I dug around in my purse and found my compact and lip gloss. “Looks like Melody’s cut off.”
I slicked on the gloss and puckered in the mirror before handing it to Sarah.
“Oh yeah. We’re only staying a little longer, then I’m bringing her back home with me. I’d rather be able to walk her home than call her a taxi and hope she gets home.”
“Blot?” I handed her a napkin.
“Thanks.”
“Mel!” I yelled and kicked the table.
She lifted her head and looked at me. “What? Huh? Yeah?”
“You okay?”
She gave me a loopy smile and a thumbs-up, then dropped her head back down.
“She’s down.” Sarah laughed.
I nodded back at her and whispered to Sarah, “I’m not supposed to tell you, but she slept with her boss this morning.”
“Which one?” Sarah’s voice was serious.
“The married one.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“She can’t be doing that.”
“You tell her that!” I pointed to Melody’s sleeping head.
Sarah shook her head. “Always something with her. Smart as a whip but no common sense. You’re staying here, right?”
“Yeah. Get this. We’re picking out a Christmas tree tomorrow.”
“That’s a big step. Sure you’re ready?”
“For real.”
Sarah scrunched up her face. “Wait. It’s Christmas already?”
“Right? I thought I was the only one who wasn’t paying attention. Feels like yesterday we were taking in the sun in Jamaica.”
“God. I know. Let’s go back.”
“Can’t. It’s Christmas and we are required to celebrate in New Jersey.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize how close it was. There is no excuse. I’m a teacher. I look forward to this shit.”
I shrugged and said, “Maybe we’re too old for Christmas.”
“Bullshit. We’re never too old for Christmas. What do you want anyway?”
“A new pair of nude pumps? Mine are all scuffed.”
“Consider it done.”
“You?” I poured a glass of beer for myself and topped hers off.
“A man.” She took a drink, keeping her eye on Drew.
I nodded toward him. “What about Drew?”
“Eh, I don’t know. It’s not serious.”
“It sure as hell looked serious. I mean you don’t just let anyone handcuff you to the bed. Maybe you do, I don’t know. But I draw the line.”
“Yeah. Not serious. Fun, yes. Serious, no.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s not into me.”
“Doubt that.”
“I’m happy for you, you know.”
I smiled at her. “I know.”
“Brian is a good guy.”
“I think so.” I looked over and caught his eye. The best feeling in the world is when a girl looks over and her guy is already staring. He winked and went back to pulling beers.
“I think,” Sarah began, “we should play darts. I think these guys need to get their asses handed to them.”
I got up and followed her. “But I don’t know how to play.”
“How hard can it be? You throw the arrow thingy at the target and try to get a bull’s-eye.”
“I don’t know about you but the last time I tried to go after a target it didn’t work out so well.”
“Oh, it worked out. Just not the way you thought it would.”
I looked over at Brian again and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
The rest of the night was spent with Melody asleep on the back table and the rest of us laughing, dancing, singing, and shooting darts. Brian’s breaks were spent in the back with us. Even Berk pulled away from his man candy long enough to join us. We were a bunch of people, some who barely knew one another, starting relationships that would last longer than any of us could have anticipated.
Cocktail Recipes
Sex up Against the Wall
1 oz. vodka
1 oz. pineapple juice
1 oz. cranberry juice
1 oz. sour mix
Pour all the ingredients into a cocktail shaker filled with ice, shake, and strain into a cocktail glass. Serve.
Sex on the Beach
1½ oz. vodka
½ oz. peach schnapps
2 oz. cranberry juice
2 oz. orange juice
Pour the vodka and peach schnapps into a rocks glass filled with ice. Add the juices. Stir and serve.
Harvey Wallbanger
1¼ oz. vodka
3 oz. orange juice
½ oz. Galliano L’Autentico
Orange slice
Pour the vodka and orange juice into a tall glass filled with ice. Stir. Carefully pour the Galliano over the back of a spoon to layer it on top of the drink. Garnish with the orange slice and serve.
Screaming Orgasm
1 oz. vodka
1½ oz. Irish cream
½ oz. coffee liqueur
Pour all the ingredients into a rocks glass filled with crushed ice. Stir and serve.
Slippery Nipple
½ oz. butterscotch schnapps
½ oz. Irish cream
Add the schnapps to a shot glass and layer the Irish cream on top. Enjoy.
Body Shot
1½ oz. tequila
Willing partner
Salt
Lime wedge
Pour the tequila into a shot glass. Find a willing partner and lick a sensitive part of his or her body (neck, breasts, wrist, shoulder—you get the idea). Shake some salt on the moist skin and place the lime wedge in the mouth of your partner, with the pulp side facing out. Lick the salt from his or her body and down your shot. Eat the lime out of your partner’s mouth. You’ll never do a tequila shot any other way again.
Pink Panty Dropper
6 oz. light beer
1½ oz. vodka
1 to 2 spoonfuls frozen pink lemonade concentrate
Mix all the ingredients in a pint glass and enjoy.
Pop My Cherry
½ oz. cherry vodka
¼ oz. triple sec
¼ oz. orange juice
Add all the ingredients to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake and strain into a shot glass. Enjoy.
Amaretto and Ginger
2 oz. amaretto
5 oz. ginger ale
2 maraschino cherries (optional)
Pour the amaretto and ginger ale over ice in a rocks glass. Garnish with cherries if you are so inclined.
Blow Job Shot
¼ oz. Irish cream
½ oz. amaretto
Whipped cream
Pour the liqueurs into a shot glass and top with whipped cream. Place your hands behind your back, then pick up the shot glass with your mouth, tilt your head back, and drink.
Wet Pussy
½ oz. whiskey
½ oz. Irish cream
2 oz. energy drink
Combine all the ingredients in a large shot glass and slam back.
Perfect Erection
6 oz. raspberry vodka
6 oz. watermelon schnapps
4 oz. lemon-lime soda
Combine all the ingredients in a large frosted glass. Add ice and serve.
Stumble Fuck
⅓ oz. Jägermeister
⅓ oz. Rumple Minze
⅓ oz. Fireball Cinnamon Whisky
Pour all the ingredients into a shot glass and drink.
Dirty Whore’s Bathwater
¾ oz. vodka
¼ oz. sour apple liqueur
1 tsp. powdered lemonade mix
Pour the vodka and apple liqueur into a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake and strain into a large shot glass. Add the lemonade mix, stir until dissolved, and serve.
Rum Punch
1 cup light rum
½ cup dark rum
¼ cup coconut rum<
br />
2½ cups pineapple juice
2½ cups orange juice
Juice of one lime
Splash of grenadine
Mix all the ingredients together in a pitcher or large punch bowl. Serve in glasses over ice. Makes about 12 drinks.
Piña Colada
1½ oz. light or gold rum
2 oz. coconut milk
2 oz. fresh pineapple juice
2 maraschino cherries
Pineapple wedge
Pour the rum, coconut milk, and pineapple juice into a shaker filled with ice. Shake and strain into a large glass filled with crushed ice. Garnish with cherries and pineapple wedge and serve.
Dirty Banana
2 scoops vanilla ice cream
1 oz. crème de banana
1 oz. crème de cacao
1 oz. coffee liqueur
1 to 2 slices fresh banana
Chocolate syrup
Combine the ice cream and a cup of ice in a blender and blend until smooth. Add the liqueurs and blend until combined. Pour into a tall glass and garnish with slices of a fresh banana and a drizzle of chocolate syrup.
Bull’s-Eye Bomb
¼ oz. amaretto
¼ oz. peach schnapps
3 oz. energy drink
Mix the ingredients together in a rocks glass with ice and enjoy.
Tight Snatch
1 oz. vodka
1 oz. peach schnapps
3 oz. pineapple juice
3 oz. cranberry juice
Pour all the ingredients into a shaker filled with ice, shake, and strain into a large glass. Serve. Note that the juice amounts can vary depending on how you like your drinks.
Dr. Pecker
2 oz. whiskey
2 oz. cola
2 oz. cranberry juice
Pour all the ingredients into a tall glass filled with ice and serve.
About the Author
Christine Hughes is a former middle school English teacher from New Jersey. After nine years teaching others to appreciate literature, Christine decided to take the plunge and write her first novel, Torn—a YA paranormal released by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing in August 2013. The sequel, Darkness Betrayed, and a third novel, a stand-alone NA Contemporary titled Three Days of Rain, were released by CHBB as well. Though she loved writing for the YA set, she really found her love with Three Days of Rain—writing for more mature audiences. And though she loves it, it was heart-wrenching to write, and she found herself drawn back into romance with a fun voice.
Christine has attended numerous book festivals such as the Baltimore Book Festival, YA Fest, the Collingswood Book Festival, BooksNJ, and, most recently, the Princeton Public Library’s Local Author Day. Additionally, she’s attended a SCBWI conference and a Writer’s Digest Annual Conference. In 2012, she traveled to Hollywood, California, to receive an award for Torn.
Christine currently stays home to write while her husband works and her two boys attend elementary school. Don’t bother her too much during football season—she’s either cheering on her boys or crying in her pint glass over yet another Jets loss.
Learn more at:
Christine-Hughes.com
Twitter @HughesWriter
Facebook.com/ChristineHughesAuthor
Please turn the page for a preview of Christine Hughes’s next sexy romantic comedy
Operation Foreplay
Available Fall 2015
Chapter One
With nothing but a towel wrapped tightly around my head, I padded barefoot to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Turning up the music, I shimmied around the room as I searched the drawer for the bottle opener. I was giddy after checking the time; Zac would be at my apartment in an hour. For the first time since, well, the first time, he’d be on my turf. There would be no sneaking around the office, no stolen kisses when no one was looking. No rushing out of bed at three in the morning to take a cab to the train that would bring me home by four only to head back into the city by nine. He was coming to my place. My place. Sleeping over. Spending the night. Spending the weekend. And if I had a say in it, the weekend would be spent in bed.
I’d put on the slinkiest, sluttiest underwear I could find—purchased specifically for the occasion—perfected my barely there makeup, and dabbed on the expensive perfume he’d purchased for me during his last visit to France.
With thirty minutes to go, I pulled the towel off my head, and used the diffuser to ensure the honey-blond curls he loved so much were intact and full. I lit candles and slipped on my barely legal black dress in time to pay the Chinese delivery guy, whose eyes bugged out of his head when he saw the surgically enhanced cleavage I presented him with when I answered the door, and set the table. Looking around my ridiculously spacious apartment, I smiled because everything was perfect. Early dinner meant more time in bed. Or on the floor. Or in the shower.
After I polished off my second glass of wine, I shot him a text and picked at the dumplings. Within thirty minutes, there were none left and I was still starving. I checked out the market recap and flipped through the channels until I landed on a sitcom that highlighted one of the characters turning thirty. I opened the second bottle and lamented the fact that I’d be thirty in less than a month. I wasn’t not looking forward to it, but I didn’t see the big deal. Unfortunately my mother didn’t agree. Especially since she’d learned my friends were moving in a direction I clearly was not. I mean, who cared if Caroline moved in with Brian? Why did it matter if Sarah was dating Drew regularly? Who said I needed any of that? I was an attractive young professional woman. I was successful. And I liked to have sex. Lots of it. And I liked to sample all the different varieties of dick being single introduced me to. At the moment, I was having lots of sex with my boss, Zachary Waterman. The things that man could do with his hands. The thought gave me goose bumps.
I reached across my chocolate leather sofa and grabbed a four-hundred-dollar pillow to rest my laptop on. Maybe he’d e-mailed. I’d eaten both eggrolls and started the second bottle by the time I finished perusing through the spam and department store sales advertisements. It wasn’t a total loss. I’d ordered a sexy new pair of peep toes to go with the entirely too expensive suit I’d purchased the week before.
I clicked off the television and walked to my bedroom as wine sloshed from my glass due partly to my overpour and partly to my impaired balance. I call it my two-bottle strut. Everyone has one.
Relighting a vanilla candle that had snuffed out, I picked up my never-used landline and dialed my cell phone to make sure it was still working. He was an hour and twenty minutes late. I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to panic. Of course, he was a busy man. He ran a multimillion-dollar company. There was no need to worry.
Refreshing my makeup, I told myself over and over again not to worry. The voice in my head, unfortunately, was growing more frantic by the minute. I was never one to get all swoony and girly over a man. I had no time for relationships, no time for anything other than casual and mutually mind-blowing sex. I had a black book. I had notches on my bedpost and a belt with more holes than I cared to admit. It’s not that I didn’t care about the guys I slept with, it’s just that I cared more about myself and my orgasm. Not a bad thing. I certainly wasn’t selfish, any bedmate could tell you. I just wasn’t relationship material. And it pissed off my mother.
So why were my panties in a bunch over Zac? What the hell made him so special that I’d sit home and wait for him? It was because he was unavailable to me in the relationship department. His wife would agree with me. I’d been involved with my still-married-but-going-through-a-divorce boss for the past five months. Not exactly going through, per se. More like promising-to-end-it-but-hasn’t-yet. My friends thought I needed a new hobby.
I dialed his number and was slightly surprised when it went straight to voice mail. I didn’t bother leaving a message. Instead I threw the phone on my couch and slinked back to the kitchen to grab a third bottle. I sat on the floo
r between the hallway and the kitchen cracking fortune cookies that gave shitty advice and refilling my glass until my vision clouded. It wasn’t until that third bottle of Pinot sat unopened in my lap, mascara stained my cheeks, and he was officially two and a half hours late that I realized he wasn’t coming.
That isn’t true.
I realized it when he didn’t return my text.
Calmly I walked to my bedroom and stripped off the slinky black dress I’d picked out for the evening, now noticeably stained with drops of wine, and let it fall to the floor. I yanked on the rattiest pair of sweatpants I could find from my drawer and pulled my old college T-shirt over my head. Even that had holes in it. Perfect metaphor for my life at that moment. Full of holes. I was crying by the time I called Sarah.
“Hey.”
She was out somewhere. I could hear other people talking in the background.
“He didn’t come.” Unsteadily I made my way back to my living room.
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve eaten five dumplings and two eggrolls. I have a pile of fortune cookie crumbs in my hallway. I am going to open my third bottle of wine and eat the lo mein I ordered without a fork. I will gain ten pounds and I don’t care.”
Operation One Night Stand Page 23