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

by Ryan, Shari J.

“Stupid shit? Like hooking up, with another guy? Like you told her to do. I’m pretty sure we both know she wouldn’t have touched any man unless she had alcohol swimming through her body. So I had to let her get drunk.”

  I haven’t seen Jags angry. He’s angry, and it’s his own stupid fault. “Yeah, you told me to go get laid, remember?” I shout over the music. The music here is seriously great. I love it. And everyone staring at me must think it’s great too.

  Thankfully, my dance floor is still here, and Peter Peter is not, which is a good thing, I think.

  “Oh my gosh, guys! It’s…it’s Don’t Stop Believing by Journey. Come dance with me!” I shout over to the two losers fighting.

  “Why would you even come here on eighties night. Don’t you know the type of ass-hats that hang out on an eighties night event at a bar?” Jags grumbles to Cali.

  “I love eighties night!” I shout back.

  “A drinker in a karaoke room…doot doot doot… It goes around and around and around and around. —Singers waiting in the backyard! —Sometime in the nighttttttttttttttttt!”

  “She doesn’t know any of the words,” Jags laughs through a shout to Cali. I’m doing my best to block out their argument, but they’re hovering around my microphone.

  “Who cares?” Cali says. “You don’t have to know the lyrics to appreciate good music.”

  “Good music?”

  “You should leave the bar, Jags. You’re going to get yourself kicked out,” Cali tells him.

  I grab Jags’s arm and pull him in front of me. I take his other arm too and make him swing them above his head. “Don’t stop belieeeeeving!” I sing loudly. I’ve got him smiling now, but it’s not at the song. It’s at me. He likes me. But why did he want me to get laid by someone else tonight? “Why did you want me to go home with another man tonight?” I shout over the music.

  “I didn’t think you would,” he tells me, not as loudly, almost like he’s ashamed of the poor suggestion he made.

  “You shouldn’t underestimate a blonde in heels,” I explain.

  “That makes no sense,” he tells me.

  I point to my shoes. “I’m wearing heels.” Then I point to my hair. “And I have blonde hair.”

  “Ah, okay,” he says, not so enthusiastically, as I’m talking.

  His hands are around my waist now, and he’s starting to dance a little. “We both know you’re a dancing machine, Jags.”

  “This is not the Sasha I thought I knew,” he tells me.

  “Do you only like the Sasha who doesn’t have fun?” I ask.

  “I think I like both Sashas,” he says. “You’re pretty fucking adorable no matter what.”

  Alcohol-infused blood or not, this man’s words make my cheeks burn. Journey finishes singing, and UB40 starts playing Red Red Wine. “I love this song!” While enjoying the moment, Jags gives me a scary and serious look like he’s trying to read my thoughts right through my eyes. His arm loops around my body and with force, he pulls me against him and his still very-much-hard man-part—I almost forgot about. He must have serious blue-balls right now, but I try to forget about the rod poking me in the stomach as his chin lowers to my shoulder and we begin to sway a little slower.

  “I’m sorry I suggested you go home with another dude tonight. I didn’t really want that,” he says.

  I don’t respond. I’d rather just keep dancing and ignore this whole stupid situation that almost made me go home with some weirdo I named Peter.

  After another moment of neither one of us talking, his lips press against my ear, and he sings, “I was wrong, now I need just one thing to make me forget…red red wine, stay next to meeee. Don’t let me be alone, it’s tearing my true blue heart.”

  “You don’t really know these words either, do you?” I giggle, thinking back to just five minutes ago when he was ragging on my lyric skills.

  “Doesn’t matter. I love the way it makes me feel, and I say what I feel in the right moments.”

  I pull away, putting all of the blurry pieces together. Mostly the ones that sounded like “Don’t let me be alone, it’s tearing my true blue heart…”

  “Tell me your dark secrets, Jags.”

  His thumb sweeps across my cheek as he stares hard into my eyes. “We’ll save that for a sober night,” he says. This reminds me that I’m drunk and don’t normally know how to have this much fun. It also means he has dark secrets, which I kind of guessed. He’s twenty-eight, moving around and living like a nomad.

  “Fair enough,” I tell him.

  I look over Jags’s shoulder to see where Cali went, and I find her at the bar with one hand holding her cheek up and her other hand showing her phone keyboard who’s boss. I was a bad friend to her tonight. I know she’s going through a lot, and I was hoping by us going out, she’d be able to clear her mind a little, but it looks like I’m the only one who cleared my mind. So well, in fact, that I have done ridiculously stupid things tonight. Like…invite Jags’s face between my legs, in a public restroom, nonetheless. No one has ever been down there, never mind in a restroom. Not saying I’d want it to be the last time I let that happen, but maybe a bed might be nicer.

  Jags looks over at Cali too. “We should probably take off soon,” he says.

  “Wait, where’s Tyler?” I ask, finally coming to some of my senses.

  “With a sitter,” he says.

  “Who? What sitter? How do you know a sitter?”

  “Cali sent me her sitter’s name when she saw you dancing with another dude.” That’s my Cali. She’ll always let things go just far enough but not too far, with me anyway. She sets the bar a little higher for herself and does way more than I’d ever do.

  “So this was your plan all along?” I ask him, feeling my mind open up a little more to a cognitive thought.

  “No,” he tells me. I think there’s honesty in his voice, and now I’m not sure if I’m angrier that he’s being honest or angrier that it wasn’t his plan.

  I shake the mixture of anger and drunken chipperness from my mind and look back at a sulking Cali. “Cal,” I shout over. “Want to go home?”

  “I told the sitter I’d pay her until midnight,” she drones.

  “Wait, you knew you were calling the sitter?” I ask her. I’m so confused by these hidden plans.

  “I assumed,” she says.

  “Thanks for your trust, Cali,” Jags says.

  “You earned it,” she says, cheering her beer mug toward us. She’s pissy. Probably because she hasn’t gotten laid in four days now.

  “Hey, this song isn’t from the eighties!” I shout, listening to the words for a minute. “Oh my God—The Righteous Brothers…You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling. Don’t even tell me…is Top Gun your favorite movie of all time?” I ask Jags.

  “That’s very bold of you to assume,” he says, grinning like a fool. “But, yes, yes it is.”

  “It’s because you’re a sailor, isn’t it?” I say through laughter.

  “Maybe,” he shrugs, obviously trying to hide his infectious smile.

  “So you know all the words to this song?” I ask.

  “Noooo,” he replies quietly, backing away toward the bar where he grabs a beer bottle.

  “But baby, baby I love it!” he belts out. “Whoa, that’s the loving feeling’. You have lost all that lovely feeling.’” Jags is full out serenading me right now—wrong lyrics and all. He’s got one foot up on the bar stool and the top of the beer bottle pressed to his lips. His eyes are closed, and he’s singing out each word. I might be more than a little tipsy, but he can totally sing, in tune, and everything. The smoothness of his voice makes my heart flutter, or maybe I have those butterflies in my belly that everyone talks about. Jags’s hand gently wraps around my arm, and he pulls me over to him so he can continue singing to me at the top of his lungs. Just as I think this can’t possibly get any better, five other unsuspecting men from the bar join in while Jags gets down on one kne
e and reaches for my hand. And I’m totally eating this up, red-cheeked and all.

  While I’m falling for the look in his now open eyes, I hear Cali muttering behind me, “Oh my God. Make it stop,” she groans. “When is this night going to end?”

  I turn to her quickly and shush her. In return, she slugs a shot of something brown. Oh, Cali-girl.

  The song ends, and so does Jags’s performance. “How’s the water going?” he asks me through heavy breaths.

  Water? I haven’t had water since I got here. “I was thinking one more Jack and Coke might be a better option.”

  “You see, I’m sort of hoping you’ll change your mind,” he says.

  “Why, don’t you want me to be drunk so I’ll…you know…when we get back,” I tell him, feeling way more embarrassed to be saying all of this now that I’ve come back to my senses a little. I think another drink will be the best solution tonight.

  “No, I want you to be sober when we get back,” he says, placing his hand on my cheek. “I’m not looking to take advantage of you.”

  “Wow, you really do like me,” I spew out through a loud giggle.

  “I really do like you, Sasha. I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” he says, keeping his voice low, avoiding a spectacle like I’m causing.

  “Yeah, especially when you were telling me to go find someone to…”

  Jags’s finger presses down over my lips. “Please stop. It was a mistake.”

  “What happens after you have your way with me?” I ask as he moves his finger. Would this question be on my mind if I were sober? It probably would, I could just never ask him.

  Jags takes a step back and crosses his arms over his tight-black-shirt covered chest. “What happens?” he repeats my question.

  “Never mind,” I say, regretting my question.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No,” I tell him.

  “We can talk about it if you’d like,” he says coyly.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “We don’t have to talk.”

  “Okay, I changed my mind,” Cali interrupts us. “I’d like to get back home now so you two can fuck and I can get back to my normally scheduled program. Sound good? Fantastic, kids. Let’s go.”

  “Cali!” I scold her.

  “Oh, no, Sasha. Don’t ‘Cali’ me. I know that look in your eye. Don’t question what I know. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s comprehending the look of animalistic sexual desires. And that is the look blazing through those pretty blue eyes of yours, Princess.”

  “You sound like a dirty man,” I tell her.

  “And you sound like a princess,” she says to me.

  Cali and I don’t fight. I don’t think we’ve ever actually had an argument, but we bicker like sisters. We’re as close as sisters and at the same time, as opposite as sisters can be.

  “I just scheduled a Zuber car. It’ll be here in ten minutes. Go use the bathroom now so you’re not whining the whole way home.” She’s so rude and so right. I will have to pee the second we get into the car.

  “Fine, not because you told me to, but because I need to use the ladies room,” I tell her.

  “It’s like you can hear her sobering up,” Cali says to Jags as I’m walking toward the restroom. What’s that supposed to mean?

  “She’s fine,” Jags tells her.

  “You’re just saying that so you can get some ass tonight. I get it,” Cali says to him. “Sasha isn’t that type. You should know that by now, though.”

  I slow my pace toward the bathroom while trying to listen in to their conversation.

  “Yeah, I’m not looking to hurt your girl, Cali.”

  “Well, good, because she’s the only family I have left and I will hurt whoever hurts her. Like…hurt as in maybe you haven’t heard of my track record, but it isn’t pretty.”

  “I don’t know much of your track record, but you’re married to Tango, which automatically tells me you have one.” I can’t see Jags’s face, but I can almost assume he just gave Cali one of his infamous winks like he does when he’s bringing a point home.

  I finally stumble into the bathroom and hold onto the sink for the bit of support I feel like I still need. Maybe it’s just the heels throwing my balance off. My reflection in the mirror is a little blurry, but I look myself in the eyes and do my best to believe I’m not completely disappointed in my behavior tonight. All in all, I can’t help feeling a little free from myself. I don’t even know how that makes any sense, but I think I’m sick of acting like this person who I’ve been forced to be. My mother, I guess. I don’t want to be her: cleaning the house while her husband is cheating with his secretary. Is that what I’m heading toward? The June Cleavers of the world are all getting thrown to the wind in this century. I don’t want to be that woman.

  I leave the bathroom and find Cali and Jags still fighting over something. Who knows what it is now, but they stop when I come back over. “All set?” Cali asks me.

  “Yup.”

  I follow the two of them outside and up to the car waiting for us with headlights on. Jags opens the back door and Cali slides in first, then I get in.

  The car is small, and the outside of my very bare thigh is rubbing up against Jags’s torn jeans that I’ve been admiring all night. There’s something about a man with torn jeans. It’s kind of sexy. I said sexy, pff.

  I try to get comfortable, considering this dress is riding up my butt, and the last thing I want is for any part of my butt cheeks to touch this dirty seat. As I’m fidgeting around, though, my foot accidentally kicks Jags’s boot, forcing me to look down to where I kicked him, even though I don’t think I did much damage. Holy moly, his feet look like they’re twice the size of mine and wow, those are some big feet. “You okay?” he asks, placing his hand down over my knee. The touch of his fingertips against my skin makes my thighs clench together. Every time he touches me it’s like I haven’t been touched by anyone before. It’s igniting and exciting, and he has more effect over my body than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

  “Yeah,” I say breathlessly.

  “You have big feet,” I tell him, pulling my feet in the other direction.

  “Well, I don’t need to tell you what they say about a man with big feet because you already know the truth there,” he emphasizes every one of his words as if I need to listen carefully and pick up the not so subtle hints he’s offering.

  “Yeah, Jags, it means you have a real big fucking mouth,” Cali says. “Can we make it home without you bringing up your dick size every three seconds? It would really help me keep my alcohol where it should be. Burning a hole in my stomach.”

  “Sure, Cali. I won’t talk about the size and girth of my very incredibly well-endowed, oversized really, cock.”

  “Can we just stop cocking for a few minutes? Maybe then you two would stop arguing for a while.”

  “Did you just say cocking?” Cali asks me.

  “No? I said talking.”

  “No, you said cocking,” Jags argues through a mumble.

  “This, you two agree on?” I fight back.

  “You said cock,” Cali says, laughing. She’s laughing. I don’t remember the last time Cali laughed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JAGS

  GOOD GUYS FINISH last. Or not at all. Sasha is passed out in the Zuber car, sooo this is awesome. At least I know she’s not passed out on some random guy’s cock right now.

  Cali stumbles out of the car and waves me off. “You take care of Miss Piggy tonight,” she slurs out. Miss Piggy? I’ll have to inquire about that in the morning.

  I scoop my arms under Sasha’s body and pull her out of the car. “Thanks, man,” I tell the driver.

  “Good to know where y’all are living now,” he says.

  What?

  I know I’ve had a few, but he definitely just said that.

  “What do you mean by th
at?” I ask the dude while sticking my head in through the open passenger side window.

  It’s pitch black out here, and the headlights aren’t doing much for me to see inside. The only light illuminating this guy’s face is the glow from the green radio buttons. “When she wakes up, tell her I hope she’s doing well.” The voice alarms me, and while the conversation I’ve had with him in the past lasted less than thirty seconds, his voice isn’t one I’d easily forget.

  “I have no problem finishing you off the next time you come near Sasha or any of the other people living in this house. You got me?” I seethe through gritted teeth.

  The jackass laughs at me as if what I just said was funny. It’s not funny. I’m more serious than a heart attack. “Right, well, I only told you to send her my best.” This is what I don’t like about Zuber. It all appears to be nice and safe, and yet I’ve kind of wondered if the drivers know who they’re picking up, considering all reservations come in via mobile phone. He probably saw some part of Cali’s information, and this scumbag already knows way more than what’s good for him.

  “So let me tell you something, Lando, see that house over there?”

  “Yeah, I ain’t blind, dude. And it’s Landon. I know it’s hard to pronounce.”

  “Nah, you don’t deserve the respect of the ’n’ in your name. Anyway, so we’ve got one Marine, a chick who has probably killed one too many people, and me. I don’t need to tell you about me—you can use your imagination. Anyway, if you’re thinking it’s a good idea to even knock on that door, you should reconsider it.”

  “There’s only one problem with your scare tactic, man,” he says, taking a few pausing breaths. “Your Marine bud is in the hospital with a very broken leg from a very unfortunate scaffolding accident. I wonder what caused that scaffolding to just collapse like that. Your friend needs to be more careful.” Mother-fucking bastard. He did this.

  “You’re done,” I tell him. “Don’t blink; don’t even sneeze. Watch your back, bro. This is about to get ugly.” The threats pouring from my mouth aren’t something I’ve had to say to someone since dealing with a shitbag overseas who was threatening to blow up our convoy. Nothing ended well for that dude.