by M. Never
Um, yes, actually, because all I can think about is what you taste like.
I look down to see a hole in my shirt and my left pec. I put my hand over my chest and order myself to speak. “No, I’m okay, it only hurts a lot,” I smirk.
“I’m so sorry. That girl pushed me.” She looks around for the drunken stumbler, but she’s gone, and if I ever see her again, I’m going to buy her a house. “I’ll buy you a new shirt and pay for the ER visit,” she jokes, and I laugh. Pretty and funny.
“No need. A drink will do.”
She looks at me with a small, sheepish frown; she’s several inches shorter than I am, even with her sexy-as-all-hell, sky-high stilettos. “Coke or Sprite?” She holds up her arm showing me her wrist. She’s underage. Fuck.
“Okay then, I’ll buy the drinks.” I smile and grab her hand, because I don’t ever want this girl more than an arm’s length away from me ever again.
“I can’t drink,” she says as she shuffles behind me, her hand latching onto mine.
Her touch is the best feeling I have ever experienced in my twenty-one years.
“There’s no such thing as can’t.”
I slam on the bar to get Mac’s attention. He looks up from the ice bin with two cups in his hand and throws a head nod. “What do you want to drink?”
“I told you I can’t drink. No shiny wrist jewelry, remember?”
“Look,” love of my life, “I work here, and see him? He’s my best friend. He’ll hook it up. So just tell me.”
“And what exactly is it you do here?” she questions.
“Bartender. Now tell me what you want to drink,” I press.
She exhales, seemingly annoyed, flutters her eyelashes, and ponders for a second. “Cuba Libre.”
“Seriously?” I curl my lip.
“Don’t know what it is? I thought you said you worked here?”
“I do—”
“And you don’t know what a Cuba Libre is?”
“I do, but only sixty-year-old men in cheesy suits order those.” I laugh, and then I realize she’s screwing with me.
“What’ll it be, Romeo?” Mac interrupts us.
“My usual and a Cuba Libre for the lady, Flannigan.”
Mac smiles broadly and so does my future wife. “Coming up.”
“Hey.” I grab Mac’s arm and gesture with my eyes down to her wrist.
“Got it covered, bro, noticed that before.” He smirks conspiratorially before walking over to the ice bin. He grabs one small, clear plastic cup and one large, yellow Solo cup. It’s how alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks are differentiated. Only twenty-one and older get the clear cups.
“Finally got that, huh?” she smarts off, and I realize I haven’t even asked her name.
“Cocktail is one of my all-time favorite movies,” I counter, while shaking my head with an exaggerated no. “I’m Ryan, by the way.” I put my hand out, and I know it’s a corny gesture, but I just have to touch her again.
“Alana.” She puts her hand in mine, and my whole body electrifies.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
She rolls her eyes. She thinks it’s a line and calls me out on my bullshit. Even though, for once, it’s not.
“It’s not a line.” I lean into her. “It’s the truth.”
She just stares back at me, and I know she’s sizing me up. She may be blonde, but she’s no bimbo.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” she repeats my name tantalizingly. It does crazy things to my insides. Mac drops our drinks in front of us and winks. Alana looks down at her rum and Coke garnished with a lime as if she’s Eve and it’s a shiny red apple tempting her to bite. I pick up my gin and tonic and nudge her arm. “It’s fine. It’s just one.”
Her eyes flash. “Famous last words.” She picks up her cup and clinks it with mine.
“To serendipity,” I proclaim, and she smiles just as the rotating lights shine on her gorgeous face.
“Where are you from?” I have to know every single little detail about her.
“Colts Neck,” she answers with the straw flirtatiously resting on her lips.
“Rich girl.” I comment.
“Is that a problem?” she counters.
“No.” You could be poor, dirty, and homeless, and I’d still love you.
“What about you?” She leans over the bar, her skin brushing against mine, causing every single one of my cells to stand at attention.
“Neptune.”
“Pretty close.”
“Only demographically,” I retort.
“None of that crap matters to me,” she spits, taking me by surprise.
“Good to know.” I slide closer, touching my body to hers. She looks up at me with those reddish-brown eyes, and all I can think about is kissing her. Right here. Right now. The desire is almost drowning me.
“What?” she asks.
“What, what?” I answer.
“You’re staring.”
“You’re beautiful.” The words just spill right out of my mouth.
“You’re a cornball, but thank you.” She tucks some hair behind her ear demurely.
I know I’m grinning like an idiot, but I just can’t help it. It’s like I’m the plug, and she’s the socket. Her energy is lighting me up.
“Need another round?” Mac’s voice startles us both.
“Yes.” I push my cup toward him as he stares at me with mischievous green eyes. A minute or two later he returns with more drinks. Then he drops four shot glasses in front of us and pours some red liquid into them. “I made too much; it’s extra,” he claims with a scheming grin.
“What’s that?” Alana worries, wrinkling her nose. The facial expression is adorable.
“Red Death,” Mac informs her, as the last drop drips out of the metal mixing cup.
“Sounds killer,” she quips.
Mac smiles at me. “I like this one,” he approves, and then goes to help another customer.
Me. Too.
“Do you at least know what’s in that?” Alana digs.
“Yes,” I drawl. “Vodka, amaretto, Southern Comfort, triple sec, Sloe gin, and orange juice.”
“All that in one tiny cup?”
“Yup.” I slam a shot. “You want one?”
“And how exactly are you going to pull that off, slick?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course not. I just met you.” She laughs.
“Then how about giving me the benefit of the doubt?”
She raises an eyebrow, and before I give her a chance to respond I slam the shot then pull her face to mine. As soon as my mouth covers hers, heat spreads rapidly through my body. She’s momentarily stunned; her body rigid. But then she relaxes, parts her lips, and lets the tart liquid slide into her mouth. The contact slingshots my nervous system straight into hyperdrive.
I can’t believe I just did that.
I can’t believe she just let me.
After she swallows, she lets her lips linger, sucking up the sweet taste of the shot.
We break apart slowly, but I refuse to let go of the nape of her neck. She just gazes up at me with these enthralling eyes I know I will never, ever be able to resist.
“Do you always break the rules?” she questions.
“No, not usually, but you seem to make me want to do crazy things.”
“Was that crazy?”
“Let’s do it again and find out.”
I lick my lower lip, feeling the sticky remnants of her lip gloss before I drop another shot. I pause for just a beat before I lean down and press my mouth back to hers. She opens, allowing the alcohol to flow between us. I flick my tongue against her teeth right before I pull away. I shouldn’t like this so much, but I do. I like the way she looks, the way she feels, the way she smells. There’s something about her, something ventilating, like she oxygenates the atmosphere.
I catch the cool remix of a song I like pumping through the air. “Do you want to dance?”
“There’s only one thing I can do better,” I smirk.
Alana cocks one of her eyebrows suggestively.
“Draw,” I fire back. “The only thing I can do better is draw. Dirty girl,” I tease as I grab her hand and lead her out to the dance floor knowing Mac will look after our drinks.
Once we find an open spot, I start to move to the smooth electronic rhythm, leaving some breathing room between us so it doesn’t feel like I’m crowding her. Chris Isaak sings seductively about wanting to fall in love as we move to the beat, our bodies brushing and grazing repeatedly, until finally coming together in comfortable unison. I wrap one hand around her waist as I roll my hips into hers, pressing our bodies as close as they can get. Alana runs her hands up my chest and hooks her arms lightly around my neck keeping tempo with the music. She moves lithely against me, inducing my heart, my thoughts, and my pulse to race. Fuck, I’m saturated in want for this girl. I slide my hands under her shirt and caress the smooth, soft skin of her lower back as she nuzzles her face into my neck, her warm breath skating across my collarbone, making me instantly hard.
Damn.
She lifts her head and meets my stare, which I know is filled with lust, and unrepentantly wanton. She bites her lower lip as we continue to jive to the slow sensuous music. In a brazen move, I slip my hand up the back of her bare thigh and cup her ass under the hem of her short shorts. She gasps as I work my fingers against her, massaging the fleshy part of her bottom. I’m absolutely aching being this close to her, touching her, stroking her, grinding against her.
“Are you sure drawing is the only thing you can do better?” she pants in my ear.
I moan against her neck as she winds her hips into mine, pressing against my erection. “With you, there might be an exception.” I pull on her thigh, and haul her into my arms, forcing her to wrap her legs around me, then walk off the dance floor toward the bar. “I need a drink. Right now. Or else I’m going to end up fucking you right in the middle of this club.”
Alana giggles. “As if I’d be that easy.”
“I hope you’re a little easy,” I joke as I reluctantly set her down on her feet. I adjust myself underneath the lip of the bar top, hoping she doesn’t notice. But she does. She’s looking at me with entertained eyes and lush pink lips.
“I’m not easy at all,” she challenges, which, obviously, I have no problem rising to. I shift my pants again. “Have a bit of an effect on you, do I?”
“No,” I scoff, as I look down the bar at Mac. Where the fuck is my drink? “You have a major effect on me, if you haven’t noticed.” I glance back at her.
“I have,” she admits, her cheeks blazing a deep shade of red.
“You know, I can make other parts of your body turn that color,” I rasp in her ear.
“I have no doubt you can after that performance on the dance floor. But who says I’m going to let you anywhere near my parts?”
I love this girl.
“I can be pretty persuasive.”
“You mean perverted.”
“Did I offend you?”
“No,” Alana answers automatically. “I was just kidding.”
“Good. Because I’m not like that. I have respect.”
Alana smiles. A wide, beaming smile that hits me square in the chest. “I believe you.”
“Glad we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” she confirms.
Mac drops two more drinks and two more shots in front of us. I guzzle down my gin and tonic in three slurps, hoping like hell that a quick blast of alcohol will numb the buzzing in my pants. Tough shit for me, it only gets stronger. My body is homed in on Alana’s every move and brush and stroke. I’m in so much trouble here.
I slam a shot and then gesture to Mac for another drink. My hormones need to chill the fuck out.
I reach for the last shot with my eyes glued to Alana’s. “Ready?” I ask, but she reaches out and grabs my wrist before I can lift my hand. “You don’t need alcohol in your mouth to kiss me,” she divulges, forcing my whole body to lock up.
Kiss you? Oh, I want to do so much more than kiss you.
I let go of the shot, and she releases my hand. Her chestnut brown eyes are flaming with apprehension and anticipation.
I know this is my one and only chance; my one chance to execute the perfect kiss, because this girl doesn’t deserve anything less than perfection.
And I want to be just that. Her perfect.
I step in front of her, forcing the small of her back into the bar’s ledge, and press my body flush against hers. She feels so fucking good. Warm and supple, and tortuous and tempting, all at the same time.
I move gradually, drawing out this one moment I want to last forever.
Taking her face in my hands, I inch in slowly. Then I close my eyes and let my senses take over. I press my lips to hers and say goodbye to my heart, because it now belongs to her.
Softly and sweetly I kiss her, tantalizing and teasing her until she opens up and lets me slip my tongue inside her mouth. Leisurely, I flick and roll it, savoring the moment, as I hold her face tightly in my hands. And all I can think about is how I want more. More of her smell, more of her taste, more of her touch. Everything falls silent in the torrid moment, the sound of the music, the hum of the crowd. There’s only her and me, and ash blowing in the wind, because she just burned my entire existence to the ground.
As we separate, I open my eyes to find her breathing hard. Her hands are restraining my forearms, and her eyes are transfixed on mine.
Yeah, I know. That was one mind-bending fucking kiss.
Suddenly, someone slaps me on the back, startling the hell out of me. I turn my head and hear Spiro’s voice rake through my ear, “Pull that shit again, and you’re gone.” My heartbeat terminates. “Tell your buddy too. I’ll have your asses hauled out of here in handcuffs for serving underage drinkers. Got it?” I glance at Mac. The last thing I want is to get him fired. “I get why you did it though.” Spiro leans in closer to me. “She’s fucking hot.” Then he walks away.
I’m pretty sure I just went into cardiac arrest.
“Who was that?” Alana asks, her face is flushed, and her hands are still gripping my forearms.
“Spiro. He’s the manager.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” I reluctantly move one of my hands away from her face. “He was just letting me know when my first shift is.” I smile down at her, then slam the last shot.
Fuck.
The ceiling lights flash, brightening the room like daylight.
It’s last call.
“Alana! There you are.” Someone pulls on her arm. It’s her friend with the short blonde hair. “Time to go.” She stumbles a little, and I reach out to grab her. She’s obviously drunk.
“I don’t think I can drive,” she informs her friend, and it feels like the angels are singing.
“What do you mean, you can’t drive?”
Alana glances uncomfortably at me. “I sort of drank a little.”
Her friend’s eyes become intense, and her mouth twists up into a little smile. “Is he the cause?”
“More like the effect,” Alana replies, and my insides stir.
“I can drive you,” I interject.
“No way,” Alana immediately refuses. “You drank way more than me. We’ll get a cab.”
“I’m fine, really,” I urge.
“No,” she declines sternly. “There will be taxis outside.”
There seems to be no swaying her. “Fine. I’ll at least walk you out,” I huff. Alana shoots me a cautionary glare, and then starts heading toward the door, her friend right in front of us. I grab her hand as we walk, because I just need to feel her one last time. She looks up at me impartially, making it impossible to decode her thoughts.
I’m suddenly questioning myself. We had a good time, right? She’ll want to see me again? That wasn’t just a fly by th
e moment thing?
When we get outside, there are swarms of people and a long line of cars trying to exit the parking lot. It only takes a moment for Alana to find a cab. Her friend climbs in first, sprawling out in the backseat. I pull Alana back before she can follow. “Are you going to give me your number?”
“What for?” She giggles.
“Because I want to see you again.”
She pauses, silently measuring me up. “I don’t need to give you my number. I know where you work.” She smirks as she slides into the backseat.
What? She’s fucking with me. She has to be. And I don’t start until next week. That’s way too long to wait. “The Racetrack.” I dip my head down quickly. “I work there too. Tomorrow. Meet me tomorrow at six. There’s a beer bar, The Exacta Box. It’s by the picnic tables.”
Alana’s smirk gets bigger. “We’ll see, Ryan, we’ll see.” Then she shuts the door. All I can do is watch as the cab drives away with her and my heart inside it.
Dinner For Two
I wipe out the metal mixing cup in a haze.
All I can think about is her.
I glance down at my watch, 5:50 p.m., and I can’t help but wonder — no, sorry — wish that she’ll show.
“How many times are you going to check that thing?” Mac asks. He may not work here anymore, but he has no problem hanging out and hassling me.
“Shut up, dick.” I slam the cup down. “Who do you like in the next race?” I ask to distract him, slyly glancing down at the time again.
“The four and the six,” he offers. “The three was scratched, so there goes my trifecta.”
“Good.” I pull a few dollars out of my tip cup. “Bet whatever you’re betting.” I hand him the cash.
“Done.” He downs his draft then heads over to the outside corridor that has several lines of people waiting to bet.
The bell goes off, and the gates to race eight slam open. Six ponies make a mad dash down the track, kicking up dirt as people scream and yell for their numbers to come in.
“Get up! Get up!” Mac smacks his rolled-up program against his leg as he peers toward the finish line. “Get. Up!” Checking the monitor, I hear him yell, “Yes! It’s your lucky day, bro. We just won. This payout should be okay.” He heads back to the betting area to cash in our tickets. Nice. I can always use the extra cash, and Mac is always good for making some.
