now. He’s lucky I didn’t arrive on time to the wedding. I’m sure the vows alone would have made me fucking puke, and the Maid of Honor, Elle, my ex, seeing her again after a year of being apart hurt more than it should have.
“Shot of bourbon, please.” The bartender was an older man with too many stories in his eyes. Fuck, did I just think that. I raised my brows. Alcohol always seemed to get my creative juices flowing, even if it was swoony and ridiculous. I hadn’t written one thing since Elle left, and I wasn’t sure I ever would again. I ran my hands down the front of my wrinkled white button down, straightened my green tie for the hundredth time, and pulled at the sides of my tan dress jacket. I liked being miserable, alone and stewing in my own shit. It made my life more real, gritty, and maybe one day, when I pulled open another word document, I’d have more to write about than teenage coming of age bullshit. I’d have life, stark angles, hate, and love. I’d have the next great American novel. The bartender handed me the glass, and I gulped it down. The fire poured down my throat and I smiled.
I was feeling really fucking wordy today. Maybe it was a sign.
“Thanks.” I placed the glass onto the counter, and the bartender just nodded. I lowered my hand into my pocket looking for my wallet, and realized it wasn’t there. I wasn’t an asshole who didn’t leave a tip, even if it was an open bar. I must’ve left it in my Jeep. “Be right back.”
He ignored me.
When I turned to leave, it wasn’t on completely sober legs, and I ran into a wall of cinnamon, apples, and something that smelled just like home.
I swore under my breath as I grabbed her waist, but I wasn’t sure if I was trying to stop myself or her from falling. Deep caramel eyes met mine. They were wide and frightened, and I tightened my grip on her small frame.
“Shit, you okay?” I asked and tried to step to the side.
She yelped when my foot pressed hard down onto hers. I swore again, this time with a little more feeling, and she grabbed my shoulder to steady herself, lifting her foot to investigate the damage. We both looked down at the same time, our foreheads meeting with a violent crash and my teeth rang.
“Fuck.” She spoke in a pained whisper. The vulgarity made me immediately wish she’d finished the sentence with the word me.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled away, rubbing my forehead, and I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth.
“It’s not funny.” Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, and her lips set into a firm line.
“It’s a little funny,” I tried, and it worked. Her lips twitched at the corners. “Can I buy you a drink?” Did I just ask her that? Idiot.
She rolled her eyes, and it made my smile stretch wide. “It’s an open bar.”
“Guess that’s a good thing, seeing as I left my wallet in the car.” I shrugged and she laughed. The sound of it echoed in my chest.
She set her hand on her hip, her eyes shifting to that hot brunette I noticed earlier. The woman sitting at the bar smiled, and nodded her head before turning her attention to the bartender. Maybe they’d come together?
My attention fell back to the woman standing in front of me playing with a strand of her chin length strawberry blonde hair. The severe line of her bangs made those sexy eyes stand out, not to mention the freckles on her cheeks. She was poured into a black dress, strapless, and it hugged every curve. I noticed her ass as she turned to look behind her. Shit. She was stunning. It was most likely the bourbon talking, but I wanted to know this woman, this beautiful collision.
She ran her hand gently down the length of her dress and chewed at her pink bottom lip. She raised her gaze to my forehead. “Bride or groom?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you here for the bride or the groom?” Her smile spread her lips over straight white teeth.
“Neither.” I tilted my head to the bar. “I’m here for the free drinks.”
She shook her head, and I noticed her laughter leaked into her eyes... amber... beautiful.
“What’s your name?” I asked as I stepped closer, testing the waters.
She didn’t back away as her cheeks filled with blush. “Mari.”
Mari.
I stepped even closer, our breath would mix when I spoke, “This has been the worst fucking day of my life—”
Her lips parted with a shy smile as she said, “Me too.”
“Then have a drink with me.” I was that guy, that fucking dick, hitting on a girl at a wedding, but as she stared at me, contemplating whether or not she was that girl, I hoped that she was, because this day, I needed something... anything to remind me that tomorrow still existed.
“Sure, why not?”
Inside, I was Annie singing some dumb as fuck song about how the sun will come out tomorrow, and then I realized that my manhood was shrinking in the process, so I just smiled and asked, “How about a bottle?”
4
CHAPTER FOUR
Alfie
The off-brand bottle of whiskey sat in-between her legs. My eyes kept lingering along the length of them, the tan silky surface of each limb winding myself up like a goddamn teenage boy in the backseat of a car on prom night. We were sprawled out on a threadbare dusty quilt in the attic of this reception hall. Scattered amongst the boxes and aged furniture were creepy as hell mannequins with old lady lace and pearls dripping around their necks. They stood in various positions along the walls of the large space. The ceiling sloped down to a point where I’d had to dip my head in order to walk. Mari was sitting next to me, her head down, her right hip pressed against me, making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything but the vision I had of her ample ass swaying side to side as we’d walked up the
stairs to our hiding spot. We’d been up here about twenty minutes, a little over a quarter of the bottle I’d stolen from the kitchen, drained, mainly by her, as we talked about our lives and our disappointments. Mostly how I'd stopped writing and less about my shithead brother. She talked about her friends, and the way her life hadn’t turned out how she wanted either. Thirteen weddings, a torn dress... always the bridesmaid, and other atrocities.
“Sorry,” she said and turned her head to look at me. Her breath was warm and smelled less like alcohol and more like candy.
My eyes dropped to her mouth despite my efforts to keep it cool. “For what?”
“I’ve been whining to a stranger about my dumb life, and I’m sure that’s not why you brought me up to this dust bowl.” She inclined her head with a shy smile. Her lips parted — an invitation I planned to take.
“Dust bowl... I’m offended.” I dragged my eyes from her mouth to that caramel gaze. “I happen to think this is very romantic, considering our lack of options. I think it has a very Neverending Story feel.” She smiled. “What’s your last name?” I asked as I played with a shiny strand of her hair, my knuckles dusting across her cheek.
“Why?” she whispered as I closed the space between us. Our lips almost touched.
“I don’t want us to be strangers.”
“Why?” she asked again, her lips brushed against mine, and all I wanted to do was crash into her, taste her, take that last step.
“Because I want to kiss you.”
“No last names,” she breathed and pressed her mouth to mine.
At first, the kiss was awkward. That was my fault. I hadn’t kissed anyone in a year. My nose got in the way, and my mouth was too tight. I was worried, nervous, and then I realized I was too stiff, and not where it counted. My spine was straight and guarded as I pulled away.
No last names. Why did I care?
I was about to make out with this gorgeous woman, possibly more… a one night stand. I was such a fucking cliché. I grabbed the liquor from between her legs and took a long pull from the bottle. I set it down to my left and framed her face with my hands. I could do this. One night.
“No last names,” I repeated, and in my head I was screaming, Goonies’ never say die as I went in for the kill.
I covered her mouth with mine, her candy taste coated my tongue, and her cinnamon apple smell filled my senses. She moaned into my mouth as I slid my hands into her hair. Jesus. I wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or her, but all I wanted to do was kiss this girl. Just like that, with our bodies barely touching, that anticipation building, I was a horny school boy, having fantasies in my head about the hot girl in PE. And instead of Samantha from my sophomore year, it was Mari in her black strapless dress straddling me. As if she could read my mind, she situated herself above me, those sexy tempting thighs on either side of mine, caging me. The satin fabric of her dress inched up to her waist exposing black underwear that appeared just as smooth as her skin.
She nipped my bottom lip, and I groaned as she pulled away. Her cheeks were painted red as she stared at me. Her brows dipped into a worried V.
“We can stop.” I’d deal with the blue balls. After all, I was a gentleman.
“What were you just thinking?” Mari asked, her smile turning less anxious, and more playful as I swallowed down my own nerves.
“You don’t want to know what I was thinking.”
I leaned in, kissed her neck, and she tilted her head to the right exposing her pulse, so I licked it. Like a fucking animal, I licked her. What the hell was I doing? She responded by lowering her hips, pressing herself against me, and I almost growled as she slid her hands down my chest. She flicked her gaze to mine. Those eyes. Her dilated pupils were ringed with honey, with amber, and any hesitation she had disappeared as my smile widened. She was something else with her bright eyes and full lips. And, for some reason, I was desperate to know that last name.
“What’s your last name?” I asked again as she loosened my tie.
She shook her head. “Tell me what you were thinking when I was kissing you, tell me the dirty truth.” Her cheeks flushed all the way down to her cleavage. My eyes dipped down to her chest, and I had an urge to rip down her dress, expose those mouthful sized tits, taste her skin and…
“I was thinking what it would be like to have you straddling me like this, naked, and with my dick buried inside you.” My jaw clenched as she gasped. I was such a douchebag. No one says shit like that. My eyes locked with hers as I tried to reign myself in. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m drunk and—”
“Tell me more.” Her freckles stood out against the bright pink of her cheeks. She slid my tie off, letting it fall to the floor and raked her teeth across her bottom lip.
I brought my hands to her waist and lifted her to her knees. She placed her hands on my shoulders, bracing herself. “I’m curious if you’ll sound different.” My right hand ran down the curve of her hip, and ended between her legs. My thumb grazed slowly under the soft fabric of her underwear, and my nostrils flared. She was wet, and all of a sudden, my dick was jealous of my thumb — my mouth — thirsty for her.
“Sound different, how?” Her words were breathy, whispered, as I pulled down her underwear just enough to move my fingers inside her.
“Will you sound the same coming in my mouth as you will when you come on my hand?”
Mari gripped my shoulders, and her hips moved without any coordinated rhythm. I was gone to this fantasy. Shit like this didn’t happen to me. I don’t talk dirty to women, I can barely talk dirty to myself while jerking off, but as she tilted her head back, exposing her neck, the feel of her body contracting onto my fingers, her moan strained as she tried to keep quiet, it was hard to believe that I wasn’t this guy, raunchy... finger-fucking a strange woman in the attic. I held her thigh with my left hand as I brought my mouth to her clit and stole a taste, making her jump. I should have never tasted her, her scent — she was goddamn perfect.
She moved her hands to my face and pulled me away. My hand slid from between her legs, and I swear to God, I would have licked it, but I had already been porn star enough for one evening. So instead, I moved her underwear back into place as she lowered her body and brought her lips to mine. We were hungry for the new flavors of the other, and they mixed and lingered on our lips as our mouths parted.
Mari made a move for my buckle, and something inside of me snapped. I knew that if we went there I’d never see her again. So, I shook my head and she stopped, her eyes waning along with her smile.
“What’s your last name?” I asked, this time with a serious tone as I raised my hand to her cheek.
“Why?” She swallowed, and I smiled. Her panic dissolving into a shy smirk.
“I think I like talking dirty to you in this, what did you call it?”
Her lips spread, lighting her eyes as she said, “Dust bowl.”
“That’s right. I liked talking dirty to you in this dust bowl of an attic, and I think I’d like to see you again. So last names will be required, and we should probably press pause... you know until next time.”
“Next time?” She wrapped her arms around my neck and lifted her right brow, smiling until a cute as hell dimple popped in her left cheek. I nodded. “My last name is Stevens,” she finally admitted.
“Mari Stevens, it’s nice to meet you.” I kissed her once, slow and soft, before pulling away. “Alfie Blake, washed up writer, and brother to a whore of a groom. Are you nervous yet?”
She laughed and brought her mouth to my ear as she whispered, “When do I get to find out how I sound when you’re inside me?”
Shit. Eminem’s words about being phenomenal and unstoppable pounded in my head when she leaned back and looked at me with humor in her eyes expecting an answer.
“I think maybe a dinner date first?” I suggested, and she blushed again. I sat up straight, my hands on her waist. My smile was ear to ear as I said, “But, I might need your number for that.”
She nodded with her lips pressed together to fight her smile. “I think I’d like that.”
One girl, one dress, one bottle of whiskey, and the lyrics from “Believe It or Not” some shitty nineties punk cover, not the actual Greatest American Hero Theme, played inside my brain. I was on top of the world... or maybe just the top of a reception hall, but who gives a fuck.
The End... for now.
ABOUT THE A.M. JOHNSON
A.M. Johnson lives in Utah with her family where she works as a full-time nurse. If she’s not busy with her three munchkins, you’ll find her buried in a book or behind the keyboard. She loves romance and all things passionate. Amanda enjoys exploring all genres and bringing life to the human experience.
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A PERFECT MOMENT
Amy Daws
1
CHAPTER ONE
First, A Little Recap…
I met a boy.
An interesting boy.
A dark, troubled, complex, irresistible boy.
Who spanked very much like a man.
I fell in love.
Harder than I ever thought possible.
He didn’t say it back.