His Mimosa_The Cocktail Girls

by Jamie Schlosser

  “So what makes you think he’s making a bad decision?” the waitress asked. “You don’t like his fiancée?”

  Leaning forward on my elbows, I took a second to consider whether I should confide in her or not.

  By society’s standards, I was defective. No one admired negativity. When people died, you didn’t hear the funeral-goers saying, ‘He was the most pessimistic person I’d ever met, and everyone loved him for it.’

  No, I was weak. A coward. Unworthy of love and unable to give it in return.

  But what did it matter what this beautiful stranger thought of me? I’d never see her again.

  “No, actually I think they’re great together… right now, that is,” I responded. “It’s all ‘babe’ and ‘sweetie’ and all those nauseating pet names. But what about ten years down the road? What happens when they split and they’ve got a house together, and kids, and mutual friends? What will they call each other then? I bet ‘honey’ isn’t on the list.” I didn’t expect her to have an answer to any of those questions, so I kept talking. “I mean, of course I’ll be there for him to help clean up the mess. I just don’t want to see him go through that.”

  Her expression turned sympathetic. “Wow. Someone really did a number on you, huh?”

  I shrugged, because I’d never cared about anyone enough to be that vulnerable but watching the lives of people around me crumble was enough to make me wary.

  “You ever had your heart broken?” I asked, steering the topic away from me.

  “Sure,” she replied cheerfully. “Lots of times.”

  Her upbeat attitude made me chuckle. “Why do you sound so happy about that?”

  Hiking a shoulder, she smiled brightly. “I’ve always been one to jump in head first and ask questions later. I don’t want to change that about myself. Of course I’m sad when a relationship ends, but you know what I learned? Something better always comes along, and then I’m thankful the one before didn’t work out. After that happened to me a few times, I just started looking forward to whatever is next.”

  “God, you’re optimistic.”

  “Look.” Sticking out her arm, she turned it so I could see the tattoo on her inner forearm. In pretty cursive My heart will go on was scrawled from her elbow to her wrist.

  “That’s real?” I asked, boldly running a finger over the ink. Her skin was like silk.

  “Yeah, it’s real. And I didn’t cry either,” she said jokingly. “Heartbreak hurts worse than this anyway.”

  I hummed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “About heartache or tattoos?”

  “Either.”

  She looked shocked, her plump lips hanging open for several seconds. “How is that possible?”

  “I’m not a fan of needles.”

  Dismissively flicking her hand, she huffed. “Not that. Haven’t you ever dated anyone?”

  “Yeah.” I just never let anyone get close enough to hurt me.

  Her face softened like she understood. “It’s worth it, though. To at least try.”

  “And what about when it’s over?”

  “Well, that’s kind of the best part. It’s like upgrading vehicles,” she went on, and just the mention of cars had me sitting up straighter. “When one goes bad or gets old, you just swap it out for a better model. I might have started out with a Ford Fiesta, but someday I’ll end up with my Ferrari.”

  Now she was speaking my language.

  “Men are like cars to you,” I deadpanned while fighting a smirk. “We’re just objects to be traded in?”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. “It’s just an analogy.”

  “So, how do you know if you’re with a Ferrari?”

  Tipping forward, she speared me with a sexy look. “Have you ever driven a Ferrari?”

  I was temporarily distracted by how close our faces were. She had the best nose. The tip was rounded and cute, and it looked like the perfect place for my lips to land.

  I shook myself from my drunk musings. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “Then you know—” She tapped a red fingernail on the black tabletop. “—that when you have one, you just know.”

  That was the same thing Scott had said about Stephanie at least twenty times. When it’s right, you just know. I wished I could believe him.

  “You need another drink.” Sliding off the seat, the waitress planted her feet back into the high heels and turned away.

  “Wait.” Leaning—or more like swaying—over, I caught her wrist. I had no right to touch her and I half expected a security guard to come careening over and tell me so. It didn’t happen, so I took advantage of the opportunity. My grip loosened, and my hand slid down to hers. Surprising the hell out of me, she squeezed my fingers back, like we were sharing the spark I felt. “What’s your name?”

  “Brynne.”

  “I’m Carter.” Reluctantly, I let go of her hand. That was the most intimate handshake I’d ever had. “Is everyone in Vegas so friendly?”

  “No,” she answered wryly. “Come back here tonight. You’ll meet all kinds of disgruntled cocktail waitresses, and the owner of this place leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “Will you be here, too?”

  “Nope. The hangover shift is over in—” Picking up my phone from the table, she hit the side button to check the time. “—seven minutes.”

  She casually put it back, like swiping someone else’s phone wasn’t crossing a line. Then she walked away and came back with another drink.

  “Technically, the freebie hour is over, but we’re not stingy about it. No one is going to stop me from giving you one more.” Sliding it to me, our fingers brushed when I accepted it.

  “You’ve been very kind,” I slurred. I was disappointed she had to leave. “I hope the owner doesn’t mind if I spend a few more hours here. My brother and I are sharing a room upstairs and he’s probably still pissed.”

  “You’re just gonna hang out here all day?” Brynne frowned.

  I shrugged. “Got nowhere else to go.”

  Just then, a group of women staggered through the door of Little Black Dress, arms linked as they made their way to the bar. The brunette in the middle of the bunch wore a short pink dress, and a crooked white veil was perched on top of her head. Mimosas were delivered to them by the bartender in rapid fashion and they held up their glasses for a toast.

  A very loud toast about love, great sex, and forever.

  “Wedding season in Las Vegas,” I commented with a grunt, motioning to the women. “You must see that stuff a lot.”

  With a twinkle in her eye, Brynne smirked. “It’s always wedding season in Vegas.”

  The bride-to-be began crying happy tears, and the intoxicated women engulfed her in a group hug.

  That’s what good friends looked like. The kind of friends you’d want to help you celebrate an important moment. And suddenly, I was envious of the whole damn thing, wishing I could be like that. Wishing I wasn’t a cynical prick who was ruining his brother’s bachelor party.

  “Well, if you need somewhere to crash, I bet I have a solution to your problem,” Brynne stated, a sly smile on her lips.

  And fuck if I didn’t want to keep her around for a little while longer.

  Brynne was just like the drink she’d given me—bubbly and sweet.

  An instant fix.

  I had a feeling this woman could cure all kinds of ailments. The hangover. My shitty mood. The ache behind my zipper.

  I watched Carter’s hazel eyes bounce back to the squealing bachelorette party, and a pang of jealousy shot through me. I quickly pushed it away. Because that was ridiculous. I just met the man. A very hot, sexy man. But still, he was a stranger.

  “I bet if you went over there, you’d have your pick of hooking up with almost anyone in that group,” I said lightly. “They’re probably staying in this hotel, too.”

  Snapping those eyes back to me, he shook his head. “Nah. That’s not really my style.”

  Surprised, I chewe
d my lip. He could have a one-night stand, but chose not to? In Vegas?

  And as good looking as he was, I meant it when I told him he could probably have anyone he wanted.

  Earlier, I’d almost tripped over my own feet when I saw him sitting here. Brooding. Dark disheveled hair and a rumpled black suit. One glimpse of his square jaw and sculpted lips had me melting on the spot.

  It’d been a long time since I had that reaction to a man just by looking at him.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurted out.

  He laughed. “No. I’m as single as they come.”

  “So, if I were to offer to take you back to my place and show you a good time, you’d say no?”

  It was a bold, impulsive challenge. I wasn’t even sure if I truly meant it until I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for Carter’s answer.

  I wanted him to say yes. I wanted just a few passionate hours with him; he obviously wasn’t the type to give me more than that. And I did know his type. When it came to guys like Carter, you had to take what you could get.

  This city was all about grasping opportunities before they could slip through your fingers. It was one of the things I loved most about living here.

  Carter’s face got serious as he studied me and considered my offer. And he wasn’t even assessing my body. He was staring straight into my eyes. My freaking eyes, of all things.

  “No,” he said, sure and firm.

  My ego shriveled at his rejection, but I plastered on a polite smile anyway. “Well, can’t blame a girl for trying. Have a great weekend, and I hope you work things out with your brother.”

  I began walking past him, holding my head high, when I felt warm fingers wrap around my wrist. Again. It was the second time he’d touched me that way and it made me hot in all the right places.

  “I meant no, I wouldn’t say no,” he corrected.

  The heel of my stiletto stopped with a clack and I pivoted to see the attraction I felt reflected back at me in his expression.

  His slightly parted lips were downright sinful. Firm, yet supple. A darker shade of pink than what you usually saw on men. But nothing about his mouth was feminine, and the dark scruff on his jaw enhanced his masculinity.

  Carter trailed his hand up my forearm over my tattoo, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Then he brushed his thumb over my elbow. In my opinion, the elbow was one of the least attractive parts of the human body. The skin dries out easily and it’s the location of the not-so-funny funny bone.

  I never would’ve thought being touched there could be such a turn-on, but as Carter repeated the movement with his thumb, a steady throb started up between my thighs.

  I took a deep breath. “Let’s go, then.”

  Men didn’t make me nervous. At least, not like this.

  As Carter and I exited the elevator that took us to the parking garage under The Millennium, I tried to control the wild beating of my heart. Could he hear it?

  I hoped not.

  Ignoring the trembling in my knees, I tried to emanate the air of confidence I didn’t quite feel. The echo of my heels clicking on the concrete was louder than the rushing blood through my ears, and I’d never been so grateful for noisy shoes.

  I didn’t want Carter to know how discombobulated I was over this spontaneous hookup proposition. He probably thought I did this sort of thing all the time, but that wasn’t true.

  I snuck a glance at him. He was studying me too, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks as he sauntered next to me. A lopsided grin spread over his face, reminding me that he was intoxicated.

  Drunk was a cute look on him. Then again, he was pretty adorable hungover, too. Maybe he was just one of those effortlessly handsome guys.

  Taking out my keys, I pressed the unlock button of my car. The chirp was a happy sound.

  Carter slowed as we approached my baby, and he shot me a skeptical look. “This isn’t your car.”

  “Yes, it is.” Just to prove my point, I pressed the button again and smiled proudly at the following chirps.

  He caressed the red lacquer by the tail lights like it was sacred. “This is a 2017 BMW M4.”

  I was surprised. “You know cars.”

  “I love cars.”

  I grinned. “We have that in common then. Everyone has their thing, you know? Some women like shoes and purses. For me, it’s cars.”

  I folded myself into the driver’s side and Carter followed suit, carefully placing his ass on the passenger seat like it might break under his weight. Clicking my seat belt into place, I giggled.

  Most people didn’t have this kind of reaction. Were they impressed? Yeah, sometimes. But usually they’d just comment that I had a nice car and that was it.

  But Carter’s verbal checklist of all the best features was quiet and reverent. “Moon roof, leather seats, 425 horsepower. God, I bet this set you back a pretty penny.”

  “Not too bad.” I shrugged. “I got a great discount. It’s the benefit of having a dad who owns a car dealership.”

  “Your dad sells cars?” Carter’s eyes fell to the gearshift. “And you drive a stick?” Now his voice sounded strangled.

  Sigh. Why did men always assume that having a vagina made someone lose the ability to work a pedal and a gearshift at the same time? I was a firm believer that women were way better at multitasking than men.

  But I didn’t say that, because this wasn’t about deep connections or life-altering conversations. I just wanted to get laid.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him, turning the key in the ignition. “I might be a girl, but I’m very skilled at manual transmission. I’m a competent driver, I promise.”

  “That’s not what I meant at all.” Rubbing his chin, Carter muttered something about, “Fucking kryptonite.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” he replied with a chuckle before changing the subject. “So how did you end up in Las Vegas?”

  Bright daylight loomed ahead as we left the building.

  “I grew up here,” I told him, accelerating when I got out onto the street.

  “Really?”

  “Really. To everyone else this place is the magical city of sin. To me, it’s just home. Let me guess—you thought I was a desperate cocktail waitress, slinging drinks to support myself while chasing my dreams of joining the Blue Man Group.”

  Carter barked out a laugh. “So you can read my mind? Are you a fortune teller, too?”

  “No.” I gave him a half-hearted glare. “I happen to love my job. I’ll have you know there are many people in my job field who want to chase bigger dreams. I’m just not one of them.”

  “Hey, you got me drunk. It’s your fault if I say stupid shit right now,” he teased.

  Placing his hand over mine on the gearshift, he grazed the back of my knuckles with his fingers.

  “Lightweight,” I shot back, trying to ignore how good his touch felt. “You had five mimosas. They’re half orange juice.”

  “I’m kidding. The truth is, I’ve known you for less than two hours and you’re already one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

  My breath caught, not just because his words made my heart flutter, but because he didn’t move his hand away from mine. When I shifted the gear, he shifted with me. The warmth of his palm bathed the back of my hand and sent chills up my arm.

  As I slowed to make a right turn, Carter’s fingers squeezed, but not in a controlling way. He wanted to feel the downshift. He wanted to be here with me, in this moment.

  “For the record, I never thought you were desperate and it never occurred to me that you’d be joining the Blue Man Group,” his gravelly voice filled the small space as his grip finally left mine. “You’re definitely circus material.”

  And just like that, the unbearable sexual tension was lifted by his playfulness.

  Smiling, I decided to humor him. “And would I be swinging on the trapeze, walking the wire, or riding an elephant?”

  “You’
d do everything—the whole shebang. People from around the world would come to see your magnificence.”

  A compliment from a drunk man who was about to get laid. I tried not to let it go to my head, but I was positively giddy.

  “So I guess you’re probably wondering why I work at a cocktail bar.” I didn’t give him time to speculate before continuing. “It’s an easy job, it pays surprisingly well, and I get to feel pretty while I’m doing it. I went to college, got a degree in advertising, and spent five soul-sucking months in a cubical before deciding life is too short to be miserable.” I let out a sigh. “The lights of the strip. The action. It’s where I belong. I love how every day is different. Whether it’s drama with the waitresses or a bar fight, there’s never any shortage of excitement at LBD.”

  “LBD?”

  “Little Black Dress.”

  He nodded. “I can understand all that. But the hangover shift? How do you do it?”

  “Not a morning person?” I quipped.

  Amused, he huffed. “Not at all.”

  “You seem fairly cheerful for having not slept.”

  “Well, you see, I had this really gorgeous woman shoving alcohol down my throat until I smiled. It was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

  He sent that smirk my way again, and my stomach dipped and swooped. Trapeze act indeed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my insides were flying from one swing to the next.

  “After 2 a.m. all the customers become pretty subdued,” I explained. “They’re either ready to crash, or they want to go do something foolish, like gamble all their money away. I like being there in the morning to give them something to soothe the Vegas remorse after they’ve sobered up.”

  Tapping the brakes, I pulled into the entrance of my apartment complex, North Oasis.

  Carter leaned his head against the window, gawking at the rows of tall palm trees lining the outdoor pool by the clubhouse. Had the guy never seen palm trees before?

  Amused, I realized it was possible. I didn’t know where he was from, and I wasn’t going to ask either. I’d already said way too much about myself and the less I knew about him, the better.