Sunshine & Whiskey

by R. L. Griffin

  “So let’s go home,” he offers.

  “You know I need to get through like a hundred pages of Torts.”

  “Ugh, you’re so academic. It turns me on.” He chuckles. “How about you read and I touch you.”

  “Well, as great as that sounds, I won’t be able to focus.”

  “How about you read the cases to me and we’ll discuss them...and I’ll touch where I want to,” he repeats.

  “Fine,” I agree, fully knowing I won’t be getting through my hundred pages. He makes me agree to most things he wants.

  I turn over on my stomach and begin reading. “Lubitz v. Wells…” His fingers bypass the hem of my shorts and I look up, shocked. The tip of his middle finger grazes my panties and I’m hot immediately. I glance around to see if anyone is paying attention to us. We’re sort of hidden by a tree and off to the side of the traffic. “The complaint alleges,” I try to continue, but he pushes my panties to the side and runs the tip of his finger in small circular motions, causing me to lose my place. I drop my head to my forearms framing my Torts book. The strokes turn from circles to strokes up and down my core.

  My breath hitches and my thighs clench together, holding his hand in place.

  “Red, open up baby.”

  “We’re in public,” I repeat because I’ve lost all brain function.

  “I know...and you are reading and I’m making you feel good. I think you’re winning here.” I feel his laugh in his fingertips as he plunges one finger into me.

  I turn my head to see he has placed the bags to block the view of his hand hidden in my shorts. He pushes my left thigh to separate it from my other and give him more room to move. I lay my head back down on my forearms and try to not rock my hips with the pumping and circling of his fingers.

  I sigh and my breathing gets heavy, all of my senses focus on his fingers and then I tumble over the line of decency. I grab the grass in front of me with both hands and moan. “Mmmmmm.”

  “Sh, Red.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter as my entire body constricts and I lie there feeling very bare. My chest is heaving and I just want to turn around and straddle him, right here.

  “So what happens in Lubitz v. Wells?” he asks, taking his hand out of my pants.

  I blink as reality rushes through my thoughts. My smile from the dream breaks in two and falls from my face unceremoniously. Great, now I’m horny. I can actually still feel the pads of his fingers on me. A shiver moves through my entire body as I try to shake him off. I move to the bathroom, wash my face and apply makeup while drinking water and checking my phone. I have a text from Peter that I refuse to check and one from Laura.

  I hope that you’re back in the land of reality now. I know you need time to work through whatever it is you have going on, but you should talk about it. It may be easier that way. I know you loved Peter. Do you still love him? Do you forgive him? Why did you leave if you are this miserable?

  An hour later she texts again.

  I met the hottest mother fuckers in Vegas at the bar downstairs. We’re waiting for you at Cosmos. Take a cab…it’s far

  I smile. She’s over my meltdown. Unfortunately, I know I’m not. I throw back two shots of whiskey and leave the room. I’m wearing my dancing heels, which are nude. I paired them with a teal, tight sleeveless dress. My red hair is pulled into a loose braid because I know I will dance and drink my ass off. Also, Vegas is hotter than a mother fucker.

  I take a cab to Cosmos, its twenty fucking dollars. This place is a racket. I enter the club and the music is pulsing with a beat that I’m vaguely aware of as I search for Laura. She said she was at a bar near the back. Walking through the throngs of people I’m hoping to find someone to distract me tonight, someone who will let me pretend to be funny and pretty and fine. Fake it until you make it people.

  Once I’m in the back of the bar I still don’t see Laura. I grab a drink and pull out my phone to text her. When I look up a guy is standing all in my personal space and smiling down at me. It’s like he walked out of my dreams. He’s wearing a tank top though, which sort of makes me think he may bat for the other team, but the way he’s looking at me I swear he is sizing up how long it’ll take him to get my dress off. For this guy, I’d probably take it off in a few hours. His dark hair is cropped, but not too short, and is tousled in a sexy way that says he doesn’t care about his hair. He has a beard, which I’m sort of into if you haven’t figured that out yet, and his eyes are brown and mischief dances behind them. His tattoos are plentiful, massive, and spread across the best set of arms and shoulders I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I work out so I’ve seen muscles, but this guy is chiseled.

  I love tattoos on men. There’s something so hot about them, I’m not really sure what or that I care. Peter doesn’t have any tattoos. I know, stop fucking talking about Peter.

  “Hi.” He leans in so he’s speaking into my ear.

  I lean back, I really have a personal space issue. I don’t know this guy. I don’t respond, but I smile and sip my drink.

  “Laura said to bring you up to the VIP section where we’re sitting.” He’s back in my space and this time I feel the tickle of his beard on my ear, which sends chills down my entire body.

  I turn my head to look into his eyes. He grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. When I see Laura, she is sitting on some dude’s lap and her eyes are amused at my hand locked with this muscle guy’s, which I realize now he is holding really close to the crotch of his jeans. I pull my hand from his and walk to where Laura is laughing.

  “Feel better?” she asks.

  I nod. “Who are your friends?” I swing my eyes in the direction of Muscles.

  “This is Duncan and that,” she points at Muscles, “is Ellis.”

  “His name is Ellis?” I ask because who names their kid that.

  “It’s my last name. Call me Brad,” he says, and I just now come to appreciate his voice. It’s smooth, but has an edge to it like a Pearl Jam song and I’m thinking my hours’ prediction just got shorter.

  “I’m Megan,” I say and I stick my hand out to shake his.

  “Nice to meet you Megan.” He pulls my hand in closer to his chest, which in turn moves me closer to him and I smell him. Oh shit, he smells like the beach and sex at the same time, and I clench my legs together at the notion. Don’t worry, I’m still drinking. This is drink seven hundred and forty two of today. “Your friend didn’t do you justice. You want to go somewhere?”

  I step back and look at my watch. That took six minutes for the first proposition. Wow. Do people really do that, just go with a hot guy not five minutes after they’ve met?

  “I just got here,” I respond, taking another step back.

  His eyes light with a challenge, and a grin spreads across his chiseled face.

  “Here, have another drink,” Laura mouths from her perch on top of Duncan’s lap. She scoots off and pours me a whiskey with ginger ale. I set my empty glass on the table and take the new one—gulp it down. I’m looking over the rim of the glass at her trying to send her a message subliminally. I’m saying, are you fucking kidding me?

  She says back, oh you will be fucked tonight.

  My eyes say, it’s a good plan.

  Hers say, I know.

  All of that happens without opening our mouths. I set my glass down and she refills it.

  “Megan, do you want to dance?” Muscles asks, motioning toward the dance floor.

  Laura squeals and grabs my hand and races down the stairs to the expansive dance floor. When I say races, I’m exaggerating. It’s more like a duck waddle in a cute dress in high heels because she is attempting to move very quickly in six inch heels and it’s not really working out.

  I turn and see Muscles and Duncan talking. Laura pulls me into the crowd and it swallows us whole. I’m glad I’m now closer to drunk because I don’t like being in the middle of a bunch of people. She stakes her claim on a little space between two couples and begins throwing her hands in t
he air and dancing. I turn again to make sure Brad isn’t behind me.

  “What is this about?” My hips sway from side to side halfheartedly.

  “This is about getting under someone,” she says dismissively.

  I stop my pitiful dancing and look at her.

  She stops dancing and pops her hip out to the side. “You’re acting like you guys just broke up after dating forever. You didn’t act like this when you broke it off with Chad. You already mourned the death of you and Peter three years ago. You need to fuck through it.” She gyrates her hips at me.

  I can’t help but laugh at her antics. “Fuck through it?”

  “Fuck through it. It works, I promise.”

  “Well, Chad distracted me for a little bit, maybe Meathead can distract me until we get to California.”

  “Oh yes, they’re staying through the week for some book conference or something, so yes, Meat can distract you until we leave.” Gyrate, Gyrate. “Go HAM.”

  I laugh. “Shake your labia.”

  She flips me the bird while she’s still full on dancing and I’m sort of standing there listening to her and watching. When you’re in a huge dance club, you feel like no one is really paying attention to you because there is so much going on. There are strobe lights, music so loud your ribs shake and all sorts of people dancing everywhere. I’m just starting to feel the music when I feel big palms touch both of my outer thighs at the exposed skin just below the hem of my dress. These enormous hands move their way up to skirt the curve of my breasts. I’m about to turn around and slap the shit out of someone.

  Laura leans in. “Starting now.” I can hear her smile. Duncan creeps up behind her and joins in the one woman dance show. I mean he’s doing all sorts of hilarious moves, like the shovel and the sprinkler. Laura has no idea he’s behind her, and my chest rumbles with laughter. She turns when she sees me and stands still until I see her shoulders shake.

  Without even turning, I lean back into Meat’s (this is what I’m calling him) distractingly hard chest and stomach. We start moving together to the beat. He’s a pretty good dancer. Some dudes can’t dance or they have one move. This guy dances like he’s fucking me, like we’re connected. He caresses every curve on my body, his lips graze my neck and he hasn’t even turned me around yet.

  Needless to say, I make it three more songs of foreplay dancing before I tug his hand toward the exit.

  I know, I’m such a whore. You would totally have done it too. I’m sort of mad I left my red whore boots in New Orleans, but they were bad luck.

  Let me break down something for you. I’m drunk. I’m drunk and horny. Remember that daydream about Peter? That has morphed into need, and I’m grinding into Meat like I haven’t had sex in months, when in reality it was like a week and a half ago. I’m in the zone of intoxication where I don’t realize how this will turn out after I lead Meat toward my room, after we have drunk sex. I don’t think about the ramifications of my actions because his fingers are tracing my ass and the edge of my thong. It’s becoming hard for me to breathe because I really just want to be in my room. We’re not though, we’re in the elevator on the way to my room. I’m pushed up against the wall and his hand is up my dress.

  I don’t think about the man that’s in the elevator with us. I told you I was in the zone, I’m currently so drunk my teeth are numb. I make really bad decisions when I’m drunk and sad. Meat’s teeth tug my ear lobe and my gut clenches. I turn my head to give him more access to my neck and I see a reflection of someone I don’t even recognize with smeared makeup, no lipstick, and really vacant eyes. I close my empty eyes, not wanting to see myself anymore, determined to go ahead with this plan. I will fuck my way through it.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sunshine

  Sex with a stranger or anyone for the first time typically isn’t mind blowing. They don’t know your body, you don’t know theirs, but there are things that everyone likes. Meat and I practice our oral skills for a while before we get down to fucking. I mean he was practicing in a way every woman would want any one night stand to copy. This one night stand blows my other one out of the water. He kisses me, turns me on, goes downstairs and then fucks me for what seems like an hour. It’s so good we do it three more times. I know I had sex multiple times a few weeks ago, but this is not normal for me. I mean stop judging me.

  At 5:00 am, he pulls out of me and takes the condom off. The room smells like sweat, sex, and burnt rubber. He walks to the trash can and throws the used condom in it. “I’d love to go again, but I have to be at a job in a few hours. You mind if I crash here?” he asks pleasantly, with a bit of a southern twang, as if we just had dinner. There is no awkwardness, just a casual request amongst friends.

  “Sure,” I respond as I roll out of bed, walk to the bathroom. I lean my back against the door and then slide down. Exhaustion, a sober mind and regret tangle in my brain as I start to cry. I cry for a few minutes. Not just single tears streaming down my face, but ugly, mouth open, face reddening sobbing. It’s silent though. I don’t want Meat to know I’m upset. I don’t want anyone to know how lost I feel. It’s certainly not his fault. It’s Peter’s fault. It’s my fault.

  I hear a rhythmic thumping, it sort of sounds like the mattress hitting the wall last night during round three, and wakes me out of my deep slumber. I open my right eye and see Meat on the floor between the bottom of the bed and the window doing pushups. His hair is wet and he is clapping between each push up.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I moan, rolling over on my back and pulling the pillow over my face.

  “Hey Sunshine,” he grunts in between claps and pushups, not breaking his flow.

  “Oh yeah, fucking sunshine.” I turn over again so I’m facing away from the bright light shining through the now opened curtains. I inhale deeply and smell my shampoo and soap. I peer out from underneath the pillow. Meat’s already showered, his skin glistens in the light. I sigh, sitting up and throwing the pillow at him. I pull my phone from the bedside table to see what time of morning I have been so rudely woken up. It’s 8:00 am. “Why in the hell are you awake, showered, and exercising?”

  Before he answers, a sharp knock sounds on the door. Instinctively I pull the covers over my head. “WHAT THE FUCK?” It’s sort of muffled though, due to the fact I’m smothered by a comforter.

  “I ordered us breakfast,” he answers in a way too chipper voice, so I throw another pillow at him as hard as I can. Meat smiles as he catches it easily, his face is so handsome it makes me smile even though my head is throbbing. He walks to the bathroom and pulls on a robe then pulls the bedroom door closed. I told you he was nude, doing pushups. Did you forget that?

  I hear him speaking with the server in the other room. The door opens and he pushes in a cart. He maneuvers it right in front of the bed then sits on my side. He pulls the sheet down and caresses my breast, then gives it a quick nibble before he turns to the cart and begins uncovering food. His hand is unusually soft for a man. I guess I was too drunk to realize that last night. I take his hand away from my boob and look at it. It’s like a baby’s bottom. Then I touch his forearm and it is soft and covered in a light sheen of oil. I’m perplexed by this.

  “What’s on your arm?”

  “Lotion,” he answers, grabbing a few plates off the cart. There are two omelets, egg whites, waffles, bacon, pancakes and fruit. This guy isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. I’m equally baffled and at ease, I don’t know which to pick.

  “I didn’t know what you’d want,” he says without looking at me. This alone convinces me to go with at ease. It’s touching. Like I said earlier, I think men forget about these small considerations that really mean something to a woman.

  “Wow, it looks amazing. Thanks.” My mouth waters as the smell of bacon hits my nose. I grab a piece off one of the many plates and shove it in my mouth.

  “You like bacon. Good to know,” Meat notes and then winks at me. He pulls an egg white omelet off the cart and sits back
. Now that I’m sober his accent reminds me of Matthew McConaughey’s drawl, it’s slow and drips sex. His abs are really like you dream about, real washboard abs. They almost look airbrushed.

  “You want a piece of my bacon,” I ask with my mouth full. I pull the sheet up to cover myself.

  He shakes his head. “No, I can’t eat like that right now. I have to eat clean.”

  “Clean?”

  “Let’s just say if I want to continue to have these,” he motions to his rock hard stomach, “I have to eat a certain way. No bacon, cheese, no pizza.”

  “Omelets have cheese,” I correct.

  “Not this one.” He shows me.

  “You live a horrible, horrible life.” I grab the plate with the waffle and cut into it. As I take a bite I moan. “What do you do again?”

  “I’m a trainer and a cover model for books.” He shoves a huge bite of egg into his mouth.

  “Like Fabio?”

  He chuckles. “Yep, just like that.”

  “I’ve never met a cover model before,” I tease. “That’s a nice notch on my belt I think. You have to have airbrushed abs in real life then?”

  “Pretty much. If you smeared that whip cream on your body I couldn’t even lick it off,” he says with a sadness in his voice. “It’s what I wish I was doing right now. Licking whip cream off your body.” I stop chewing and look at him. A current shoots through the air and erupts like a firework. “Now, after the book conference I’d like to order an entire pizza and a gallon of ice cream then lick it all off your body.”

  The spell is broken. “Well, I’m not sure I’m interested in putting pizza or ice cream all over myself, but I get the point.” I chuckle at the image of an entire pizza draped across me. “I mean, would you just pick up pieces of pizza off me like I’m a table.”

  “You’re ruining my daydream Sunshine.”

  “Well, I need to know these things.”

  “Why don’t we just go with ice cream then? I’ll put scoops of ice cream here,” he lightly circles my right nipple with his fingertip, “then here.” He leans in and pushes the sheet down and brings his tongue to lick my left nipple. “Then I’ll drop another one, right…” His hands disappear into the bed and trace down my abdomen heading south. I grab his hand.