Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  “Who the hell are you?” he asks, his eyes suddenly taking in my own naked state.

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s appreciating my shortage of clothes because I’m completely mesmerized by his lack there of as well. We’re like two naked strangers caught in a force field of nakedness.

  Force field? Really?

  Then my eyes zero in below the belt. Well, if he were wearing a belt. Holy man-meat, Batman. If I thought his face was gorgeous, it’s nothing compared to his chiseled abs of perfection, the defined V of his hips, and the world’s sexiest shlong I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing in the flesh.

  Oh, the flesh. So. Much. Flesh.

  “Are you going to answer me or gawk all morning?” he asks, his question laced with humor. “Do I have time to get a quick cup of coffee?”

  Mortification burns my face. When my eyes clash with his again, they’re full of laughter and something that looks a bit hotter. Lust, maybe? I can’t be sure in my hungover state, but I’d rather think of it as a lustful look as opposed to something more revolting.

  “I’m…” I start, but can’t seem to answer his question. I swear to God, I can’t remember it. “I can’t remember my name,” I groan, closing my eyes and willing myself to sleep. Or to drop dead. That might work, too.

  That’s it! I’m still sleeping! I must be snuggled under my comforter, completely lost in La La Land, dreaming of Scott Eastwood and his amazing abs. This is the best dream ever. I might as well enjoy the view for a few minutes before my alarm clock wakes me up, right?

  “You don’t remember your name?” Mr. Eastwood Look-Alike quips, not even trying to cover his impressive junk with his hand. See, that’s how I know I’m dreaming, because as I stare lustfully at his exposed trouser snake, it starts to move. And thicken. And grow. I don’t even care that I, myself, am standing naked across from the sexiest man alive. I’m completely transfixed on his growing erection.

  My nightmare turned amazing dream takes a nosedive into Trainwreckville when the door behind me slams into the back of me; or more specifically, my head. Pain erupts behind my eyes as I lunge forward, propelled by the force of the opening door. It’s in the moment that I feel it. Skin on skin. My breasts to his chest. His peen to my stomach. It’s exciting. It’s exhilarating. It’s erotic.

  Oh, shit!

  It’s not a dream!

  Chapter Four

  Carter

  One minute I’m scalding my skin, enjoying the hell out of an actual hot shower, when the next thing I know, I’m staring at the most beautifully naked woman. Even when she started screaming, I still thought she was the sexiest female I’ve never seen.

  Sure, you could say that I’m biased because she’s the first woman I’ve seen naked in a long-ass time. Sure, the scales could be tipped in favor of the fact that she looks absolutely nothing like my ex, Claire. Sure, I might not be able to argue with the fact that I swore off women forever after I found my girl in bed with my best friend.

  But all of that means absolutely dick right now because this woman is breathtaking. And naked. Oh, so very naked.

  My eyes are pulled to her magnificent tits: small and perky, with little rosebud nipples that make my mouth water. Her waist is slim and arcs into that famous hourglass figure men everywhere drool over. I’m drawn to her long legs and the place where they meet her torso. The small patch of dark curls is like a beacon of light, pulling me toward the dawn.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, my eyes taking the scenic route back up to her rich brown ones.

  She seems to stutter and stammer all over herself, trying to find words, but nothing comes out. I’d be a damn liar if I weren’t enjoying the hell out of seeing her fluster a little bit.

  “Are you going to answer me or gawk all morning?” I ask, loving the hell out of her silence and embarrassment. “Do I have time to get a quick cup of coffee?” I joke, not in the slightest hurry to see either one of us grab our clothes.

  “I’m…” she starts, but seems so lost. After a brief pause, she finally says, “I can’t remember my name.”

  “You don’t remember your name?” I ask, fighting a smile with everything I have. I’ve fought alongside soldiers with gaping wounds. I’ve flown damaged helicopters into warzones you couldn’t possibly fathom and extracted my brothers. I’ve gone more than thirty hours without sleep and food, and with barely any water while the enemy surrounded our position; all while waiting for reinforcements after my helicopter went down.

  But keeping a smile from my lips in this moment is downright excruciating.

  Before she can answer, the door behind her flies open. The last time that happened, mere moments ago, a sexy naked woman appeared, but luck’s not on my side again. I don’t have time to see who’s rudely entering the bathroom. Instead, the nameless beauty is thrust against me, my arms barely having time to wrap around her smooth skin before she goes down. And holy shit, her skin. Velvety, soft flesh molds to my wet body from her shoulders to her knees. My dick notices. Hell, my dick noticed the moment I opened the shower curtain.

  “What the hell, man?” I ask my brother as he stands there, mouth gaping and staring.

  “I heard screaming,” he mumbles, rubbing the top of his shaggy head.

  I do everything I can to help shield her from my little brother’s shameless eye. He’s drinking in an eyeful, as if committing every single curve and inch of exposed skin to memory, and it pisses me off.

  “Do you mind?” I ask Collin, grabbing a towel and holding it up to her back in an attempt to spare her an ounce of dignity.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles before slowly retreating. A weird growl erupts from my gut when he steals one last glance over his shoulder. Punk-ass kid.

  When the door closes behind him, we’re bathed in silence. I can’t get over the way her skin feels against my own. My entire body feels flush as desire charges through it. I know I need to let her go, to separate our bodies, but I seem a bit unable at the moment. There’s also no mistaking the hard-on that’s suddenly very present and plastered to her stomach. She shivers in my arms, and something tells me it has nothing to do with her lack of clothing.

  “Sadie,” she whispers, deep brown eyes gazing up at me. Her mouth is slightly open, her plump lips ripe for kissing. The angle causes all of my blood to flow straight to my dick. All of it. Shit, do I want to kiss the hell out of them, but I can’t. I won’t. There’s only one reason she’s here and it’s not because of me.

  “Carter,” I reply, pulling back and breaking the contact of our bodies. She seems saddened by the movement as much as I am. I have no clue what it is, but my body craves her touch; there’s just no denying it.

  I’ll just ignore it.

  But there’s no ignoring the fact that we’re both still very naked, even if the towel I held up to her backside is dangling from my fingers.

  Calling upon every ounce of gentlemanly politeness I can muster, my eyes are locked on hers as I wrap the towel the rest of the way around her body. What I really want is to steal one last glimpse of her perfection before covering her in terry cloth. Instead, I wrap it tightly around her body and pray that the place it’s tucked together to keep it closed doesn’t come undone.

  Or maybe that it does.

  “Thank you,” she says meekly.

  After a few moments of just standing there, staring at each other, she finally looks away. She frantically glances around the small bathroom before they land on a pile of clothes against the wall by my left leg.

  Quickly, she bends down to retrieve what I’m assuming are her clothes since they’re feminine. Unfortunately, when she does this, she pretty much lines herself up with my throbbing cock who is still very much present in the room. The sweetest gasp slips from her lips and makes me want to slip something between them. When she licks her lips, her eyes locked on my dick, I audibly moan.

  I should apologize for my own naked state, or at least for the fact that I’m harder than a Louisville Slugger at spring train
ing, but I can’t. Now I seem to be the one who can’t formulate a simple sentence. Instead, I stand there, completely hypnotized by the way she’s openly ogling my hard-on. Sadie is doing wonders for my wounded pride.

  But all good things must come to an end.

  Finally, she stands up with her clothes folded in her arms. She appears hesitant to want to leave, and hell, I’m not about to complain. I should probably turn around and allow her to dress in private. Well, as private as you can get in a dinky little bathroom with a stranger. I do, however, avert my eyes. That calls for a mental round of applause, doesn’t it? Just call me Mr. Nice Guy. That is, until she drops the towel and slides this sexy little dress up her long legs. I’m definitely not Mr. Nice Guy as I steal big, greedy eyefuls.

  See where my brother gets it?

  That thought is enough to start to squash my boner. I’m not sure what brought Sadie to my brother’s pad, but it wasn’t me. And if the surprise etched on Collin’s face were any indication, I’d say it wasn’t him either. That leaves only one person: his roommate, Peter.

  When they arrived home last night well after midnight, I was in the bathroom. By the time I came out, the noise was coming from his bedroom. Though I never caught sight of his date, I heard enough racket to know that Peter wasn’t alone in there. I was in the kitchen when she slipped into the bathroom and jumped in the shower; all the while Peter strutted around the apartment like a peacock, loud, proud, and with his colors on full display.

  He said something about meeting a hottie at the club, but I tuned him out and gave my full attention to the re-aired college basketball game on Sports Center. Now, I’m wishing I would have paid a little more attention to his self-boasting and bragging, because if I had, maybe I’d know a little more information about the woman currently sliding a navy blue dress up her torso. Even though her back is to me, I can still see everything thanks to the medicine cabinet mirror.

  No bra.

  Jesus, I’m a perv.

  When she turns around completely dressed, disappointment slides down my spine. Even though she’s clearly hungover as hell, with her brown hair wild from sleep and her eyes a tad on the puffy side, she’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met. And when she offers me a shy little grin, I’m a fucking goner. Like an alcoholic craves a sip of booze, I want to fall to my knees and beg her to stay in here with me forever. And that’s just weird because this bathroom is barely six by eight and smells like piss. Not to mention the fact that some of the socks on the floor are questionably crusty.

  Bending down and grabbing the towel, she stands up with a broad smile. The impact causes my lungs to seize up and my breath to catch in my throat. “Here,” she says, one side of her lip rises upward. “You might need this more than me.”

  I take the offered towel, and, reluctantly, wrap it around my waist. She’s staring up at me again, a slight gleam now in her chocolate eyes. It takes every ounce of self-control I can call upon to not haul her against my body and kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. I want to taste every inch of her skin, which is just crazy talk since I’ve known her a total of seven minutes.

  Finally, she turns and grabs the doorknob. Before she pulls the door open completely and slips out, she says, “Though, it’s such a pity to cover up a body like that.” Her eyes fall to where I’m tenting the towel with the boner I’ll probably never get to go down. I’m so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t have some sort of permanent, long-term damage.

  With that, she winks over her shoulder and walks out the door, closing it tightly behind her.

  And I’m pretty sure the little vixen just took a piece of my heart with her.

  Shit.

  Chapter Five

  Sadie

  Breathe.

  Holy shitballs, that man is…wow. Hard, rippled body with more muscles than The Rock. (Excuse the wrestling reference. My little brother was a fan. He had this poster on the wall of him wearing these little speedo looking shorts. It was total diddle material, not that I did that. Let’s just say I was a fan of Dwayne Johnson.) I’m still left speechless. My head is pounding and my stomach still queasy. The alcohol still threatens to make a very unpleasant reappearance. Of course, now is also time my body decides to remind me that I haven’t peed yet this morning.

  And I’m still so freaking late! Oh, shit!

  I glance down at my ensemble. Hooker dress and fuck-me heels. Just what I wanted to wear for my first day as Producer. And lest we forget I’m not wearing underwear. It just now clicked that I didn’t see those puppies pooled on the bathroom floor with my dress.

  Awesome.

  I need to get out of here—wherever in the hell here is. Before I can locate my purse and call an Uber, the bathroom door opens. Carter is wearing basketball shorts and a tight Air Force tee. My tongue starts to dangle from my mouth, reminiscent of those dog cartoons I used to watch as a kid. I’m sure it’s a fabulous look on me.

  “Here. Take these,” he says as he walks toward me. For a minute, I swear he said, ‘Here. Take me.’ Unfortunately, he merely deposits three tiny tablets into the palm of my hand. “Ibuprofen. It’ll help with the hangover.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble as I walk into the kitchen. There’s a huge pile of dirty dishes by the sink, an indicator that I probably don’t want to drink out of the glasses.

  Without saying a word, he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of Mountain Dew. My body is craving water, but I’ll gladly take the caffeine right now too. “So, you live here?” I ask before chugging half the bottle of pop. Dumbass. Of course he freaking lives here. Popping the pills in my mouth, I pray it helps keep my trap shut.

  “Nope. My little brother does. I was officially discharged from the Air Force yesterday, and I’m crashing on the couch until I find a place. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.” Carter looks around, clearly disgusted with the kitchen nastiness surrounding us.

  “Oh.” Again, with the one-word answer. This man makes me stupid. Looking around, I catch sight of the clock on the stove. Five thirty-nine. Oh, shit! “I gotta go! I’m going to be late for my first day,” I practically shout while frantically looking around for my purse.

  Spotting it sitting on the counter by the door, I lunge for the small clutch. Before I can make my grand escape, one of the bedroom doors opens. I get my first non-beer goggles impaired view of the man I think I slept with last night, and the picture isn’t pretty. Tall and lanky, the biggest pair of glasses I’ve ever seen, and a slightly yellowed pair of briefs that looks like they’ve been around since the creation of Aqua Net hairspray.

  “Why the yelling?” he mumbles, scratching his nuts. My stomach churns again, and I close my eyes, praying that my nightmare ends. “Oh, hey,” he says sweetly, drawing out the last word. “You still here, baby?”

  Yep, I’m going to throw up.

  “Actually, I was just leaving,” I state matter-of-factly as I head toward the door.

  “Wait! Where you going? Come back to bed. We can enjoy another round of playing with my lightsaber.” Gasping, I turn around and find him wagging his eyebrows beneath the coke-bottle glasses.

  “Gross,” I mumble to myself. Of course, since Carter is close enough that I can smell the muskiness of his soap, he hears my comment. “Can’t. Gotta go to work.”

  “Do ya gotta?” he whines in a voice that reminds me of my little brother when he was ten and didn’t get his way.

  “Yes. I definitely do,” I answer, walking toward the door on unsteady legs.

  “Give me your digits. I’ll call you later and we can hook back up.”

  That stops me dead in my tracks. I want to forget this horrible encounter has even happened, and he wants to go another round? With his lightsaber? My body shudders at the thought.

  “I would,” I start, reaching into my hazy mind for an award winning excuse. “But, I’m late for work. Gotta go so I don’t get fired.”

  “I’ll take you,” Carter says, grabbing a set of keys on the cou
nter.

  “No, I’ll take her,” the other man says as he steps forward. I get another glimpse at his face, and I swear to God he looks twelve. Twelve! I slept with a juvey. I’m going to prison like Mary Kay Letourneau.

  “And how are you going to do that, Pete? On your bike handles?” Carter says as he steps up behind me and places his big warm mitt on my back. Heat floods my bloodstream, zipping and zapping all the way to my core.

  “It’s Peter,” he retorts with a little heat. Clearly Peter doesn’t like to be called Pete. “No,” he mumbles, diverting his eyes. “I can take her in Collin’s car.”

  “You’re not dressed to drive her, man. She’s late for work. I’ll run her,” Carter says as he stuffs his feet in a pair of running shoes by the door.

  “Yeah, you take her. Sweetheart, give Carter your number so I can call you later,” Peter starts to say before I’m practically pushed out the door by Carter’s big hand.

  “Go before you never get out of here,” he whispers against my ear. Oh, the hot breath.

  You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m flying out the door before I can even process another thought. On shaky legs, I walk alongside Carter and out the front entrance of the outdated apartment building. It’s definitely seen better days. I almost trip and bust my ass when one of my too-high heels gets caught in a crack in the sidewalk.

  “Easy, sugar,” Carter says, grabbing my arm to stabilize me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  He leads me over to a tiny Chevy Cruze and throws a duffle bag in the backseat. Once inside, I realize I know nothing about this man. I mean, besides the fact that he’s gorgeous and has the body of a chiseled God, but other than that, he could be a crazy ax murderer who’s about to disassemble me, piece by piece.

  It’s actually kinda humorous, watching this mammoth of a man fold himself into the tiny economy car. He’s muttering curse words as he tries to find the seat lever to give him more legroom, and even then, with the seat completely pushed back, he looks cramped. It must not bother him too much, though, because he quickly starts the car and pulls onto the deserted streets.