An hour and a half later and hot stuff has come around the bar to take the seat beside me and join me on my mission to get shit-faced. I have to admit, Iām enjoying his company, but it doesnāt exactly make him Employee of the Year given the fact that heās supposed to be working.āWonāt your boss be mad that youāre drinking on the job?ā I ask.
That damn dimple makes another appearance again before he answers. āNah, heās cool. Itās dead in here tonight. If anyone comes in, Iāll be sure they get what they need.ā His gaze rakes up and down my small frame, and I get the distinct impression that heās picturing me naked.
Jeez, I hope my nakedness looks amazing in his brain. Given the half-crooked smile on his face, I think it must. I wonder if his imagination is good enough to picture that dimple in my ass that doesnāt ever seem to want to disappear, regardless of how much I weigh.
As if heās tempted fate with his words, the bell over the door dings and an older gentleman walks in and seats himself at one of the bar tables across the room.
āBe right back.ā Cole pats my hand before he rises from his seat.
It was an innocent gesture, but it makes me think dirty things. The heat from his hand seeps up my arm like a bee sting and settles somewhere in my chest.
I watch him walk away and canāt help but notice the way his ass perfectly fills out his jeans. It bunches and flexes as his long strides take him across the bar. Maybe Lennon is right and it has been too long since Iāve been with a man.
Itās then that I realize that Tinder dude still hasnāt shown up. The bar isnāt busy, probably since itās the middle of the week, and Iāve been chattingāokay, flirtingāwith Cole and hadnāt realized how much time had passed. I grab my phone from my purse and open the app to see that I have a new message.
Pussylickr69: Not coming. Sorry found someone else who wasnāt so much werk.Fury causes my face to heat as I type out a quick reply that might be, and by that I mean most definitely is, alcohol-fueled. Whiteebanter: Yeah, I can see how thirty minutes of conversation is too much foreplay for you. Fuck you and your lack of knowledge of the English language. You spell work with an āo,ā dipshit.There. Thatāll show him. With a frown, I drop my phone back into my purse.āEverything okay?ā Cole asks as he takes the seat beside me again.
I sigh. āYeah, I just found out that Pussylicker isnāt coming anymore.ā
Cole nearly spits out the sip of drink heās just taken and has a coughing fit before he fully recovers. āExcuse me?ā
āI was waiting for a guy from Tinder to show up, but he just ditched me because apparently it was too much work to have a drink with me before taking me back to his place to bang me.ā I spin my glass in place on the bar top.
āYouāre trolling for guys on Tinder?ā Cole howls with laughter so hard he has to hold his stomach. I love the way the laugh looks on his faceāthe way it crinkles his eyes at the corners and how it showcases his perfect teeth. But all that aside, itās irritating.
āItās not that funny.ā This guy might be hot, but right now heās working my nerves.
āActually, it is. Why the hell would a woman like you resort to finding someone to fuck on a dating site?ā
The way the word āfuckā rolls off his tongue has all my womanly parts contracting and wishing that it was an invitation to do just that. But never mind that, because Iām annoyed at him, I just barely remember through my drunken haze.
āWhat do you mean a woman like me?ā I try to do air quotes around the last part, but my balance isnāt what it was three hours ago, and I almost topple off my stool, so I quickly grab on to the bar in front of me.
āBeautiful. Intelligent. Likable. Smartass.ā He ticks each word off on one hand while he speaks and he says it like he means it. I hold his stare for a minute before realization dawns.
āHey! Iām a B.I.L.F. You know, like a M.I.L.F. Only different.ā Iām so impressed that I thought of that given my current state.
Cole chuckles with an amused gleam in his eyes. āOnly better,ā he says.
Our gazes lock for a beat and itās at that moment I know that if I offer myself up to this guy, heāll be more than willing to send me on the walk of shame tomorrow morning. Heat rushes into my cheeks and I look away. As much bravado as I had earlier about my Tinder escapade, Iām not sure I can do this. Be this girl so full of confidence that she bangs a stranger with no qualms about it.
My elation has crash-landed on the ground as I realize Iām not able to pull the trigger and make an advance toward him. I also know Iāll probably regret it forever because this man is so far beyond good-looking that itās a speck in the rear-view mirror. Not to mention the fact that heās sexy as hell and seems to be a decent human being. Which is more impossible to find in the Bay area than someone who doesnāt think theyāre allergic to gluten.
I take a deep breath and finish the last couple of gulps of my drink and push the glass in Coleās direction.
āAnother, please.ā
Cole tosses back the rest of his drink and I watch as his Adamās apple bobs in his throat while the liquid slides down.
Damn. That is sexy.
Why is that sexy?
āIām going to join you for another as well.ā He gets up off his bar stool and before walking away he comes to stand directly behind me. āAssuming you want me to stick around?ā
His breath washes across my neck and my ear and I close my eyes for a brief moment to enjoy the sensation. āIād like that,ā I say with all honesty.
āGood. I know the first guy let you down, but donāt worryā¦ Iāve been told I lick pussy like a boss.ā
And with that, he walks away while I struggle to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest.
Iām out of my league with this guy. I know it and thereās a good chance that he knows it, too.
But ask yourself this, ladiesā¦ if you were called up to the big leagues from the minors, would you say no?
L.A. Fiore is the author of several books including Beautifully Damaged, Collecting the Pieces and His Light in the Dark. Her favorite movie is Star Wars, a love her son shares. They hope to build their own Millennium Falcon one day. She would like to meet the Winchester Boys to thank them for enlightening her on the versatility of salt as not just a food enhancer, but as protection from supernatural threats. And she thinks it would be interesting to be a zombie, to get an idea of what life is like as a brain-addicted fiend so she can be their voice to tell their side of the story. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and kids, their two spoiled cats and their awesome dog.
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Bree Dahlia is an unconventional romance junkie. She loves reading it but adores writing it even more. Her stories range from lighthearted to sizzling with that satisfying Happily Ever After ending and a touch of the unexpected. She favors themes of friendship, forgiveness, and unconditional love with alpha characters and eccentric tastes.
