WineBar: The Complete Story

by Alexis Angel

“Thats right, baby,” he says, his lip curling with pleasure. “We look good together. Now cum for me.”

  His hand releases my hair and strokes down my spine. Then it wraps around my body. His fingers glaze over my rib cage, and I arch my back for him, bouncing my ass against his cock.

  I am going to orgasm for him. I’m already so close. Any minute now—any second—and he’s going to blow my mind once again.

  “Fuck yes, Em! Give it to me!” he howls.

  “Oh my god! Kirk! Fuck! Fuck yes!”

  He picks me up, one arm just under my tits, the other strumming my clit like there’s no tomorrow, and it hits us both at once.

  BAM. Christmas morning. Chocolate cheesecake. Cherry bombs.

  “Fuck!” We sigh simultaneously.

  There in the mirror, we’re pure sex. Chests heaving. Hair a mess. My nipples dark and hard. His broad shoulders. Our skin, glowing in the candlelight.

  It’s then that I hear them, so far down the hall I can only just barely make out the words:

  “And so that’s how the new secretary ended up bent over the boss’ desk in front of the entire office with a cucumber in her ass.”

  “That’s so fucking wild! I guess you never really know what’s going on behind closed doors, huh?”

  Chapter 43

  Kirk

  The ground floor bathroom may not be as impressive as the master bedroom en suite, but it’s more than large enough for me to sprawl out on the floor with Em in satisfied post-sex bliss.

  I swear, sitting here with Em after yet another perfect fuck is like the best way to get this party started. We’re just tangled up together as we catch our breath, resting on the warm hardwood floor.

  Emily is gazing straight ahead at the closed door, a small satisfied smile on her face, and I can’t stop looking at her. As good as the sex is—and let me tell you, it’s fucking of the charts mind-blowingly amazing—this feeling of comfortable silence is also pretty awesome.

  This is real intimacy. Something totally new to me. And I fucking love it.

  Em looks at me, and I move my hand over to lace my fingers through hers.

  “Pretty good barbecue, huh?” I stay straight-faced. I want Emily to decide how serious I am.

  “Yeah, not bad at all.” Emily gives me a naughty little wink.

  Fuck, she’s like so perfect. I love how she’s totally down to run off and fuck me in the bathroom in the middle of a party. Like she can’t get enough of me.

  I know the feeling.

  Em turns to look toward the door. The bathroom is, fortunately, set off from the most accessible parts of the ground floor. It’s usually nice and quiet here, until later in the party. We’re getting to that point now.

  The barbecue’s wearing on, and the booze must be flowing. A few loud, muffled laughs reach the bathroom. I’m still watching Emily, and the laughs inspire a mischievous little smile.

  Awesome. They’re having their fun, and she’s having hers.

  “It’s barely even started yet, Em. This is going to be perfect.”

  Emily looks back at me. She’s no longer smiling, but she still seems content. She inches her hand away from mine.

  “I just need to wash up a bit first.”

  Emily stands up in a quick, fluid movement.

  “Damn, baby.” I smack her lightly on the ass. “And here I thought you might not be able to walk straight the rest of the night.”

  She laughs. “Night’s ot over yet, is it?”

  Em starts checking her makeup in the mirror. At least I think that’s what she’s doing.

  I hoist myself up and take a spot just behind Emily. I look at our reflection, my head towering above her left shoulder. Emily smiles when she sees me in the mirror, and I start massaging her shoulders.

  “Still feeling nervous?”

  Emily’s almost laughing as she looks down and dries her hands quickly on the towel by the sink. She looks straight back at the mirror, grinning at my reflection before answering.

  “No, I think you took good care of that.”

  I smile warmly at the mirror.

  “Good. Now that’s out of the way, I’m ready to get back out there. I can’t leave Tad at the grill for too long.”

  Emily’s smile is fading. She starts adjusting her dress, trying to get it back into shape for the party.

  More muted laughing and mumbled, excited talking echoes into the bathroom. Emily’s smile turns confused and maybe a little…annoyed?

  “Who are all those people out there again? I’d like to know before braving the crowds.”

  “Right now, they’re all just friends of mine.”

  Emily’s dress looks perfect now, but she’s still pulling at it.

  “All friends? Okay, I can meet some of them, I hope.”

  I think about who to introduce Em to first. Shit. There’s at least one guest I should probably avoid altogether.

  It’s not too surprising Miranda showed up. She still runs in a lot of the same circles. I’ll give Tad the benefit of the doubt; I’m sure he knew better than to invite her, especially with Emily here.

  Miranda is here, though, and I should be honest about it. Can’t have that shit blowing up in my face.

  “Well, almost all friends. The invite list for this party is a bit…crowdsourced. Somehow, an ex-girlfriend of mine ended up here. I can’t really call her a friend at this point.”

  Emily looks down, adjusting the hem of her dress again. I watch very carefully to see if she stops for even a fraction of a second. But no, she keeps right on doing whatever she’s doing with that dress.

  It doesn’t faze her one bit. Emily looks straight back up at the mirror to check her face again. Nope, it doesn’t bother her at all, which is good because I don’t want to think about it.

  I breathe a little easier.

  There’s always a snag of some kind, but I want to focus on making everything perfect tonight,—and on making Emily a bigger part of my life.

  Maybe Miranda’s already gone for some reason. Not likely, but it would make things easier.

  I start rubbing Em’s shoulders again.

  “You look perfect, babe, and someone’s going to need to come in here eventually.”

  Emily just stares stone-faced at the mirror. It looks like she’s studying herself.

  I’ll admit that I’m no expert in makeup application. I don’t know what part of the process this is, but Em legitimately does look perfect, and I’m seriously starting to worry about the mayhem that Tad might be unleashing upon my grill.

  “Aren’t there other bathrooms?”

  I guess Emily has no plans to be finished soon, but that’s fine. As long she stays happy and comfortable.

  “Oh yeah. They always find this one eventually, but don’t worry, babe. Take as long as you need. The door’s locked, and they can knock all goddamn night if they want.”

  I figure this should get a small smile, at least, but Emily stays straight-faced as she gives her dress a slight, final adjustment and gives her golden hair a little toss.

  Does she realize how ridiculously fucking hot she looks when she does that? I watch Emily’s reflection leave the mirror, and a second later her shoes are clicking toward the door. I turn around to see Emily facing me, her hand on the doorknob.

  “How do you want to do this? Should I go first?”

  Normally, neither one of us would give a fuck about being caught coming out of the bathroom together. But my family is supposed to be here, so I actually give it some consideration.

  “Um, yeah. I’ll be out in a couple minutes. We’ll meet up shortly. Have a good time, babe, grab a drink, some food—hopefully Tad isn’t fucking up the grilled stuff too much. I can introduce you around in a bit.”

  Emily nods, sort of smiles, and very quickly opens and slides out the door before closing it silently.

  I look at my wristwatch. Okay, two minutes…no, ninety seconds, and then I can sprint over to my grill to make sure it’s okay.

&nbs
p; Chapter 44

  Emily

  Seriously, what the fuck?

  This is turning out to be way worse than I thought. I try to will myself to be invisible while walking down the hallway. It doesn’t work.

  Every single goddamn person I pass looks up from their food or away from their conversation to stare at me. I know I’m grimacing. I hope it looks like a smile, but mostly I don’t give a shit.

  The party’s now somehow even more crowded. I don’t even hear music, just loud talking and laughter reverberating off every surface and making my stomach churn for some reason.

  Who the fuck are all these people?

  I don’t see anyone who looks like they could be WineBar’s parents. Everybody is young and fashionable. There are a lot of attractive women here, and now I’m noticing all of them.

  Is that Miranda? Or is that her?

  I realize I’m just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the wrought-iron doors that lead outside.

  I hate this shit.

  Is WineBar really that oblivious? He must know how much this sucks for me. Acting like his ex-girlfriend being here is some kind of mistake…it feels almost intentional.

  I have a strong urge to turn around and walk out the front door. I take a deep breath. This is confusing, and upsetting, but I know that leaving could cause a lot of problems and regrets.

  Also, it looks a lot less crowded outside, and I could sure as hell use a drink.

  Nobody looks at me as I walk to the door—maybe the invisibility is working. It’s much nicer outside. There’s a slight breeze; mellow, loungy music is playing quietly, and the atmosphere is more relaxed and open.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a good-sized clump of people gathered around the grill, but I’m more focused on the dozen or so bottles of wine and champagne sitting on a long table close to the door.

  I propel myself to the table.

  I feel weak and dizzy. What’s that about? I mean, I haven’t even had one drink yet.

  I grab the first open bottle I see and a thick plastic cup from the stack next to it. Let’s see, a 2008 Kahlia Dunbar Riesling from Washington State? Sure, why not.

  The cup looks like it holds about ten ounces; I decide to fill half of it. Then I get distracted by a wonderful scent wafting over from somewhere—maybe it’s grilled vegetables or something.

  Usually, that wouldn’t smell so amazing to me. But whatever, because now, being distracted, I end up pouring Riesling all the way to the brim.

  Oh well. I lift the glass in the air to nobody but myself.

  Cheers.

  I start with a small sip to keep any wine from spilling out…but it’s cold and refreshing, and I’m unexpectedly thirsty. My attempt at a sip turns into me taking down the entire cup in one go.

  Huh. Oh well, I don’t feel even a little bit buzzed.

  I notice a dark-haired woman around my age sitting on the chair next to mine. She’s watching me with a pleasant, kind expression. She looks so friendly that I’m not even startled, even though I don’t remember seeing her walk over, and she’s not wearing anything fancy, just a mauve blouse and jeans.

  “You must be the famous Emily I’ve heard so much about.”

  Wait…it can’t be her. I mean, she seems so nice.

  “Heard about? Only one person here knows me.”

  She smiles sincerely. “Yeah, Kirk. He talks about you. You are Emily, right?”

  I have trouble finding the words to respond. I think that wine may be catching up with me. I just nod.

  “Hi! I’m so glad to finally meet you! I’m Miranda. I’m friends with Kirk…well, we used to date. You probably know that.”

  And…fuck.

  It is her. Now I’m thinking it’s a good thing I filled that wine glass all the way.

  Miranda’s actually holding out her hand. No joke, this shit is happening. This barbecue defies expectations.

  I shake Miranda’s hand and accept that I have no fucking clue what to expect next.

  “Nice to meet you, Miranda.”

  Miranda’s sweet expression starts to go a little wild.

  “Are you ready to do a shot, or what?”

  So much for a polite, quiet evening with Kirk’s family. It seems like Miranda is still Kirk’s friend, though, and I’m already at this party, and I don’t want to be rude, so...

  “Fuck yeah, Miranda.” Let’s do this.

  Miranda’s smiling big now. She’s pretty, but not in any memorable way. I’m positive Kirk’s not attracted to her anymore, which would make it easier for them to be friends.

  “Come on, let’s do it up.”

  Miranda gets up with a little shimmy and gestures for me to follow her. I stand up with no effort, feeling weightless, kind of floaty. That Riesling is doing its job.

  This is good—I think. I’m sort of mingling, and if WineBar’s elusive ass is nowhere to be found, I might as well have some fun.

  Walking is suddenly much easier. That dizzy feeling is gone, and I’m just gliding behind Miranda, following her to more drinks.

  Wine’s a good start, but it’s time to move on. It’s not like a shot would be my first choice, but Miranda seems to know what she’s doing. And if I’m going to enjoy this barbecue, I want to do it right.

  I notice more food smells making their way over from the grill area and more people making their way from inside the townhouse to the great outdoors.

  It’s getting crowded, but I don’t mind so much now that I’m not standing out, and I’m no longer worrying about whatever shit’s going on with WineBar and meeting people.

  Hanging out with Miranda’s not that bad so far, and she’s his ex-girlfriend. Why would meeting WineBar’s brother, or his dad, be any kind of problem?

  Miranda leads me to another long table. This one is set up by the tall fence separating WineBar’s property from his neighbor’s. There are several people congregating around the table already, and I see a few more on their way over.

  The table’s covered in bottles of liquor—gin, rum, several brands of vodka, and a cluster of different whiskeys. I don’t see any mixers.

  I start to look around to glimpse if other people are doing shots or taking their drinks neat, but Miranda is already pushing a plastic cup into my hand.

  “What is this?” There are easily three ounces of amber liquid in the cup. Some shot.

  “Craft bourbon. Really good stuff.”

  Before I can ask if this is a waste of expensive whiskey, Miranda takes down her own generous shot in a gulp. I throw back my shot; it’s so smooth I barely notice it.

  More of the young, fashionable party guests are crowding around the liquor table, and people are still flowing outside from the house. As I watch the growing crowd, Miranda seems to read my mind.

  “I know you barely know anyone here. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

  Chapter 45

  Kirk

  Tad is, apparently, a changed man.

  My fears about his grill skills stem from a long history of him fucking up perfectly good barbecues with subpar cooking. But tonight, Tad is on his game. It’s like I never left the grill.

  I poke one of the racks of ribs lightly with the fork—it’s perfect. The brisket’s finally close to finished, and the black bean burgers and grilled veggies are already prepared and laid out next to the grill.

  Don’t laugh at the black bean burgers. They’re fucking awesome, and I know that it’s not just vegans who are greedily scooping them up.

  I want to give Tad props for doing a decent job for once, but I can’t stop glancing over at Miranda—and Emily. They’re both way over by the fence, and it looks like they’re chatting and laughing it up like old friends.

  Seriously?

  Em’s the main reason—the only reason—that I’m making this whole thing happen.

  Now almost everyone I know in town is here—drinking my booze, eating my food, and having the best time of their lives—but none of it matters be
cause fucking Miranda had to show up and circle in on Emily. It renders this whole thing pointless.

  “Why?” I’m trying not yell as I poke the brisket for no reason. I can feel Tad standing behind me, watching me and still expecting some congratulations.

  “Why w-what?”

  I can tell by the way Tad stammers that he realizes what I’m talking about. I’m still willing to answer the question, though. I crane my head around to look Tad straight in the eye.

  “Why is she here? Did you invite her?”

  I see the wheels spinning in Tad’s head. I don’t think he even remembers inviting everyone here. It’s probably a mistake on Tad’s part—it’s not like he did this on purpose—but I still need some fucking answers.

  “I didn’t invite her. I didn’t even call. She must’ve gotten wind of it, because…”

  Tad trails off, and I hear him swallow nervously. I turn around to face him completely.

  “Just tell me what happened, Tad. I know you didn’t do this on purpose.”

  Tad takes a sharp breath, mustering the courage to fess up the true story.

  “She shows up at the gym. I’m just sitting there, ringside, calling some people to invite them—not her, of course—and out of nowhere, she’s just there, standing over me. She’s tuned into that’s happening, I guess. I’m sorry.”

  Nothing about this surprises me much. I glance over to the fence and at the table with all the hard liquor. Emily and Miranda are still buddy-buddy.

  I turn to Tad and try to stay measured, and not too angry, as I extract more details.

  “So instead of just showing up here, she goes to you? Because then it’s sanctioned, because then you invited her. Right?”

  Tad’s meeting my gaze. I’ll give him credit for having guts, because I’m borderline furious and not hiding it well.

  “She’s standing there, listening to me talk to Gary about it. I try to get off the phone as soon as I can. Then she asks what time it starts—the barbecue. Kirk, I don’t even answer, but she still just fuckin’ says ‘okay’ as if I invited her, and then she’s all ‘See you there.’ She invited herself and pretended it was me.”

  I set the barbecue fork down next to the grill. I step in a little closer to Tad, and I lower my voice.