by Alex Lucian
Didn’t know you were working tonight! I’ll come ‘round!
Nice lips, said another comment with a wink emoticon. It was from one of Liza’s former flings, so I understood what the wink face was for.
Are you working tomorrow? asked another commenter, with a bunch of drink emoticons.
Get the slippery nipples ready! I’m on my way!
I moved away from the photo, suddenly feeling guilty for not ever visiting her at work. She worked most nights and every weekend, and when she wasn’t at the bar she was working her day job at the mall. With my class schedule and preparing for my move to school, we didn’t have a lot of free time that overlapped. And ever since I’d graduated, I’d avoided most social situations. I did not need distractions right before vet school.
I scrolled down, past Liza’s posts and kept going further down the page until a familiar face caused me to pause. Cameron Hunter, the sleaze who had hit on me earlier that week, had tagged Leo in a photo that was simply captioned “Beast.” In the photo, Leo’s arms were wrapped underneath a very large tire, his jaw clenched and his face red and his hair dripping with sweat. His biceps bulged and the angle—with him leaning forward as he seemed to be flipping the tire over—was, well, impressive. Even though it was a profile shot, I could see the determined squint of his gaze and the way his shirt clung to his chest was more than a little distracting, as my eyes traveled over that particular area of his anatomy more than once.
It was bad enough that he was sexy when he was relaxed, smiling with dimples in his cheeks, eyes twinkling in humor. But, it was even worse that he was so incredibly, undeniably hot when he was that focused, that determined. Unwittingly, a vision of him staring at me with that same kind of determination liquefied my insides.
I snapped the lid of my laptop closed and stood up, chewing on my thumb as I paced my bedroom. I stared into my closet and contemplated for a moment before picking up my phone and shooting him a text.
Scarlet: Does the offer still stand?
I ran my tongue over my teeth, full of nervous energy, as I alternated between staring at my phone and pretending to be distracted by the chipped nail polish on my fingertips. But out of the corner of my eye, I watched my phone, waiting for it to light up with his reply.
Ten minutes later, I opened up my home screen on my phone after convincing myself my notifications must be off, because surely he would have replied by now. But no. Nothing.
“Whatever,” I said in a huff, dropping my phone down and pounding the last dregs of my wine cooler. The aftertaste left something to be desired, so I left my bedroom in search of something else to drown my embarrassment in.
But before completely leaving, I grabbed my phone and shoved it in my back pocket. Just in case.
I climbed onto the counter, opening my mom’s not-so-secret stash. She had an assortment of vodkas, so I grabbed one that looked like dessert and poured a generous shot into a cup.
After sniffing it, I decided it was probably not best taken straight, so I rooted through the fridge for a mixer of some kind when a sound at the sliding glass door caused me to jump out of my skin.
Whirling around, my eyes met Leo’s on the other side of the glass. I pressed a hand to my racing heart and closed the fridge. After undoing the lock, I pulled the door open and Leo stepped in.
“Hey, Jennings.” He stepped into the kitchen and started looking around, as if we’d suddenly remodeled it since the last time he was at the house.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wary.
“I rang the bell, but you didn’t answer. And I’ve always wanted to come through your back door,” he said, jerking a thumb behind him.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Really? You just had to work that in, didn’t you?”
He turned from his place at the sink, “Hey, no need for hostility, Scarlet. You wanted to go out, didn’t you? I’m at your service.” He motioned with his hand a loose sort-of bow and then picked up my glass of vodka. I watched as he sniffed it and then looked at me curiously. “Straight vodka? You’re more hardcore than you let on.” His eyes traveled up and down my body. “Or maybe you’re just desperate?”
“Shut up.” I took the glass from him and poured it down the drain.
“That’s alcohol abuse.”
Ignoring him, I said, “Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Good idea.” He nodded and tucked a hand under his chin as he peered at my clothing. “Because I was trying to decide where I could take you that would be pajama appropriate.”
“Shut up,” I repeated, leaving the kitchen and running upstairs.
* * *
An hour later, we were at some hole in the wall Leo had insisted on, which I let him choose only because I had insisted on driving to said hole in the wall. I knew I wouldn’t drink so much that I couldn’t drive, and given Leo’s rather expensive history in matters of automobiles, it only made sense for me to be the one behind the wheel.
I was nursing my one and only drink when Leo slapped a palm on the wooden bar top. “Come on, Scar. Let’s get some shots.”
“Scar?” My lip curled at the nickname. “I’m not interested in shots.” I traced the rim of my beer, but felt Leo’s eyes burning a hole in my face.
“I won’t order anything gross,” he promised, “and it’s my treat. Let’s do a shot. Watching you take tiny sips of that now-warm beer is killing my will to live.”
“Really?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. He nodded, face serious. “Okay, fine. But it better not taste like garbage.”
“Joe,” he said, hailing the bartender over to us. He knew everyone here—the staff and the patrons had all come up in the last hour and chatted with him about football and his visit there a week earlier. It was a solid reminder that he was a much more social animal than I was.
It was part of the reason I’d relented to the shot—because I wanted to be the person that people remembered, who was invited to parties and get-togethers. And besides, the last three years of classes back to back had kind of limited my party experiences, so I knew I’d missed out on some fun.
“Can you get us two cowboy cocksuckers?” Leo said, holding up two fingers.
“What?” My octave was a little higher than normal because he’d thrown me way off with the name of the drink.
“It’s a bitch shot,” Leo said, leaning toward me. “You’ll like it.”
I took slight offense at his assumption, but I accepted the creamy tan shot from Joe the bartender anyway.
He held up the shot as he turned to me. “Here’s to burying the hatchet?” He raised an eyebrow.
I gave a slight nod. “Sorry for calling you a meathead,” I said before tipping the shot back and letting the cool liquid slide back. He was right; I did like it. It was like butterscotch milk.
He set his empty shot glass on the bar and turned to me. “You didn’t call me a meathead.” He motioned to Joe to pour us another round and I didn’t object.
“Oh, I didn’t?” I asked. Shrugging, I said, “Well, I thought it in my head then.”
He squinted at me for a moment, until the second round of shots arrived and he pushed one my way. As I tossed it back, he said, “Sorry for telling you to suck my dick.”
That time, the liquor burned because I choked on it. His hand slapped my back several times as I gripped the counter like it was the only thing keeping me from falling backward. “You had to say that?” I coughed out before giving a grateful smile to Joe for the water he placed in front of me.
“Hey,” he said holding up his hands in surrender. “I said I was sorry.” He emphasized the sorry in a teasing tone and I drank enough water so that my throat wasn’t on fire anymore. But I still had that yummy butterscotch taste in my mouth and wanted more.
“Hey,” I said, playfully pushing at his shoulder. “Order me another bitch shot.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Walking on the wild side tonight? I like it.” He raised a hand for Joe, held up two fingers. “Two blowjobs
.”
I scrunched up my nose. “God, is every shot you know named after fellatio?”
“Not every one,” he said, a smile widening his mouth. The smile was deadly, a promise of some other torture he would inflict upon me. And the scary thing was that it didn’t feel like torture. It felt fun. Sexy.
Joe set two shots in front of us, each topped with whipped cream. As I set my fingers on it, Leo placed a hand on mine. “No, you have to keep your hands behind your back and pick it up with your mouth.”
My cheeks warmed and I cursed my ginger coloring for clearly displaying my naiveté. “Okay.” I put my hands behind me and he gestured for me to go first.
I didn’t allow myself time to think or time to talk myself out of it, and leaned on the table, my hair coming down and shielding the sides of my face as my lips closed around the rim and sucked to keep it in my mouth. My tongue dipped into the whipped cream, lapping it up into my mouth before I lifted the shot from the table and tilted my head back, letting it all pour down my throat.
It was like drinking a shot of a really good milky coffee and I surprised myself by immediately wanting another.
“Here,” he said, pushing the one in front of him toward me. “You’re a natural.”
Again, my cheeks warmed but I took this shot much quicker, leaning back so far that the glass came out of my lips.
“Whoa, easy, Killer,” Leo said, jumping up and catching the glass as it flew behind my head.
As I laughed, my body warming and softening, he set the glass on the counter. “Want another?”
I licked my lips, feeling the pleasurable burn of the alcohol ripple through me. I nodded.
“Joe, two redheaded sluts.” He looked at me with a very smug expression as if he expected a reaction, but I shrugged like it was no big deal. The liquor had loosened the bar of steel that normally kept me upright and rigid. I was having fun. I was fun.
When Joe placed the shots in front of us, I looked at it dubiously. “This one isn’t creamy like the other ones.” I dipped my forefinger in it and tasted it. “Licorice?”
“Good job. It’s Jager. And cranberry and peach schnapps.”
It sounded delicious, and from the small taste I’d gotten from licking my finger, I knew I’d like it too. “These bitch shots are good,” I told him, as I picked up the glass.
“I think that’s the first compliment you’ve given me, Scarlet.” He gave me a polite, sarcastic clap before picking up his shot and clinking it against mine. “To redheaded sluts.”
I rolled my eyes, not completely under alcohol’s influence and not a bit under the influence of how damn sexy he looked in his tight black shirt and worn jeans. My eyes glided over the way the sleeves hugged his biceps and how the shallow V of the tee’s neck revealed just a slight glimpse of the muscles underneath. I felt other parts of myself warm and squirmed on the bar stool.
Nope, I wasn’t under the influence of his innate sexual appeal at all.
My last sober thought was that he looked like a guy who could show me exactly what was so damn great about sex.
* * *
I lost track of the number of shots I’d had somewhere around the time I lost track of Leo. It was a little hard to see more than five feet in front of my face and Leo had left the bar for a moment to say hi to some people he knew, leaving me alone with the two blowjob shots he’d ordered before stepping away.
This time, I straight-up licked the whipped cream off the top, almost defiantly so, as I squinted and searched along the bar for Leo. Joe refilled the shot glass with whipped cream when I’d become distracted by looking for Leo and I smiled at him. I assumed it was Joe, but he was blurry enough that I couldn’t tell for sure.
“Another one?” Leo asked as he approached. I watched as he moved toward me in an almost slow motion, blurry figure becoming clearer as he took each step.
“They’re yummmmmmy,” I exaggerated, giving him a closed-eyes smile. It was too much work for me to keep my eyes open and smile at the same time.
He leaned against the bar next to me, all warm and great-smelling, and my vision cleared enough that he was perfectly clear in my gaze.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
I pursed my lips and squinted my eyes. “Maaaaybe? What’s it to you?”
“Well,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “You’re not going to be driving us home.”
I had a brief moment of clarity. “Oh, I drove.”
“You did. And you’re drunk.” He winked at me, or maybe I winked. I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that he was smiling that ridiculously sexy smile and I couldn’t concentrate much past that.
“And you’re sexy. God,” I said with disdain, “why do you have to be so hot?”
He laughed, which did nothing to decrease his sex appeal. He opened his mouth, but he was distracted as a woman walked by and gave him a quick hug. I got a whiff of fancy perfume, caught a glimpse of long brown hair and a leather jacket before Leo said goodbye to her.
“You could have any one of them,” I said, wildly gesturing to the area behind me.
His forehead scrunched together. “No, they play the game. They act interested, but then they play hard to get. It gets old.” Something flashed in his eyes as he looked at me, but I was too far into la-la-land to decipher what it was.
“So,” I said, lowering my voice and letting the liquor play on my tongue as my hand gripped his forearm. “Do you like a woman who is more direct, then?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t really been around a woman who is like that with me.”
“Okay.” I picked up the shot Joe had garnished with more whipped cream and tossed it back like I meant business.
After licking my lips clear of the whipped cream, I opened my eyes, saw the way he was staring at my mouth, so I squeezed his forearm—nails pressing into skin—and said, “Come home with me.”
Chapter Seven
Scarlet Jennings just told me to come home with her. Not like a question; no polite request present in her tone. Probably because her tone was slightly slurred.
“Probably shouldn’t have ordered that last round of shots,” I said under my breath, but she was too busy swaying in her seat to hear me. Then I noticed she wasn’t swaying, not exactly, she was kinda dancing. The music blaring from the speakers over the bar was slower, and she was moving perfectly to the beat of the woman singing.
She’d said I was hot. Sexy. But given that hell was not currently covered in ice, and no pigs had flown out of my ass, she didn’t mean come home with me, more like bring my drunk ass back to my house so I don’t kill us both getting back there.
“Welllllll?” She waved a hand in front of my face. The floppy movement made me wish I was feeling whatever she was feeling. I smiled a little, and she smiled back, spreading her lips so wide that her flushed cheeks lifted and I could see all of her teeth.
Son of a mother fucking bitch and damn it all to hell. Scarlet Jennings had one of the most perfect, gorgeous smiles I’d ever seen. I cleared my throat and stood, holding out a hand so she could too. Right before she took my hand, she tucked a piece of red hair behind her ear and peered up at me. The slow blink she gave was the only thing that reminded me that she wasn’t sober, because her eyes lasered onto my face.
“Oh, umm yeah, we can go back to your place.”
Scarlet shot off the chair, bypassing my hand. Oh no, instead of grabbing my hand, she flung her arms around my neck and hugged me. And by hug, I mean she practically assaulted me with how tightly she wrapped herself around me. I was giving her back an awkward pat, but the second my palm touched her cool, silky hair, I left it in place.
I thought she was thanking me profusely, but the blood was rushing into my ears so fast and loud that I couldn’t be sure. Call me a typical guy, what the hell ever, but the way her full breasts pressed against my chest almost stopped my heart, and the feel of her hair around my fingers, the way she felt so much smaller than me, made me want to beat my c
hest and drag her back into my room.
And that thought made me pull back really quickly. She’d have me arrested if she knew that. I steadied her when my jerky movement caused her to fall forward, and she was still smiling at me.
“Fuck,” I whispered and turned away, anxious to not see her smile again, because I was likely to do something crazy.
“Okay!” she said cheerfully and marched toward the exit. With a sigh, I grabbed the purse that she’d left hanging over the back of her chair and jogged to catch up with her. With the sound of catcalls from my friends in our wake, I finally reached Scarlet just before she pushed through the door and into the dark parking lot.
We didn’t say anything in the car, especially since she had leaned her head back against the seat with her eyes closed. Just before I turned into our neighborhood, I had to stop at a red light. Looking over at Scarlet, eyes closed and a small smile on her face, I almost didn’t want to disturb her. But, I also didn’t want her puking anywhere near me. The water bottle she took with her every day to class was still in the center console, so I lifted it and set it on her lap. She sat up with a start, then looked down at the metal container.
“Oh.”
“Drink it, you’ll thank me in the morning.”
She did so quietly, taking small sips until I pulled the car into her driveway. The house was completely dark, which didn’t surprise me too much. I figured her parents were the kind of people who marched upstairs to bed at nine every night, clad in flannel pajamas. When I’d pulled the keys from the ignition and stood up out of the car, she didn’t immediately follow me. I braced my hands on the roof of her car, tapping my fingers for a while before I finally ducked my head to look at her, assuming she’d closed her eyes again and gone to sleep. Also known as passing the fuck out.