Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Cali finishes the rest of her beer and slaps the glass down on the table. “Tyler needs to go to bed by eight. No scary movies and she can’t have beer yet.”

  “Got it, Boss. Just tequila.”

  “Shut up, Jags,” she grits while walking toward the hallway. “Sasha, get your cute ass out here! It’s time to go, pretty lady,” Cali yells. I hear a bunch of clatter from down the hall, followed by Sasha walking into the living room. Holy, hot damn, I’m making a huge ass mistake. “I knew that dress would look awesome on you.” Cali is admiring what I believe to be her handy work and tugs at Sasha’s dress to create more cleavage. Come onnn.

  “Yeah, I kind of like it,” Sasha says, smirking at me. It’s black. It’s tight. The hem ends right below her butt cheeks, and she’s wearing four-inch heels that make her legs look way longer than they’re supposed to. Her hair is actually off her neck, which I haven’t seen and it’s in some kind of tousled mess that looks like she just got fucked. And dark red lipstick. Give me a break. She’s totally punishing me right now. I have my beer pressing firmly over my cock to prevent that show from happening, but the pain is real. The. Pain. Is. Real.

  “Thanks for your suggestion, Jags. I think, maybe you were right about this. You’ve been a good friend to me,” Sasha says, smiling in mock innocence. Friend? Oh hell no, she’s not friend-zoning me.

  “I’m not trying to be a good friend,” I tell her, sounding a little like I’m growling. I’m not trying to, or maybe I am.

  “Well, whatever the case, thank you. I need this. I’ve been…” She looks over at Cali, and Cali raises her brows, urging her to say whatever she’s trying to say. “So horny for weeks now. Someone needs to ease this pain between my legs.”

  I think someone just kicked me in the nuts. Yup. That’s what I feel like right now. I might actually puke from the nut-kickage going on. “Maybe I was wrong,” I say, not wanting to say this. Am I groveling?

  “No, actually, just the opposite. You’re a genius. I’ll be so much less stressed out if I can just get this little situation taken care of,” she says through stuttering words, making me think this isn’t something she prepared to tell me. Yet, she’s still saying it.

  “Situation?” I question her.

  “Like you said, I need to know what living in the fast lane feels like. Fast and hard…that’s the way it should go, right? Or should it be hard then fast?”

  “We should go,” Cali says, looping her arm with Sasha’s, giving me the most sinful look I’ve ever seen this chick muster.

  “Cal, don’t forget what I said,” I tell her.

  “Get the girl laid? Got it. I told you. I’m on it.”

  I hate women. I hate all fucking women. Why do they have to act like this?

  An hour after I’ve put Tyler to bed, I’ve jerked off twice in the bathroom, and the ache is still there. Except the pain isn’t so much in my cock as it is in my chest. I don’t want her sleeping with some random dude. I want her to sleep with me. And it’s not because I just want to rip that dress to shreds but it’s because she drives me nuts in the most incredible way any woman has ever driven me nuts before.

  When I plop back down on the couch in front of the Barney marathon I haven’t shut off yet, I reach for my phone, ready to text Tango and ask him for advice, even though I know he’ll just call me a moron and a pussy for doing what I did. I know that for sure since he said it to me earlier today. As I unlock my phone, I find a missed text from Cali.

  Cali: Mrs. Anderson from next door will watch Tyler if you need relief.

  Relief? Like…my balls are aching kind of relief? Even at a time like this…I can still think clearly. Amazing.

  I look at the time stamp from this text, and it’s from forty-five minutes ago, which is only an hour and a half after they left.

  Me: Just saw this. Is it too late to call her?

  Cali: It’s not too late to call her, but…

  I don’t know what the but is for, and I don’t know what the delay means but my heart is fucking pounding, and I’m slowly losing my mind.

  Cali: Because of this…

  A picture follows her message, and it’s of Sasha grinding up on some dude in the middle of the dance floor. His hand is on her ass, and his tongue is down her throat, and it feels like a punch to my gut and balls, both at the same time.

  Cali: I called Mrs. Anderson. She’ll be over in a couple of minutes. We’re at Chet’s.

  Fucking Chet’s.

  Me: How much has she had to drink?

  Cali: More than that little body can handle.

  It’s ten minutes before some old lady shows up at the front door. When I open it, she seems either disgusted by the sight of me or just scared…maybe she thinks all the tats are hot, who knows. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I tell her.

  “Anything for that little princess,” she says, still wildly eyeballing me.

  I cut the small talk short and jet across town faster than I should. By the time I make it into the restaurant, Cali’s hunched over at the bar, sipping on some kind of clear liquid in a whisky glass. I take the seat next to her, trying not to seem as out of control as I feel right now, but there’s a chance it’s written all over my face. “Make a mistake?” Cali asks me without looking over.

  “I just wanted to make sure she was okay. You know how the guys around here act. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for her getting date raped or something.”

  “She’s not getting date-raped. She dragged him into the ladies’ room about five minutes ago. I haven’t seen Sasha act so hastily before.” What the fuck? I’ve known Sasha less than a month, and the girl can’t even say cock or sex, and yet, she’s dragging some dude into the ladies’ room? “She’s real-l-l-l-l-l-ly drunk.”

  “So are you,” I tell her.

  “Yup,” she grins. “We were going to Zuber car it home, but I don’t think she’ll be sharing a Zuber car with me tonight.”

  I look around, checking for bouncers and the situation that could arise if I barge into that bathroom. I know it’s not a smart option, but I’m the reason she’s about to get fucked in there right now.

  Getting up from my seat, I casually head toward the bathroom, looking in each direction before I make my move. I push open the door quietly, doing my best not to make a bigger scene than I’m about to make. They’re in the fucking corner, not even in a stall. How fucking awkward? Her dress is above her hips, but her panties are still in place, thankfully. Her head is cocked to the side, and the asshole is leaving his mark in a trail from her ear to her collar bone. I stand there long enough to watch his hand slide around to her ass, and I realize at this exact moment the only hand I want on that ass is mine. I’ve never been jealous. I haven’t acted so childish before, but the hell with it, I’ve never had real fucking feelings for anyone either.

  I clear my throat, forcing the idiot to stop and look up at me. He looks like he might shit a brick, mostly because he’s another Landon type—tall, scrawny, popped collar, the rich boy show. His hand drops from Sasha’s body, and she turns around to face me, not knowing it was me who was scaring her new little boy toy into stopping his hands from moving where they shouldn’t be moving.

  “Jagggggs,” she slurs. “I’d like you to meet…Peter. Peter, Peter, Pumpkin…”

  “My name isn’t Peter,” he says.

  “It is now, hot stuff,” she mutters.

  “Is this your boyfriend?” he asks, fear dripping down his throat in the form of sweat.

  “No,” she laughs. “He’s just a friend who told me to get laid tonight.”

  “Can we help you then?” Peter asks.

  “Let go of my girl,” I tell him. I shouldn’t have called her my girl. She’s not my girl, but I want her to be. She just doesn’t really know that at this moment since I told her to get fucked by someone else.

  “First, you tell me to go
get fu-u-u-u-cked by someone,” Sasha belts out. The fact that she just said fucked makes me want to start laughing for a quick second, but then I see that his hand is back on her ass. “Now you’re telling me not to get fucked. Make up your mind, Jason Andrew Gaits.”

  This dude’s hand tightens around her ass, and I’m across the bathroom before I even realize what I’m doing. I probably snap the guy’s arm in half as I toss him against the opposite wall. In reality, this isn’t his fault, and I’m being a total dick, but his hand was on her ass, and that’s not okay with me.

  “—The fuck!” Peter shouts. He’s not coming after me, though. He’s cowering in the opposite corner, clutching his wrist.

  “You can’t do this, Jags,” Sasha scolds me. “You don’t get to control me like you’re trying to. You say you like me, but then you tell me to go get laid by someone else. So that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I changed my mind,” I say, peeling her dress down so it sits back over her hips where it belongs.

  “It’s not your decision to make,” she tells me.

  I lightly slap my hands around her red cheeks and crash my lips into hers, pressing her into the wall she’s in front of. As I hold my body firmly against hers, a weakness overcomes me while my lips work against hers. When I pull away, she’s glaring at me with pure anger, and it’s so fucking hot.

  “If you want to fuck me, just do it. Right here. Right now,” she says.

  “I knew you weren’t this perfect little princess with a clean mouth,” I whisper into her ear. My hand travels around her backside, and I grab the ass I’ve wanted to grab since the second I saw it squeezed into this tight-as-hell dress. The sound of a moan liquefies in my ear, and my cock is about to punch her in the stomach. I lift her up and move her onto the counter of the sink and she loops her legs around my waist before she tears the straps of her dress off her arms, allowing her tits to pop out. Just as I remember from the shower incident, they’re fucking huge with lightly blushed nipples staring right at me. I can’t control myself when I grab one and drop my head down to take it into my mouth. I realize that asshole is still cowering behind us, watching what he was hoping to be doing right now, but fuck him.

  At some point, while I’m sucking on her tit, I realize I’m taking advantage of her completely drunk-as-hell state of mind, and that’s not the way I want this to go down, even though I’d kind of do just about anything for her to go down on me right now. “I’m about to explode in my fucking pants,” I whisper into her ear.

  “Explode in me, then,” she says back. Her words are not Sasha’s words. This isn’t the Sasha I know; although, she did turn into a little devil when the power went out the other night.

  “You had whisky, didn’t you?”

  “Four Jack and cokes,” she giggles against my ear. The vibration from her lips on my skin makes things progress faster. This isn’t going to end well.

  “I can’t fuck you when you’re drunk like this,” I tell her.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she says. “Just do it. You said I needed to get fucked, so fuck me.”

  “When you’re sober and you say this to me, I’ll fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked, and you’ll be crying out my name for a week after. Deal?”

  My hands are still exploring, taking the opportunity to remember what her tits feel like so I can think about them tonight when I have to jack off forty more times, thanks to these memories that will haunt me until she’s sober and willing.

  “You’re giving me blue balls,” she says, slurring the words into my ear.

  I hear the door slam behind us, and I look into the mirror behind Sasha’s head and see that Peter has finally taken a hint. “Blue balls, huh?”

  “Yeah, girls can get blue balls too,” she says.

  Sasha reaches to her waist and shifts around until her panties fall to her four-inch peep-toe heels and she dangles her feet until the lacey, black piece of silk finally falls to the ground. Her eyes are blazing and burning a hole right through me as she spreads her legs wider and leans her head back against the mirror. And this is officially pretty much the hottest shit I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life. I take a few steps back and lock the bathroom door. “Sasha, you’re drunk,” I tell her again.

  “I have an ache right here,” she says, pointing between her legs. “Make it go away.” She reaches for my hand and shoves it between her sopping wet thighs. If I’m going to make this pain go away, I’m going to do it correctly. I kneel down and place her legs over each of my shoulders. I press my face firmly against her sex and, like the medic that I am, do my best to address the pain between her legs. It takes her less than a second before she’s bucking against my face, crying and moaning while she claws her fingers into her scalp. With her other hand, she’s pressing on the back of my head, pushing my face harder against her.

  “I get it,” she groans.

  “What?” I ask, my mouth muffled with my tongue inside of her.

  She bucks again at the sensation of my words hitting her inside. “Why women like beards.” Her words force me to plunge harder, knowing my hairs are prickling her very, sensitive bare skin. Sasha’s cries have turned into full blown screams, and there’s a knocking on the bathroom door. Someone probably thinks I’m killing her in here. “Don’t stop. Just don’t stop. I don’t care about the door.”

  I do as she says, sucking, nibbling, pressing and prodding, doing what I do best. Her body finally jerks against my face so hard, my neck feels like it snaps. Holy hell, that was intense. Her hands cup around my cheeks and she tries to pull me up to my feet. “How do you feel about dirty mouths now?” I ask her.

  Without a verbal answer, she pulls my face into hers and shoves her tongue into my mouth. I let this continue for too long. I can’t control myself any longer. “You want to talk about blue balls?” I ask her.

  “I can take care of that for you,” she says.

  “We need to get out of here first.” Which I realize will make my balls hurt a hell of a lot more.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SASHA

  DRINKING IS NEVER a good idea. But doing things I wouldn’t normally do when drinking is almost always a good idea. I think. It’s the only way I’ll do things I shouldn’t be doing or wouldn’t think of doing. Like this. Sitting on a public restroom sink with my panties resting on the filthy bathroom floor. The second this whisky begins to burn off I’m going to regret every single second of the last three hours of my life, beginning with making out with a stranger on the dance floor I’m pretty sure we made by pushing tables apart. What’s worse, or, maybe better, is the look on Jags’s face right now. I’m going to end up breaking his heart when I tell him I’m moving to another country soon. It’s another decision I’ve made tonight and it might just be the best decision I’ve ever made in the world of making decisions.

  “You should put those hot little panties back on,” Jags tells me while grabbing at his man-part. He looks like he might be in pain. I can fix that. But he wants to wait until we get back home, or whatever I’m supposed to call a place that’s not my home, but I’m being forced to stay at.

  We should leave. I mean this bathroom, this disgusting, smelly bathroom is starting to circle around my head, and Jags is kind of swaying along with it. This isn’t going to end well. I am officially out of control. And I think I like it. And I think that’s a song… No, it’s “I’m so excited, and I think I like it…” My hand makes a good microphone as I belt the words out to this very fun eighties song by…who is this song by? The… The…ahh… The Pointer Sisters! Yeah, that’s it.

  “Tonight’s the night we need to make it happen.

  Tonight you put your thing aside. …

  We’re totally making pleasures in the night.

  I want to wrap my arms around you

  And if you dance reaaaaaal slow…

  I’m so excited and you just can’t hide it.”

  “Those aren’t the lyrics,
” Jags laughs.

  “Shh!” I reply. “You’ve lost control, and I think I like it…” Oh, those are the words I was thinking of! Wait, “I’m going to lose control.”

  “Um, Sasha…” the swaying movement of Jags’s figure interrupts my concert.

  “I know I know I know I know….” I sing.

  “Okay,” he laughs.

  “If I move around real slow, I’ll let it go….” I drawl out.

  “You’ll let what go?” he asks, seeming totally confused. Jags’s hands are around my waist, and he’s lifting me up, I think, or maybe the bathroom is starting to spin in the other direction. I’m like a gerbil in one of those silly little plastic wheels.

  “I’m so excited, and you can just hide it! I know, I know, I know, I want you…I want you…”

  “I want you too,” he mutters as he slips my panties back up my legs.

  “Doesn’t seem like it from that action,” I reply as his shoulder presses into my stomach. Am I upside down? That’s the floor. His arm is over my butt, holding my dress down but I don’t know if my dress can be held down, as short as it is. “I’m going to be sick if you don’t put me down.” I feel like one of those bar shakers now.

  “We walk out of the bathroom, and Jags carefully places me down on the make-shift dance floor, which is shockingly moving just like the bathroom was. “Sash,” Cali says, shoving her head in front of my face. “I think you need some water.”

  “Didn’t you think she had too much?” Jags asks her.

  “I’m not her mother,” Cali argues. “Plus, she told me to shut my trap three times. So I did.”

  I did say that. I don’t usually tell Cali what to do, but it was a little fun, especially when she listened.

  “Yeah, but you’re her friend, you’re supposed to stop your friend from doing stupid shit,” Jags argues with her.